Or if by Chance their Heads they shook,
When tow'rds the Church they turn'd a Look,
And mourn'd the fad Conditions,

Of poor St. Peter's* num'rous Dead,
That to their Graves were daily led,
Since fome Folks turn'd Physicians)

Pow'r

Whate'er the Caufe, fome angry
Refolv'd their daring Tops to low'r;

His murd'rous Mates affembled:

Oh! as the mangling Crew appears,
Arm'd with Ax, Hatchet, Saw, and Shears,
How ev'ry Dryad trembled.

Sore Caufe, for ne'er in Grove of Oak
Did spendthrift Heir's unpity'd Stroke,
Such Butchery exhibit;

Each Arm they maim'd, each Head they topt,
Nor ever left a Limb unlopt,

To make the Dogs a Gibbet.

So looks the poor difmember'd Tar,
Who late was Thunderbolt of War,

But fall'n in barb'rous Clutches;
From mangling Hofpital turn'd out,
Maim'd, halt, and naked, limps about,
To beg with Stumps and Crutches.

* St. Peter's Church, in the East, at Oxford.

Oh!

Oh! how the fad fucceeding Year,
Will each kind Stranger's pitying Tear,
Our wond'rous Change bemoan;

To fee each Tree once green and tall
A fhapeless Block become; and all

Our Hedge-rows turn'd to Stone.

But we, bleft Minions, all our Days
Shall bask in Phœbus' warmeft Rays,

No Shade can now controul us:

And fhould he chance to overheat us,
He by the fame good Hand can treat us,
With gentle Purge to cool us.

EPIGRAM,

ON AN

OXFORD

TOAST,

L

With fine Eyes, and a bad Voice.

UCETTA's Charms our Hearts surprise
At once with Love and Wonder;

She bears Jove's Lightning in her Eyes,

But in her Voice his Thunder.

A

To the Tune of To you fair Ladies now at Land.

Occafioned by a late Copy of Verses on Mifs BRICKENDEN's going to Newnham by Water; in which were the following Lines:

"The lofty Trees of Newnham's pendent Wood, "To meet her feem to rufh into the Flood;

Peep o'er their Fellows Heads to view the Fair "Whofe Name upon their wounded Barks they bear.

66

Reprefs your amorous Hafte; the lovely Maid

"In Perfon deigns to cheer the gloomy Shade."

WHILST

THILST you my charming Anna reign,
Of ev'ry Mufe the Theme;

Whose Presence decks with Flowers the Plain,

With Pride fwells Ifis' Stream;

May I prefume you'll lend an Ear,

To me, your humble Sonneteer?

But left, my Fair, you think me cold,

Cry pish, and call me rude;

Or think that I dare be fo bold,

My Paffion to intrude;

- Fa, la.

It is not for myself I fue,

"Tis for fome Trees that die for you.

Fa, la.

Since late on Ifis' filver Flood

Your fatal Form was feen,

Some lucklefs Oaks of Newnham Wood,
Till then full fresh and green,
No more their verdant Honours spread,
But figh for you, and hang their Head.

"Tis faid, that with a Look moft queer,
The Dotards peeping flood;
No Priest with more lascivious Leer,
Confeffing Nun e'er view'd;

Fa, la.

Nay that they ruf'd into the Flood.

Were e'er fuch am'rous Sticks of Wood?·

Fa, la.

How then can all your num'rous Band'
Of Lovers not despair;

When Hearts of Oak could not withstand

A Face fo wond'rous fair?

Since in your Breaft no Pity's found,

Tho' Lovers hang, and Trees are drown'd.-Fa, la.

In Pity to your Wit, restrain

The Lightning of your Eyes;

Since at each Glance upon the Plain,

Some bleeding Foreft dies:

If you proceed, my lovely Maid,

You'll ruin our poetic Shade.

Fa, la.

Well

Well might the Poet's am'rous Song

Stile you the publick Care;
For all our Country 'Squires e'er long,
Will dread the paffing Fair.

Think what will good Lord Harcourt do,
Now Newnham Woods are fir'd by you! - Fa, la.

On a BEAUTY with ILL QUALITIES.

Iftaken Nature here has join'd

ΜΗ

A beauteous Face and ugly Mind;

In vain the faultlefs Features ftrike,
When Soul and Body are unlike;
Pity thofe fnowy Breafts fhould hide
Deceit, and Avarice, and Pride!

So in rich Jars from China brought,
With glowing Colours gayly wrought,
Oftimes the fubtle Spider dwells,
With fecret Venom bloated swells,
Weaves all his fatal Nets within,
As unfufpected, as unfeen.