'Tis all by luck that things are carry'd— He'll fuffer for it, when he 's marry'd."

Thus Sal, with tears in either eye;
While victor Ned fat tittering by.

Thus I, long envying your fuccefs,
And bent to write and ftudy lefs,
Sate down, and fcribbled in a trice,
Just what
you fee-and you defpife.

You, who can frame a tuneful song,
And hum it as you ride along;
And, trotting on the king's high-way,
Snatch from the hedge a sprig of bay;
Accept this verfe, howe'er it flows,
From one that is friend in profe.

your

What is this wreath, fo green! fo fair!
Which many wish, and few must wear?
Which fome men's indolence can gain,
And fome men's vigils ne'er obtain ?
For what muft Sal or poet fue,
Ere they engage with Ned or you?
For luck in verfe, for luck at loo?

Ah no! 'tis genius gives you fame,
And Ned, through skill, secures the game.

N 3

}

The

The POET and the DUN.

"These are meffengers

1741.

"That feelingly perfuade me what I am." SHAKESP.

OMES a dun in the morning and raps at my door

COM

"I made bold to call-'tis a twelvemonth and more

I'm forry, believe me, to trouble you thus, Sir,-
But Job would be paid, Sir, had Job been a mercer.'
My friend have but patience" Ay thefe are your ways.”
I have got but one fhilling to ferve me two days-
But Sir-pr'ythee take it, and tell your attorney,
If I han't paid your bill, I have paid for your journey.
Well, now thou art gone, let me govern my paffion,
And calmly confider-confider? vexation!

What whore that muft paint, and muft put on falfe locks,
And counterfeit joy in the pangs of the pox!
What beggar's wife's nephew, now ftarv'd, and now beaten,
Who, wanting to eat, fears himself shall be eaten !
What porter, what turnfpit, can deem his cafe hard!
Or what dun boast of patience that thinks of a bard!
Well, I'll leave this poor trade, for no trade can be poorer,
Turn fhoe-boy, or courtier, or pimp, or procurer;
Get love, and refpect, and good living, aud pelf,
And dun fome poor dog of a poet myself.
One's credit, however, of courfe will grow better;
Here enters the footman, and brings me a letter.
"Dear Sir! I receiv'd your obliging epistle,
Your fame is fecure-bid the critics go whistle.

I read over with wonder the

poem you

fent me;

And I must speak your praises, no foul fhall prevent me.
The audience, believe me, cry'd out every line

Was ftrong, was affecting, was juft, was divine;
All pregnant, as gold is, with worth, weight, and beauty,
And to hide fuch a genius was-far from your duty.
I forefee that the court will be hugely delighted:
Sir Richard, for much a lefs genius, was knighted.
Adieu, my good friend, and for high life prepare ye;
I could fay much more, but you're modeft, I spare ye.”
Quite fir'd with the flattery, I call for my paper,

And waste that, and health, and my time, and my taper:
I scribble till morn, when, with wrath no small store,
Comes my old friend the mercer, and raps at my door.
"Ah! friend, 'tis but idle to make fuch a pother,
Fate, fate has ordain'd us, to plague one another."

T

Written at an Inn at HENLEY.

O thee, fair freedom! I retire

From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cott, or humble inn.

'Tis here with boundless power I reign;
And every health which I begin,
Converts dull port to bright champaigne ;
Such freedom crowns it, at an inn.

I fly from pomp, I fly from plate!
I fly from falehood's fpecious grin!
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chufe my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my fordid ore,

Which lacqueys elfe might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store;
It buys me freedom at an inn.
Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May figh to think he still has found
The warmeft welcome, at an inn.

A SIMILE.

WHAT village but has sometime seen

The clumfy fhape, the frightful mein,

Tremendous claws, and fhagged hair,
Of that grim brute yclept a bear?
He from his dam, the learn'd agree,
Receiv'd the curious form you fee;
Who, with her plaftic tongue alone,
Produc'd a vifage-like her own--
And thus they hint, in mystic fashion,
The powerful force of education
Perhaps yon crowd of fwains is viewing
E'en.now, the strange exploits of Bruin ;

*Of a fond matron's education.

Who

Who plays his antics, roars aloud;
The wonder of a gaping crowd!

So have I known an aukward lad,
Whose birth has made a parish glad,
Forbid, for fear of fenfe, to roam,
And taught by kind mamma at home;
Who gives him many a well-try'd rule,
With ways and means-to play the fool.
In fenfe the fame, in ftature higher,
He fhines, ere long, a rural squire,
Pours forth unwitty jokes, and swears,
And bawls, and drinks, but chiefly stares :
His tenants of fuperior sense

Carouze, and laugh, at his expence ;
And deem the paftime I 'm relating,
To be as pleasant, as bear-baiting.

The CHARMS of PRECEDENCE.

ATAL E.

"SIR, will you please to walk before?'*

-No, pray Sir-you are next the door. "Upon mine honour, I'll not stir-" Sir, I'm at home, confider, Sir"Excuse me, Sir, I'll not go first.” Well, if I must be rude, I mustBut yet I wish I could evade it"Tis ftrangely clownish, be perfuaded

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