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For if a Lady comes to Town to fee
A Lady; Tales are pretty Company.
I was at Madims t'other Day, and who
Do you think came by, but Bellamira Wnow!
Tawdry at Fifty, and a perfect Blowze :

Lord! had you feen her Drefs, and large white Fruze,
You wou'd have split your Sides with Laughing Cuz

No more of this. Infirmities will be

In Age, in Youth, in Rags and Quality.
Affected Looks, foft Smiles, and winning Air,
And wrinkled Age attempting to be fair
Are common Follies: but the greatest still
Is unreform'd of ever speaking ill.


Do not ill Actions merit publick Shame?


But you talk not to mend, but to defame.


Would you have all without Diftinction pafs?

Virtue Good-natur'd is, and ever was,
Severe unto it felf alone, and fe
Leffens the Credit of her Worth to me,
Whofe Fame wants the fupport of others Infamy.
Sufpect the Woman, when no Fear's upon her,
That starts, and claps her Hand upon her Honour
Who in all Companies I'm chaffe cries out,
Till what we never doubted of, we doubt.
Who for nice Reafons blafts another's Name,
The moft cenforious are the most to blame.
Guilt clears the Sight, with a difcerning Eye
Naked, we others Nakednefs defcry.


But furely I may talk of what I hear :

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To make the Lewdnefs of this Town appear,
And how unjuft their groundless Cenfures are,
You know what has been faid of Betty Feaft,
The common Scandal, and the common Jeft;
And yet there's not a Perfon to be found
In Town Discreeter,or more Grave, or Sound.

I hope you will not Coufin her defend.


'Tis hard; yet any Thing in hopes to mend. Laloefa.

But I've my Nems from Mr. Such-a-one,


Ne're truft a Man that never dines at Home,
For fuch Invent to make an equal Treat;
They feed you with Difcourfe, you them with Meat.

Must then all pleafant Converfation fail,
And dull Good-nature above Wit prevail?

Excellent Proof of Wit indeed! to rail.
Week Malice tinctured with little Senfe,.
And a gay, naufeous, chearful Confidence
Make up the wretched Compound: I defpife
Injurious Nonfenfe founded upon Lyes.

And this when your engag'd, your felves you own,
A Hellifh Lye! but what won't this damn'd Town.
You with much Truth, and much Concern exclaim,
And yet at once you practice what you blame.


At this Rate, half the Town would filent fit.


Can you want Compafs for your boasted Wit?
When dying Reputations every where

Lye bafely wounded, and demand Repair?


Haft when the Breath of a good Name is gone,
In vain you seek to find a Cure. There's none.
But now my Bufinefs calls me Home, adieu.

Good Night. There's no one fond of fuch as you.


Credulity, or t'e Inconftancy of Mankind.

FOR the dull World moft Honour pay to thofe Who on their Understanding moft impofe. Firft Man creates, and then he fears the Elf, Thus others cheat him not, but he himself; He loaths the Subftance, and he loves the fhow, You'll ne'er convince a Fool, Himfelf is fo: He hates Realities, and hugs the Cheat, And still the only Pleafure's the Deceit. So Meteors flatter with a dazling Dye, Which no Exiftence has but in the Eye. At diftance Profpects pleafe us, but when near, We find but defart Rocks, and fleeting Air. From Stratagem to Stratagem we run, And he knows moft who lateft is undone. 1 Mankind one Day ferene and free appear, The next, they're cloudy, fullen, and fevere: New Paffions, new Opinions still excite,

And what they like at Noon, they leave at Night.
They gain with Labour, what they quit with Eafe,
And Health, for want of Change, becomes Difeafe.
Religion's bright Authority they dare,

And yet are Slaves to fuperftitious Fear.
They Counsel others, but themfelves deceive,
And tho' they're.cozen'd ftill, they ftill believe


The Infirmary, or Difeafes.

NIGH the Recefs of Chaos and dull Night,
Where Death maintains his dread tyrannick fway
In the clofe Covert of a Cyprefs Grove,
Where Goblins frisk, and airy Spectres rove,
Yawns a dark Cave, moft formidably wide;
And there the Monarch's Triumphs are defcry'd.
Confus'd, and wildly huddl'd to the Eye,
The Beggar's Pouch, and Prince's Purple lye.
Dim Lamps with fickly Rays fcarce feem to glow,
Sighs heave in mournful Moans, and Tears o'erflow.
Old mouldring Urns, pale Fear, and dark Diftrefs,
Make up the frightful Horror o'the Place.
Within its dreadful Jaws thofe Furies wait,
Which execute the harfh Decrees of Fate.
*Febris is firft. The Hag relentless Hears,
The Virgin's Sighs, and fees the Infant's Tears.
In her parch'd Eye-balls fiery Meteors reign;
And reftlefs Ferments revel in each Vein.
Then † Hydrops next appears amongst the throng,
Bloated, and big, fhe flowly fails along.
But like a Mifer, in excefs fhe's poor;
And pines for Thirst amidst her wat'ry Store.
Now loathfom | Lepra, that offenfive Spright,
With foul Eruptions ftain'd, offends the Sight.
Still deaf to Beauty's foft perfuading Pow'r,
Nor can bright Hebe's Charms her Bloom fecure.
Whilft meager ‡ Phthifts gives a filent blow;
Her Stroaks are fure; but her advances flow.

* Feaver, † Droply, || Leprofy, ‡ Consumption.


No loud Alarms, nor fierce Affaults are fhown:
She ftarves the Fortress first; then takes the Town.
Behind ftood Crouds of much inferior Name,
Too num'rous to repeat, too foul to Name;
The Vaffals of their Monarch's Tyranny:
Who, at his Nod, on fatal Errands fly.

Dr. Garthe


Colonel Codrington to Sir Samuel Garth, on his Difpenfary.

ASK me not, Friend, what I approve or blame,
Perhaps I know not why I like, or danın;

I can be pleas'd; and I dare own I am.
I read thee over with a Lover's Eye,
Thou haft no Faults, or I no Faults can fpy;
Thou art all Beauty, or all Blindness I.
Criticks, and aged Beaux of Fancy chafte;
Who ne'er had Fire, or elfe whofe Fire is paft,
Muft judge by Rules what they want force to taste.
I wou'd a Poet, like a Mitrefs, try,

Not by her Hair, her Hand, her Nofe, her Eye;}

But by fome Nameless Pow'r to give me Joy, &c.


Of Love.

ANGER in hafty Words or Blows,

It felf Difcharges on our Foes,

And forrow too finds fome Relief

In Tears, which wait upon our Grief:


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