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Then too, ialas ! when she shall tear
The lines fome younger rival sends ; She 'll give me leave to write, I fear,
And we shall ftill continue friends.
'Tis so ordain'd, (would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love,
When the begins to comprehend it.
F A M E.
HE sturdy Man, if he in love obtains,
In open pomp and triumph reigns : The subtile Woman, if the should succeed, Disowns the honour of the deed.
Though He, for all his boast, is forc'd to yield,
For the PLAN of a FOUNTAIN,
ON WHICH IS
The Effigies of the Queen on a Triumphal Arch; The Figure of the Duke of MARLBOROUGH beneath;
The chief Rivers of the World round the whole Work.
E active streams, where-e'er your waters flow,
Let distant climes and furthest nations know, What
from Thames and Danube have been taught, How Anne commanded, and how Marlborough fought.
Quæcunque æterno properatis, flumina, lapfu,
S the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own;
So the young squire, when first he comes
school to Will's or Tom's,
Thus, merely as his fortune chances,
If haply he the sect pursues,
Or if it be his fate to meet
But if, at first, he minds his hits,
AN DR EW.
SL LY Merry Andrew, the last Southwark-fair
(At Barthol'mew he did not much appear, So peevish was the edict of the mayor); At Southwark therefore, as his 'tricks he show'd, To please our masters, and his friends the croud; A huge neat's-tongue he in his right-hand held, His left was with a good black-pudding fill’d. With a grave look, in this odd equipage, The clownish mimic traverses the stage. Why how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll; To-day's conceit, methinks, is something dull : Come on, sir, to our worthy friends explain, What does your emblematic worship mean? Quoth Andrew, Honest English let'us speak : Your emble-(what d' ye call 't) is heathen Greek. To torgue or pudding thou hast no pretence : Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense. That busy fool I was, which thou art now; Desirous to correct, not knowing how ; With very good delign, but little wit, Blaming or praising things, as I thought fit,
I for this conduct had what I deserv'd;
A reverend prelate stopt his coach and fix,
DEAR Thomas, didst thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's shop?
Mov'd in the orb, pleas’d with the chimes,