Shall join with F

in one Accord,

And be like Tate and Brady.

Ye Ladies too draw forth your Pen,
pray where can the Hurt lie?
Since you have Brains as well as Men,
As witnefs Lady W

Now, Tonfon, lift thy Forces all,

Review them, and tell Nofes;

For to poor Ovid shall befal
A ftrange Metamorphofis.

A Metamorphofis more strange

Than all his Books can vapour;

"To what, (quoth 'Squire) fhall Ovid change?” Quoth Sandys: To wafte Paper.

* UMBRA.

LOSE to the best known Author, Umbra fits,

CL

The conftant Index to all Button's Wits.

Who's here? cries Umbra: Only Johnson”—Oh !
Your Slave, and exit; but returns with Rowe,
Dear Rowe, lets fit and talk of Tragedies:
Not long, Pope enters, and to Pope he flies,

Then

Then up comes Steele; he turns upon his Heel,
And in a Moment faftens upon Steele.
But cries as foon, Dear Dick, I must be gone,
For, if I know bis Tread, here's Addison.
Says Addifon to Steele, 'Tis Time to go,
Pope to the Closet steps afide with Rowe.
Poor Umbra, left in this abandon'd Pickle,
E'en fits him down, and writes to honeft T-
FOOL! 'tis in vain from Wit to Wit to roam;
Know Senfe, like Charity, begins at Home.

DUKE upon DUKE. An excellent new Ballad.

To the Tune of Chevy-Chase.

O Lordings proud I tane my Lay,

T°

Who feaft in Bower or Hall:

Though Dukes they be, to Dukes I fay,

That Pride will have a Fall.

Now, that this fame it is right footh,

Full plainly doth appear,

From what befel John Duke of Guife,

And Nic. of Lancaßere.

When

When Richard Caur-de-Lyon reign'd,
(Which means a Lion's Heart)
Like him his Barons rag'd and roar'd,
Each play'd a Lion's Part.

A Word and Blow was then enough, (Such Honour did them prick)

If but turn'd you

your Check, a Cuff,

And if your A-se, a Kick.

Look in their Face, they tweak'd your

At ev'ry Turn fell to't;

Nofe,

Toes;

Come near, they trod upon your
They fought from Head to Foot.

Of thefe, the Duke of Lancastere
Stood Paramount in Pride;

He kick'd, and cuff'd, and tweak'd, and trod
His Foes, and Friends befide.

Firm on his Front his Beaver fate,
So broad, it hid his Chin;

For why he deem'd no Man his Mate,
And fear'd to tan his Skin.

With Spanish Wool he dy'd his Cheek,
With Effence oil'd his Hair;
No Vixen Civet-Cat fo fweet,
Nor could fo fcratch and tear.

Right

Right tall he made himself to fhow,
Though made full fhort by G-d:
And when all other Dukes did bow,
This Duke did only nod.

Yet courteous, blithe, and debonair,
To Guife's Duke was he;
Was never fuch a loving Pair,
How could they difagree?

Oh, thus it was. He lov'd him dear,
And caft how to requite him :
And having no Friend left but this,
He deem'd it meet to fight him.

Forthwith he drench'd his defp'rate Quill;
And thus he did indite:

"This Eve at Whisk ourself will play,
"Sir Duke! be here to Night."

Ah no, ah no, the guilelefs Guife
Demurely did reply,

I cannot go, nor yet can ftand,

So fore the Gout have I.

The Duke in Wrath call'd for his Steeds,

And fiercely drove them on;

Lord! Lord! how rattl'd then thy Stones,
Oh Kingly Kensington!

All

All in a Trice he rufh'd on Guife,

Thruft out his Lady dear,

He tweak'd his Nofe, trod on his Toes,
And fmote him on the Ear.

Fate plays her old Dog Trick!

Up leap'd Duke John, and knock'd him down, And fo down fell Duke Nic.

Alas, oh Nic! Oh Nic. alas!
Right did thy Goflip call thee:

As who should say, alas the Day,
When John of Guife fhall maul thee.

For on thee did he clap his Chair,
And on that Chair did fit ;

And look'd, as if he ineant therein

To do what was not fit.

Up didft thou look, oh woeful Duke !

Thy Mouth yet durft not ope, Certes for fear, of finding there

A Td instead of Trope.

Lye there, thou Caitiff vile! quoth 'Guife, "No Sheet is here to fave thee:

"The Cafément it is fhut likewife;

Beneath my Feet I have thee.