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Think of that moment you who prudence boast;
SMIL. Soft Simplicetta dotes upon a beau ;
VERBATIM FROM BOILEAU,
Un jour, dit un auteur, &c.
Once (says an author, where I need not say)
Before her each with clamor pleads the laws,
ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION
OT MRS. HOWE.
WHAT IS PRUD’RY?
'Tis a beldam, Seen with wit and beauty seldom. 'Tis a fear that starts at shadows. 'Tis (no, 'tis n't) like Miss Meadows. 'Tis a virgin hard of feature, Old, and void of all good nature ; Lean and fretful; would seem wise ; Yet plays the fool before she dies. 'Tis an ugly envious shrew That rails at dear Lepell and you.
OCCASIONED BY SOME VERSES OF HIS GRACE: THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
Muse, 'tis enough ;-at length thy labor ends,
A PROLOGUE BY MR. POPE. To a play for Mr. Dennis's benefit, in 1733, when he was old,
blind, and in great distress, a little before his death, As when that hero, who in each campaign Had brav'd the Goth, and many a Vandal slain, Lay Fortune-struck, a spectacle of woe! Wept by each friend, forgiv'n by ev'ry foc :Was there a gen'rous, a reflecting mind, But pity'd Bellisarius, old and blind ? Was there a chief but melted at the sight? A common soldier, but who club'd his mite ? Such, such emotions should in Britons rise, When press’d by want and weakness, Dennis lies; Dennis ! who long had warr'd with modern Huns, Their quibbles routed, and defy'd their puns; A desp'rate bulwark, sturdy, firm, and fierce, .. Against the Gothic sons of frozen verse :
How chang'd from him who made the boxes groan,
A CHARACTER, When simple Macer, now of high renown, First sought a poet's fortune in the Town. 'Twas all th' ambition his high soul could feel, To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele. Some ends of verse his betters might afford ; And gave the harmless fellow a good word. Set up with these he ventur'd on the Town, And with a borrow'd play, outdid poor Crown. There he stopp'd short, nor since has writ a tittle, But has the wit to make the most of little : Like stunted hide-bound trees, that just have got, Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot. Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends, Not of the wits his foes, but fools his friends.
So some coarse country-wench, almost decay'd, Trudges to Town, and first turns chambermaid : Awkward and supple, each devoir to pay, She flatters her good lady twice a-day; Thought wondrous honest, though of mean degree, And strangely lik'd for her simplicity : In a translated suit then tries the Town, With borrow'd pins, and patches not her own ; But just endur'd the winter she began, And in four months a batter'd Harridan : Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk, To bawd for others, and go shares with punk.
SONG, BY A PERSON OF QUALITY.
Written in the year 1733.
FLUTT'RING spread thy purple pinions,
Gentle Cupid ! o'er my heart;
Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth!