Juftice and equal Government are things That Subjects make more happy than their Kings. But thine from Juftice rife, and doing well. Thy latest Toil! How Barb'rous was the Rage, A PROLOGUE By Sir Charles Sedley. NVY and Faction rule the grumbling Age, This barren Trade fome would engross, ftill hoping } Shakespear muft down, and you must praise no more Shakespear, whofe fruitful Genius, happy Wit, The pride of Nature, and the shame of Schools, The living fink beneath your present fpite, } As if this were the Dooms-day of all Wit. But, Beaux, and Ladies, be you not too nice, } To a Lady, who difcovered a new Star in Caffiopeia. The Words and Tune by Mr. C. Dryden. I. S Ariana, Young and Fair, As By Night the Starry Quire did tell, One beauteous light the reft excel: This happy Star unfeen before, Perhaps was kindled from her Eyes, And made for mortals to adore A new-born Glory in the Skies. II. Or if within the Sphere it grew, Before the gaz'd the Lamp was dim; But from her Eyes the Sparkles flew That gave new Luftre to the Gem. Bright Omen! what doft thou portend, Thou threatning Beauty of the Sky? What great, what happy Monarch's end! For fure by thee 'tis fweet to dye. III. Whether to thy fore-boding Fire Such a prefage will late be fhown SINCE A SONG By the E. of M. I. INCE from my Dear Aftraa's fight, My Soul has never known delight, II. But oh, alas! with weeping Eyes/ W SONG. By Mr. Prior. HILST I am fcorch'd with hot defire, Your drops of Pity on my Fire, Alas! but make it fiercer burn, Ah! would you have the flame fupprest E NIG M A. B By Mr. Prior. Y Birth I'm a Slave, yet can give you a Crown, I difpofe of all Honours, my felf having none. I'm oblig'd by juft Maxims to govern my Life, Yet I hang my own Mafter, and lie with his Wife. When men are a gaming, I cunningly sneak, And their Cudgels and Shovels away from them take. Fair Maidens and Ladies I by the hand get, And pick off their Diamonds though ne'er so well set. But when I have Comrades, we rob in whole bands, Then we presently take off your Lands from your hands. But this fury once over, I've fuch winning arts, That you love me much more than you do your own Hearts. VERSES on the Snuff of a Candle; made in Sickness. By Mrs. W H A R TỤ N EE there the Taper's dim and doleful Light, And reprefents to my dim weary fight, Ah Health! Beft part and substance of our joy, (For without thee 'tis nothing but a shade) Why doft thou partially thy felf employ, Whilft thy proud Foes as partially invade ? What we, who ne'er enjoy, fo fondly feek, Those who poffefs thee ftill, almost despise; To gain immortal glory, raise the weak, Taught by their former want thy worth to prize. Dear melancholy Muse, my constant guide, Charm this coy Health back to my fainting Heart, Or I'll accufe thee of vain-glorious pride, And fwear thou doft but feign the moving Art. But why do I upbraid thee, gentle Muse; |