Shov'd in the croud, he ftood amaz'd to fee
Lords who to Baal bent the supple knee,
And doctors fage he could not but admire,
Who ftoop'd profoundly low—to rife the higher.
So much of ermine, lace, beaus, bishops, young and
'Twas like a cloud of fable edg'd with gold: jold,
By turns his Grace the fervile train addreft,
Pleas'd with a fmile, or in a whifper bleft.
Sick of the scene, the vicar fought the door,
Determin'd never to fee London more;
But, as his friend had pleas'd the hour to fix,
First went to dinner to my Lord's at fix;·
He knock'd- was ufher'd to the room of ftate,
(My Lord abroad) and dinner ferv'd in plate;
Which, tho' it seem'd but common soup and hash,
Was really callipee and callipafh,

(The relicks of the gaudy day before) What Indians eat, and Englishmen adore ;

With bright champaign the courtier crown'd the Sooth'd his own pride, and gratified his gueft: [feaft, All this confpir'd our Stoic to controul, And warpt the fteady purpose of his foulWhen lo! the cry of fire creates amaze "The next houfe, Lady Riot's, in a blaze”. Aghaft the vicar stood, in wild affright, Then briefly thus addrefs'd the priest polite : "Adieu, my friend. ftate I envy not

-your

"Beef, liberty, and fafety be my lot."

F.

HORACE, EPIST. V. BOOK I. IMITATED.

TO JOHN HH, ESQ.

F you, dear fir, will deign to pafs a day

In the fair vale of Orpington and Cray,

And live for once as humble vicars do;
On Thursday let me fee you here by two.
Expect no niceties my plates to foul,
But Banfted mutton, and a barn-door fowl.
My friends with generous liquors I regale,
Good port, old hock, or, if they like it, ale;
But if of richer wine you chufe a quart,

Why bring, and drink it here—with all my heart.
Plain is my furniture, as is my treat,

For 'tis my best ambition, To be neat.
Leave then all fordid views, and hopes of gain,
To mortals miserable, mad, or vain;

Put the last polish to th' hiftoric page,
And cease awhile to moralize the age.

By your sweet converfe cheer'd, the live-long day
Will pass unnotic'd, like the ftream, away.
Why should kind Providence abundance give,
If we, like niggards, can't afford to live?
The wretched mifer, poor 'midft heaps of pelf,
To cram his heir, most madly starves himself-
So will not I-give me good wine and ease,
And let all mifers call me fool that please.

What cannot wine?. it

opens

all the foul;

Faint Hope grows brilliant o'er the sparkling bowl:
Wine's generous fpirit makes the coward brave,
Gives eafe to kings, and freedom to the slave:
Bemus'd in wine the Bard his duns forgets,
And drinks ferene oblivion to his debts:
Wine drives all cares, and anguifh from the heart,
And dubs us Connoiffeurs of every art:
Whom does not wine with eloquence inspire?
The boufy beggar struts into a fquire.

This you

well know to me belongs to mind
That neatness with frugality be join'd;
That no intruding Blab, with itching ears,
Darken my doors, who tells whate'er he hears;
Two D-s, each a poet, with me dine,

Your friends, and decent C—n, a divine:
There's room for more- -fo to complete the band,
Your wife will bring fair * Innocence in hand.
Should Cave want copy, let the teazer wait,
While you steal fecret thro' the garden gate.

* The name of a very agreeable young lady.

F.

SALT

SALT

W ATER.

BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE NAVY.

Ο

!fure the greedy wretch is pent

In endless chains of deep damnation,

Who first to plague us did invent
The curfed art of navigation.

When to the wind we fpread our fails,
Upon the pathlefs ocean ftrolling,
Cramm'd in a tub, ftuck full of nails,
Like Regulus we die with rolling.

A plague upon the nauseous brine,
What benefit receive we from it?
Unless with rank disease we pine,

And use it for a purge or vomit.

While Eve in innocence did dwell,
Her water in fresh rills defcended,

But foon as she to folly fell,

The violet ftream with brine was blended.

The race of men in antient times

Were bent on rapine, and on flaughter, When heaven, incenfed at their crimes, Decreed their deaths, and fent falt water. VOL. X.

K

And

And when thofe heavy judgments paft
On Ægypt, for her plagues renowned,
Salt water was referv'd the laft,

And Pharoah and his hoft were drowned.

When we who now are turn'd to fish,
And with the fcurvy grown all fcaly,
And made for fhark a curious dish,
While over-board we're tumbled daily:

May you who on the land abide

Our element to mourn us borrow, Let fall of tears a briny tide,

Salt water is the mark of forrow.

CON