My treafure now they feize, the golden fpoil
They bury deep beneath the grass-grown foil,
Far in the common field. Be bold, arise,
My steps fhall lead thee to the fecret prize;
There dig and find; let that thy care reward :...
Call loud on juftice, bid her not retard
To punish murder; lay my ghoft at rest:
So fhall with peace fecure thy nights be bleft;
And, when beneath these boards my bones are found,
Decent inter them in fome facred ground.

Here ceas'd the ghost. The stranger springs from bed,
And boldly follows where the phantom led :
The half-worn ftony stairs they now defcend,
Where paffages obfcure their arches bend.

Silent they walk; and now through groves they pass,
Now through wet meads their steps imprint the grafs.
At length amidst a fpacious field they came :
There ftops the fpectre, and afcends in flame.
Amaz'd he stood, no bush or brier was found,
To teach his morning search to find the ground.
What could he do? the night was hideous dark,
Fear fhook his joints, and nature dropt the mark: .
With that he starting wak’d, and rais'd his head,
But found the golden mark was left in bed.

What is the statesman's vast ambitious scheme,
But a short vision and a golden dream ?
Power, wealth, and title, elevate his hope;
He wakes: but, for a garter, finds a rope.

THE

THE

M A

D-D O G.

A

TALE.

A

PRUDE, at morn and evening prayer,
Had worn her velvet-cushion bare;

Upward she taught her eyes to roll,
As if the watch'd her foaring foul;
And, when devotion warm'd the croud,
None fung, or smote their breast fo loud:
Pale Penitence had mark'd her face
With all the meagre figns of grace.
Her mafs-book was compleatly lin'd
With painted Saints of various kind:
But, when in every page fhe view'd
Fine Ladies who the flesh fubdu'd,
As quick her beads the counted o'er,
She cry'd-Such wonders are no more!
She chose not to delay confeffion,
To bear at once a year's tranfgreffion;
But every week set all things even,
And balanc'd her accounts with Heaven.
Behold her now in humble guise,
Upon her knees with down-caft eyes

C 2

Before

Before the Prieft: fhe thus begins,
And, fobbing, blubbers-forth her fins:
"Who could that tempting man resist;

My virtue languish'd, as he kiss'd;
"I ftrove - till I could ftrive no longer :
"How can the weak fubdue the ftronger ¿

The Father afk'd her where and when?
How many? and what fort of men?
By what degrees her blood was heated?
How oft' the frailty was repeated?
Thus have I feen a pregnant wench
All flush'd with guilt before the bench :
The Judges (wak'd by wanton thought)
Dive to the bottom of her fault;
They leer, they fimper at her fhame,
And make her call all things by name.
And now to fentence he proceeds,
Prefcribes how oft' to tell her beads;
Shews her what Saints could do her good,
Doubles her fafts, to cool her blood.

Eas'd of her fins, and light as air,
Away fhe trips, perhaps to prayer.

"Twas no fuch thing. Why then this hafte ?
The clock has ftruck, the hour is past;
And, on the spur of inclination,
She fcorn'd to bilk her affignation.

Whate'er fhe did, next week the came,

And piously confeft the fame.

The

The Prieft, who female frailties pity'd,
Firft chid her, then her fins remitted.

But did fhe now her crime bemoan
In penitential fheets alone?

And was no bold, no beaftly fellow
The nightly partner of her pillow?
No, none for next time in the grove
A bank was confcious of her love.
Confeffion-day was come about,
And now again it all muft out.

She feems to wipe her twinkling eyes:
"What now, my child?" the Father cries.
"Again!" fays fhe.-With threatening looks,
He thus the proftrate dame rebukes:

"Madam, I grant there 's fomething in it, "That virtue has th' unguarded minute; "But pray now tell me what are whores, "But women of unguarded hours? "Then you must sure have loft all shame.. "What! every day, and ftill the fame, "And no fault elfe! 'tis ftrange to find "A woman to one fin confin'd! "Pride is this day her darling paffion, "The next day Slander is in fashion; Gaming fucceeds; if Fortune croffes, "Then Virtue's mortgag'd for her losses ;; By use her favourite vice fhe loaths, "And loves new follies like new cloaths:

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But you, beyond all thought unchafte, "Have all fin center'd near your waist!

"Whence is this appetite fo ftrong?

Say, Madam, did your mother long? "Or is it luxury and high diet

“That won't let virtue fleep in quiet ?”
She tells him now, with meekeft voice,
That she had never err'd by choice ;
Nor was there known a virgin chafter,
Till ruin'd by a sad disaster.

That she a favourite lap-dog had,
Which (as fhe ftroak'd and kiss'd) grew mad;
And on her lip a wound indenting,

First fet her youthful blood fermenting.

The Priest reply'd, with zealous fury, "You should have fought the means to cure ye. Doctors by various ways, we find, "Treat these diftempers of the mind. "Let gaudy ribbands be deny'd "To her who raves with scornful pride; "And, if religion crack her notions, "Lock-up her volumes of devotions; But, if for man her rage prevail, "Bar her the fight of creatures male. "Or elfe, to cure fuch venom❜d bites, "And fet the fhatter'd thoughts arights; "They fend you to the ocean's fhore, "And plunge the patient o'er and o'er.” The dame reply'd, "Alas! in vain

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My kindred forc'd me to the main ;
Naked, and in the face of day:

"Look not, ye fishermen, this way!

"What