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,
Main'd, halt, and naked, limps about,

To beg with Stumps and Crutches.

Oh how the fad fucceeding Year,
Will each kind Stranger's pitying Tear,

Our wondrous 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 bafk in Phœbus' warmest 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,,

EPIGRAM,

ΟΝ ΑΝ

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

BAL LLAD,

To the Tune of To you fair Ladies now at Land. Occafioned by a late Copy of Verses on Mifs BRICKENDÈN'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 rush into the Flood;

66

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

Reprefs your amorous Haste; the lovely Maid "In Perfon deigns to cheer the gloomy Shade."

W

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

Whofe

Whofe Prefence decks with Flowers the Plain,
With pride fwells Ifis' Stream;

May I prefume you'll lend an Ear,

To me, your humble Sonneteer?—Fa, la,

you

But left, my Fair, think me cold,
Cry pifh, and call me rude;

Or think that I dare be fo bold,

My Paffion to intrude

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 fpread,
Butfigh for you, and hang their Head.

'Tis faid, that with a Look most queer,
The Dotards peeping stood;

No Prieft with more lafcivious Leer,

Confeffing Nun e'er view'd;

Nay that they rufb'd into the Flood:

-Fa, la.

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

Since in your Breaft no Pity's found,

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

In Pity to your Wit, reftrain

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.-

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.

-Fa, la:

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

Μ Ma

A beauteous face and ugly Mind

In vain the faultless Features strike,
When Soul and Body are unlike;
Pity those snowy breasts should hide
Deceit, and avarice, and Pride!

So

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

A SONG of SIMILIES.

By the Reverend Dr. BACON

"VE THOUGHT; the fair Clariffa cries:

I'VE

What is it like, Sir ?-Like your Eyes.

'Tis like a Chair-'Tis like a Key—

'Tis like a Purge-'Tis like a Flea—

Tis like a Beggar-like the Sun

"Tis like the Dutch-'Tis like the Moon"Tis like a Kilderkin of Ale

Tis like a Doctor-like a Whale,

Why are my Eyes, Sir, like a SwORD?
For that's the Thought upon my Word.-
Ah! Witness ev'ry Pang I feel;
The Deaths they give their Likeness tell.

A Sword