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“ Or, do the Prints and Papers lie?
Faith, Sir, you know as much as I.
“ Ah Doctor, how you love to jest ?
" 'Tis now no Secret I protest
'Tis one to me." Then tell us, pray,
“ When are the Troops to have their Pay ?
And, tho' I solemnly declare
I know no more than my Lord Mayor,
They stand amaz’d, and think me grown
The closest Mortal ever known.
Thus in a Sea of Folly tofs’d,
My choicest Hours of Life are loft ;
Yet always wifhing to retreat,
Oh, could I see my Country Seat !
There leaning near a gentle Brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient Book ;
And there in sweet Oblivion drown
Those Cares that haunt the Court and Town.
101. Jurantem me scire nihil, mirantur, ut unum
Scilicet egregii mortalem, altique filenti. 108. O Rus, quando ego te aspiciam, quandoque licebit Nunc veterum libris, nunc
fomno, & inertibus boris Ducere follicitæ jucunda oblivia vita?
Happy Life of a Country Parson.
* The Happy Life of a COUNTRY
Parson. In Imitation of Martial.
ARSON, these Things in thy possessing
A Wife that makes Conserves ; a Steed
That carries double when there's Need :
O&ober, Store, and best Virginia,
Tythe-Pig, and mortuary Guinea :
Gazettes fent gratis down, and frank’d, i
For which thy Patron's weekly thank'd :
A large Concordance, (bound long lince)
Sermons to Charles the First, when Prince;
A Chronicle of ancient standing;
A Cbryfoftom to smooth thy Band in :
The Polyglott--three Parts, --my Text,
Hocobeit, - likewise now to my next,'
Lo here the Septuagint, — and Paul,
To sum tbe wbole, the Clofe of all.
He that has these, may pass his Life,
Drink with the 'Squire, and kiss his Wife;
On Sundays preach, and eat his Fill;
And fast on Fridays if he will ;
Toast Church and Queen, explain the News,
Talk with Church-Wardens about Pews,
Pray heartily for some new Gift,
And Thake his Head at Doctor S
* A Tale of CHAUCER, lately
found in an Old Manuscript.
TOMEN, tho' nat sans Leacherie,
Ne swinken but with Secrecie :
This in our Tale is plain y-fond,
Of Clerk that wonneth in Irelond:
Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
To filch the gray Ducke fro the Lake.
Right then, there passen by the Way,
His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway :
Ducke in his Trowzes hath he hent,
Not to be spied of Ladies gent.
« But ho! our Nephew, (crieth one,
“ Ho! quoth another Couzen yoba;
And stoppen, and lough, and callen out,
This sely Clerk full low doth lout.
They asken that, and talken this,
“ Lo here is Coz. and here is Miss.
But, as he glozeth with Speeches foote,
The Ducke sore ticklech his Erse Roote :
Fore-piece and Buttons all to brest,
Forth thrust a white Neck and red Creft.
Te-be cry'd Ladies, Clerke nought (pake :
Miss stard : and gray Ducke crieth Quaake.
“ O Moder, Moder, (quoth the Daughter)
“ Be thilke fame Thing the Maids longen a'ter ?
“ Bette is to pyne on Coals and Chalke,
“ Than trust on Mon, whose Yerde can talke.
* Tbe ALLEY. An Imitation of
N ev'ry Town, where Thamis rolls his Tide,
Where ever and anon, the Stream is ey'd,
And many a Boat foft fliding to and fro.
There oft' are heard the Notes of Infant Woe, The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and fhriller Squall:
How can ye, Mothers, vex your Children so ? Some play, some eat, fome cack againīt the Wall; And as they crouchien low, for Bread and Butter call.
And on the broken Pavement, here and there,
Doth many a stinking Sprat and Herring lie';
A Brandy and Tobacco Shop is near,
And Hens, and Dogs, and Hogs, are feeding by :
And here a Sailor's Jacket hangs to dry ; At ev'ry Door are Sun-burnt Matrons seen,
Mending old Nets to catch the scaly Fry; Now singing shrill, and scolding oft between, Scolds answer foul-mouth'd Scolds ; bad Neigh
bourhood I ween.
The snappich Cur, (the Passengers annoy)
Close at my Heel with yelping Treble flies ; The whimp’ring Girl, and hoarser-sercaming Boy,
Join to the yelping Treble, shrilling Cries;
The scolding Quean to louder Notes doth rise, And her full Pipes those shrilling Cries confound;
To her full Pipes the grunting Hog replies ; The grunting Hogs alarm the Neighbours round, And Curs, Girls, Boys, and Scolds, in the deep
Bale are drown'd.
Hard by a Sty, beneath a Roof of Thrach.
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her carly Days