Eternal Excellence ! 'tis only thee,
We search thro' Nature's bright Variety;
Our eager Wishes with impetuous Force,
To thee unknown, keep on their restless Course;
'Tis thee we seek and Love, for thee we pine,
The powerful Charm, the soft Attraction's thine;
To thee these Sighs, these tender Vows afcend,
Th' unseen Divinity we still intend;
Sick of these fading Joys, our Thoughts press on,
To Joys untasted, Excellence unknown.

Thou

great ORIGINAL of all that's Fair,
Whose Glories no Similitude can bear ;
Before the darting Splendor of thy Eyes,
The Pride of all created BEAUTY dies.

Τ Η Ε

Τ Η Ε.

M E D I C I N E.

A

TALE

For the LADIES.

ISS Molly, a fam'd TOAST, was Fair and

Young,
Had Wealth and Charms -----but then she

had a Tongue !
From Morn to Night th? Eternal L AR UM run,
Which often lost those Hearts her Eyes had won.

M

Sir John was smitten, and confefs'd his Flame, Sigh’d at the usual time, then wed the DAME.

Possess'd,

Possessid, he thought, of ev'ry Joy of Life,
But his dear Molly prov'd a very Wife.
Excess of Fondness did in time decline,
Madam lov'd MONEY and the Knight loyd WINE,
From whence some petty Discords would arise,
As, You're a Fool; and, You are mighty Wife.

Tho' he, and all the world, allow'd her Wit, Her Voice was SHRILL, and rather loud than sweet; When she began, for Hat and Sword he'd call, Then after a faint Kiss, cry, B’y, dear Moll; Supper and Friends expect me at the Rose, And, what, Sir John, you'll get your usual Dore! Go, stink of Smoak, and guzzle nasty Wine, Sure, never virtuous Love was us'd like mine!

Oft as the watchful Bell-Man march'd his Round,
At a fresh Bottle gay Sir John he found;
By Four the Knight would get his Bus'ness done,
And only then reeld off, because alone;
Full well he knew the dreadful Storm to come,
But arm'd with Bourdeaux, he durft venture home.

My Lady with her Tongue was still prepard,
She ractled loud, and he impatient heard :
'Tis a fine Hour! In a sweet Pickle made!
And this, Sir John, is ev'ry Day the Trade,

He

Here I sit moping all the live-long Night,
Devour'd with Spleen, and Stranger to Delight;
'Till Mora sends Staggʻring home a drunken Beaft,
Resolvid to break my Heart, as well as Reft.
HEY! Hoop! d'ye hear my damnd obstrep'rous Spouse!
What, can't

you

find one Bed about the House?
Will that perpetual CLACK lye never still?
That Rival to the softness of a Mill!
Some Couch and distant Room must be my Choice,
Where I'may sleep uncurs'd with Wife and Noise.

Long this uncomfortable L 1 E E they led, With snarling Meals, and each a sepirate Bed. To an old Uncle oft she would complain, Beg his Advice, and scarce from Tears refrain: Old Wifewood fmoak'd the Matter as it was, Cheer up, cry'd he, and I'll remove the Cause. A wond'rous Spring within my Garden flows, of sov'reign Virtue, chiefly to compose Domestick Jarrs, and Matrimonial Strife, The best ELIXIR t appease Man and Wife; Strange are th' Effects, and Qualities Divine, *Tis Water called, but worth its Weight in Wine. If in his fullen Airs Sir John should come, Three spoonfuls take, hold in your Mouth then Mum: Smile and look pleas'd, when he shall rage and fcold, Still in your Mouth the healing Cordial hold;

One

One Month this Sympathetick Med'cine try'd,
He'll grow a Lover, you a happy Bride.
But, dearest Niece, keep this grand Secret close,
Or ev'ry prarling Hussy'll get a Dose.

A Water Bottle's brought for her Relief,
Not Nantz could sooner ease the Lady's Grief:
Her busy Thoughts are on the Tryal bent,
And, FEMALE like, impatient for th’ Event.

The bonny Knight reels home exceeding clear, Prepar'd for Clamour, and Domestick War.. Entring, he cry's,

Hey! where's our Thunder fied? No Hurricane! Betty's your Lady dead? Madam, aside, an ample Mouthful takes, Court'sy's, looks kind, but not a Word she speaks: Wond'ring, he star'd, scarcely his Eyes believd, But found his Ears agreeably deceiv'd.. Why, how now, Molly; What's the Crotchet now? She smiles, and anfwers only with a Bow. Then clasping her about Why, let me die! These Night-Cloaths, Moll, become thee mightily! With that he figh'd, her Hand began to press, And Betty calls, her Lady to undress. Nay, ki's me, Molly, for l'ın much inclin'd : Her Lace she cuts to take him in the Mind. Thus the fond Pair to Bed enamour'd went, The Lady pleas'd, and the good Knight content.

For