Lady B----- B---- finding in the Author's Room fome Verfes unfinifhed, underwrit a Stanza of her own, with Raillery upon him, which gave Occafion to this Ballad.

To the Tune of, The Cutpurfe.

I.

NCE on a Time, as old Stories rehearse,

ONG

A Friar would needs fhew his Talent in Latin;

But was forely put to't in the midst of a Verfe, Because he could find no Word to come pat in; Then at the Place

He left a void Space,

And fo went to Bed in a desperate Cafe, When behold the next Morning, a wonderful Riddle, He found it was ftrangely fill'd up in the Middle.

Chorus. Let cenfuring Criticks, then, think what they lift on't,

Who would not write Verfes with fuch

an Afiftant?

II. THIS

II.

THIS put me the Friar into an Amazement,

For he wifely confider'd it must be a Sprite,

That came thro' the Key-Hole, or in at the Cazement, And it needs must be one that could both Read and Write:

Yet he did not know

If it were Friend or Foe,

Or whether it came from above or below, Hewe'er it was civil, in Angel or Elf,

For he ne'er could have fill'd it fo well of himself.

Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.

III.

EVEN fo Master Doctor had puzzled his Brains
In making a Ballad, but was at a Stand:

He had mix'd little Wit with a great deal of Pains,
When he found a new Help from invisible Hand.
Then good Dr. S

Pay Thanks for the Gift,

FOR you freely must own you were at a dead Lift: And tho' fome malicious young Spirit did do't,

You

may know by the Hand it had no Cloven Foot.

Cho. Let cenfuring, &c.

1

V's

[75]

V's HOUSE.

Built from the

Ruins of Whitehall that was burnt.

N Times of Old, when Time was Young,

IN

And Poets their own Verfes fung,

A Verfe could draw a Stone or Beam,
That now would over-load a Team;
Lead 'em a Dance of many a Mile,
Then rear 'em to a goodly Pile.
Each Number had its diff'rent Pow'r;
Heroick Strains could will a Tow'r ;
Sonnets, or Elegies to Chloris,

Might raise a Houfe about two Stories ;
A Lyrick Ode wou'd flate; a Catch
Wou'd tile, an Epigram wou'd thatch.

BUT to their own, or Landlord's Coft,
Now Poets feel this Art is loft;
Not one of all our tuneful Throng
Can raife a Lodging for a Song.
For Jove confider'd well the Cafe,
Obferv'd they grew a num'rous Race,
And fhou'd they Build as faft as Write,
'Twould ruin Undertakers quite.
This Evil therefore to prevent,
He wifely chang'd their Element:

On

On Earth the God of Wealth was made
Sole Patron of the Building Trade,
Leaving the Wits the fpecious Air
With Licence to build Castles There :
And 'tis conceiv'd their old Pretence
To lodge in Garrets, comes from thence.
PREMISING thus in modern Way,
The better Half we have to fay;
Sing, Mufe, the Houfe of Poet V
In higher Strains than we began.
V

(for 'tis fit the Reader know it,)

Is both a Herald and a Poet;
No wonder then if nicely skill'd
In both Capacities to build.
As Herald, he can in a Day,
Repair a Houfe gone to Decay;
Or by Atchievement, Arms, Device,
Erect a new one in a Trice,

And as a Poet he has Skill
To build in Speculation ftill.

Great Jove! he cry'd, the Art restore,
To build by Verse as heretofore;
And make my Muse the Architect;
What Palaces fhall we erect!

No longer fhall forfaken Thames
Lament his old Whitehall in Flames;

A Pile fhall from its Ashes rife,
Fit to invade, or prop the Skies.

JOVE fmil'd, and, like a gentle God, Confenting with the ufual Nod,

Told

he knew his Talent best,
And left the Choice to his own Breast.
So V refolv'd to write a Farce;
But well perceiving Wit was fcarce,
With Cunning that Defect fupplies;
Takes a French Play as lawful Prize;
Steals thence his Plot, and ev'ry Joke,
Not once fufpecting Fave wou'd Smoke;
And (like a Wag) fat down to write,
'Wou'd whisper to himself, a Bite.
Then from the motly, mingled Style
Proceeded to erect his Pile.

So Men of old, to gain Renown, did
Build Babel with their Tongues confounded.
Jove faw the Cheat, but thought it beft
To turn the Matter to a Jeft;

Down from Olympus' Top he flides,
Laughing as if he'd burft his Sides;

Ay, thought the God, are thefe your Tricks?
Why then old Plays deferve old Bricks ;
And fince you're fparing of your Stuff,
Your Building fhall be finall enough.
He fpake, and grudging lent his Aid;
Th' experienc'd Bricks that knew their Trade,
(As being Bricks at fecond Hand,)

Now move, and now in Order stand.

THE

!