Then Cupid nam'd at every glass

A lady of the fky;

While Bacchus fwore he'd drink the lafs, And had it bumper-high.

Fat Comus toft his brimmers o'er,
And always got the most ;
Jocus took care to fill him more,
When-e'er he mifs'd the toast.

They call'd, and drank at every touch; He fill'd, and drank again;

And if the gods can take too much, 'Tis said, they did so then.

Gay Bacchus little Cupid ftung,
By reck'ning his deceits.

And Cupid mock'd his ftamm'ring tongue,
With all his stagg'ring gaits:

And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways,

And tales without a jest;

While Comus call'd his witty plays
But waggeries at the best.

Such talk foon fet them all at odds;
And, had I Homer's pen,
I'd fing ye, how they drunk like gods,
And how they fought, like men.

To part the fray, the Graces fly,

Who make 'em foon agree;
Nay, had the furies felves been nigh,
They still were three to three,

Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up,
And gave him back his bow;
But kept some darts to stir the cup,
Where fack and fugar flow.`

Jocus took Comus' rofy crown,
And gayly wore the prize,
And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down,
As thrice he ftrove to rise.

Then Cupid fought the myrtle grove,
Where Venus did recline,

And Venus close embracing Love,
They join'd to rail at wine.

And Comus loudly curfing wit,
Roll'd off to fome retreat,
Where boon companions gravely fit
In fat unweildy state.

Bacchus and Jocus, ftill behind,

For one fresh glass prepare;

They kifs, and are exceeding kind,
And vow to be fincere.

But part in time, whoever hear

This our inftructive song;

For tho' fuch friendships may be dear,
They can't continue long.

A

FAIRY TALE

IN THE

ANTIENT ENGLISH STYLE.

'N Britain's ifle and Arthur's days,

IN

When midnight Faeries daunc'd the maze,
Liv'd Edwin of the green,

Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,

Endow'd with courage, fenfe and truth,
Tho' badly fhap'd he been.

His mountain back mote well be faid
To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above:

Yet spite of all that nature did

To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dar'd to love,

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,

Cou'd ladies look within;

But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape cou'd win a heart,
He had a shape to win.

Edwin (if right I read my fong)
With flighted paffion pac'd along
All in the moony light:

'Twas near an old enchaunted court,
Where sportive Faeries made refort
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was crofs'd, 'Twas late, 'twas farr, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour-town; With weary steps he quits the fhades, Refolv'd the darkling dome he treads, And drops his limbs adown.

But fcant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,
A trembling rocks the ground:
And (well I ween to count aright)
At once an hundred tapers light

On all the walls around.

Now founding tongues affail his ear,
Now founding feet approachen near,

And now the founds encrease,
And from the corner where he lay
He fees a train profusely gay

Come pranckling o'er the place.

But (trust me Gentles!) never yet
Was dight a mafquing half so neat,
Or half fo rich before;

The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The fea the pearl, the sky the plumes,
The town its filken store.

Now whilst he gaz'd, a Gallant dreft
In flaunting robes above the reft,
With awfull accent cry'd;

What Mortall of a wretched mind,
Whofe fighs infect the balmy wind,
Has here prefum'd to hide?

At this the Swain, whose vent'rous foul No fears of magic art controul, Advanc'd in open fight;

Nor have I caufe of dreed, he said, Who view (by no presumption led) Your revels of the night.