Then Bounce ('tis all that Bounce can crave) Shall wag her Tail within the Grave.

* On the Countess of B cutting Paper.

Pallas grew vap'rifh once and odd,

She would not do the leaft right thing,

Either for Goddess or for God,

Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor fing.

Jove frown'd, and "Ufe (he cry'd), thofe Eyes
"So fkilful, and thofe Hands fo taper;
"Do fomething exquifite, and wife-
She bow'd, obey'd him and cut Paper.

This vexing him who gave her Birth,
Thought by all Heav'n a burning Shame,
What does the next, but bids on Earth
Her B--n do just the fame.

Pallas you give yourself strange Airs;
But fure you'll find it hard to spoil
The Senfe and Tafte of one that bears
The Name of Savil and of Boyle.

Alas! one bad Example fhown,
How quickly all the Sex purfue!
See Madam! fee, the Arts o'erthrown,
Between John Overton and You.

* On a certain Lady at Court.

Know the thing that's most uncommon;
(Envy be filent, and attend!)

I know a reasonable Woman,

Handsome and witty, yet a Friend.

Not warp'd by Paffion, aw'd by Rumour,
Not grave thro' Pride, or gay, thro' Folly,
An equal Mixture of good Humour,
And fenfible foft Melancholy.

Has the no Faults then (Envy fays) Sir?"
Yes fhe has, one,
I must aver:
When all the World confpires to praise her.
The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.

To

To Doctor DIY on the Libels writ against him.

A$

S fome raw Youth in Country bred,
To Arms by Thirst of Honour led,
When at a Skirmish firft he hears
The Bullets whistling round his Ears,
Will duck his Head afide, will start,
And feel a trembling at his Heart:
Till, 'fcaping oft' without a Wound
Leffens the Terror of the Sound:
Fly Bullets now as thick as Hops,
He runs into a Cannon's Chops.
An Author thus who pants for Fame
Begins the World with Fear and Shame,
When first in Print, you see him dread
Each Pot-gun level'd at his Head:
The Lead yon Critick's Quill contains,
Is deftin'd to beat out his Brains.
As if he heard loud Thunders roll,
Cries, Lord have Mercy on his Soul,
Concluding, that another Shot
Will strike him dead upon the Spot.

But, when with squibbing, flashing, popping,

He cannot fee one Creature dropping:

That, miffing Fire, or miffing Aim,
His Life is fafe, I mean his.Fame,
The Danger past, takes Heart of Grace,
And looks a Critick in the Face.

Though Splendor gives the fairest Mark
To poifon'd Arrows from the Dark,
Yet, in your felf when smooth and round,
They glance afide without a Wound.

'Tis faid, the Gods try'd all their Art,
How, Pain they might from Pleasure part;
But little could their Strength avail,
Both still are faft'ned by the Tail.
Thus, Fame and Cenfure with a Tether
By Fate are always link'd together.

Why will you aim to be preferr'd,
In Wit before the common Herd?
And yet, grow mortify'd and vext,
To pay the Penalty annext.

'Tis Eminence makés Envy rife,
As faireft Fruits attract the Flyes.
Shou'd ftupid Libels grieve your Mind,
You foon a Remedy may find:

In feipfo totus feres átque rotundus.

Lie

Lie down obfcure like other Folks
Below the Lafh of Snarler's Jokes.
Their Faction is five hundred odds,
For, ev'ry Coxcomb lends them Rods:
And fneers as learnedly as they,

Like Females o'er their Morning Tea.

You fay, the Muse will not contain, And write you must, or break a Vein: Then, if find the Terms too hard,

you

No longer my Advice regard":

But raise your Fancy on the Wing;
The Irif Senate's Praises fing:

How jealous of the Nation's Freedom,

And, for Corruptions how they weed 'em ;
How each the Publick Good purfues,

How far their Hearts from private Views;
Make all true Patriots up to Shoe-boys
Huzza their Brethren at the Blue-boys.
And dread no more the Rage of Grub;
You then may foon be of the Club.

How oft' am I for Rhime to feek?
To dress a Thought, I toyl a Week:
And then, how thankful to the Town,
If all my Pains will earn a Crown.
Whilft, ev'ry Critick can devour
My Work and me in half an Hour.

Would