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Bishop by his Neighbours hated

Has Cause to wish himself translated.
But why shou'd Hough defire Translation,
Lov'd and esteemid by all the Nation?

Yet if it be the old Man's Cafe,
I'll lay my Life, I know the Place?
Tis where God sent some that adore him,
And whither Enoch went before him.

STELLA's Birth-Day.



TELLA this Day is Thirty-four,

(We shan't dispute a Year or more:)
Howe'er, Stella, be not troubled,
Altho' thy Size and Years are doubled
Since firit I saw thee at Sixteen,
The brightest Virgin on the Green.
So little is thy Form declin'd;
Made up lo largely in thy Mind.

Oh, wou'd it please the Gods, to split
Thy Beauty, Size, and Years, and Wit,
No Age could furnish out a Pair
Of Nymphs so graceful, wife, and fair:
With half the Luftre of

your Eyes,
With half

Years, and Size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How shou'd I beg of gentle Fate,
(That either Nymph might have her Swain,)
To split my Worship too in twain.

Wit, your

STELL A's Birth-Day. 1720.


LL Travellers at first incline ·

Where-e'er they see the fairest Sign ;
And if they find the Chambers neat,
And like the Liquor and the Meat,
Will call again, and recommend
The Angel-Inn to ev'ry Friend :
What tho' the Painting grows decay'd,
The House will never lose its Trade :
Nay, tho' the treach'rous Tapster Thomas
Hangs a new Angel two Doors from us,
As fine as Dawbers Hands can make it,
In Hopes that Strangers may mistake it,
We think it both a Shame and Sin,
To quit the true old Angel-Inn.



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Now, this is Stella's Case in Fact,
An Angel's Face, a little crackd;
(Could Poets, or could Painters fix
How Angels look at Thirty-six :)
This drew us in at first, to find
In such a Form an Angel's Mind;
And ev'ry Virtue now supplies
The fainting Rays of Stella's Eyes.
See, at her Levee, crowding Swains,
Whom Stella freely entertains,
With Breeding, Humour, Wit, and Sense ;
And puts them but to small Expence ;
Their Mind so plentifully fills,
And makes such reasonable Bills,
So little gets for what she gives,
We really wonder how she lives !
And had her Stock been less, no doubt,
She must have long ago run out.

Then who can think we'll quit the Place,
When Doll hangs out a newer Face;
Or stop and light at Cloe's Head,
With Scraps and Leavings to be fed.

Then Cloe, still go on to prate
Of Thirty-six, and Thirty-eight;
Pursue your Trade of Scandal-picking, ,
Your Hints, that Stella is no Chicken.
Your Innuendo's, when


tell That Stella loves to talk with Fellows;



And let me warn you to believe
A Truth, for which your Soul should grieve;
That should you live to see the Day
When Stella's Locks muil all be grey,
When Age must print a furrow'd Trace,
On ev'ry Feature of her Face;

and all your senseless Tribe,
Could Art, or Time, or Nature bribe.
To make you look like Beauty's Queen,
And hold for ever at Fifteen ;
No Bloom of Youth can ever blind
The Cracks and Wrinkles of


Mind; ; All Men of Sense will pass your Door, And crowd to Stella's at Fourscore.

A great

STELLA's Birth-Day.

Bottle of Wine, long buried, being that Day dug up. 1722.


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ESOLV'D my annual Verse to pay,

By Duty bound, on Stella's Day ;
Furnish'd with Paper, Pens, and Ink,
I gravely fat me down to think :
I bit my Nails, and scratch'd my Head,
Bat found my Wit and Fancy fled;

Or, if with more than usual Pain,
A Thought came flowly from my Brain,
It cost me Lord knows how much Time
To shape it into Sense and Rhyme ;
And, what was yet a greater Curse,
Long-Thinking made my Fancy worse.'

FORSAKEN by th' inspiring Nine,
I waited at Apollo's Shrine ;
I told him what the World would say
If Stella were unsung to Day ;
How I shou'd hide


Head for Shame,
When both the Jacks and Robin came ;
How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer,
How Shy the Rogue would sneer,
And swear it does not always follow,
That Semel'n anno ridet Apollo.
I have assurd them twenty Times,
That Pbæbus help'd me in my Rhymes,
Phæbus infpir'd me from above,
And he and I were Hand and Glove.
But finding me fo dull and dry since,
They'll call it all poetic Licence.
And when I brag of Aid divine,
Think Eusden's Right as good as mine.

Nor do I ak for Stella's Sake ;
'Tis my own Credit lies at Stake.
And Stella will be sung, while I
Can only be a Stander by.


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