Out-do whatever Homer sweetly sung
Of Nestor's counsels, or Ulysses' tongue.

Oh! all ye nymphs, whilst time and youth allow,
Prepare the rose and li.y for 'his brow.
Much he has done, but still has more in view;
To Anna's interest and his country true.
More I could prophesy; but must refrain:
Such truths would make another mortal vain!

You know the captives she has made,
The torment of her chain:
Let her, let her be once betray'd,
Or rack her with disdain!
See tears flow from her piercing eyes,
She bends her knee divine;

Her tears, for Damon's sake, despise;
Let her kneel still, for mine.
Pursue thy conquest, charming youth,
Her haughty beauty vex,

Till trembling virgins learn this truth-
Men can revenge their sex!

TO THE

DUKE OF BEAUFORT1.

A PARAPHRASE ON NAUDÆUS'S ADDRESS TO
CARDINAL DE BAGNI.

THE time will come (if Fate shall please to give
This feeble thread of mine more space to live)
When I shall you and all your acts rehearse,
In a much loftier and more fluent verse;
To Ganges' banks, and China farther east,
To Carolina, and the distant west,
Your name shall fly, and every where be blest;
Through Spain and tracts of Lybian sands shall go
To Russian limits, and to Zembla's snow.
Then shall my eager Muse expand her wing,
Your love of justice and your goodness sing;
Your greatness, equal to the state you hold;
In counsel wise, in execution bold;

How there appears, in all that you dispense,
Beauty, good-nature, and the strength of sense.
These let the world admire.-From you a smile
Is more than a reward of all my toil.

MISCELLANY POEMS.

SONG.

You say you love; repeat again,
Repeat th' amazing sound,
Repeat the ease of all my pain,
The cure of every wound.
What you to thousands have denied,
To me you freely give;
Whilst I in humble silence died,
Your mercy bids me live.

So upon Latmos' top each night,
Endymion sighing lay;

Gaz'd on the Moon's transcendent light,
Despair'd, and durst not pray.
But divine Cynthia saw his grief,
Th' effect of conquering charms:
Unask'd the goddess brings relief,
And falls into his arms.

THE LAST BILLET.

SEPTEMBER and November now were past,
When men in bonfires did their firing waste:
Yet still my monumental log did last :
To begging boys it was not made a prey
On the king's birth or coronation day.
Why with those oaks, under whose sacred shade
Charles was preserv'd, should any fire be made?
At last a frost, a dismal frost, there came,
Like that which made a market upon Thame:
Unruly company would then have made
Fire with this log, whilst thus its owner pray'd:
"Thou that art worship'd in Dodona's grove,
From all thy sacred trees fierce flames remove:
Preserve this groaning branch, O hear my prayer,
Spare me this one, this one poor billet spare;
That, having many fires and flames withstood,
Its ancient testimonial may last good,
In future times to prove, I once had wood!"

TO LAURA.

IN IMITATION OF PETRARCH.

AT sight of murder'd Pompey's head
Cæsar forgets his sex and state,

And, whilst his generous tears are shed,
Wishes he had at least a milder fate.

At Absalom's untimely fall,

David with grief his conquest views: Nay, weeps for unrelenting Saul,

And in soft verse the mournful theme pursues.

The mightier Laura, from Love's darts secure,
Beholds the thousand deaths that I endure,
Each death made horrid with most cruel pain;
Yet no frail pity in her looks appears;
Her eyes betray no careless tears,
But persecute me still with anger and disdain.

With due submission, tell him you are mine,
And that you trouble him with this design,
Exactly to inform his noble youth

Of what you heard just now from vanquish'd
Truth:

[be

"Conquer'd, undone! "Tis strange that there should
In this confession pleasure ev'n to me.
With well-wrought terms my hold I strongly barr'd,
And rough distinctions were my surly guard.
Whilst I, sure of my cause, this strength possess;
A noble youth, advancing with address,
Led glittering Falsehood on with so much art,
That I soon felt sad omens in my heart.
Words with that grace," said I, "must needs per-
I find myself insensibly betray'd.
[suade;
Whilst he pursues his conquest, I retreat,
And by that name would palliate my defeat.
"But here methinks I do the prospect see
Of all those triumphs he prepares for me,
When Virtue or when Innocence opprest
Fly for sure refuge to his generous breast;
When with a noble mien his youth appears,
And gentle voice persuades the listening peers,
Judges shall wonder when he clears the laws,
Dispelling mists, which long have hid their cause:
Then, by his aid, aid that can never fail,

Ev'n I, though conquer'd now, shall sure prevail:
Thousands of wreaths to me he shall repay,
For that one laurel Errour wears to-day."

A GENTLEMAN TO HIS WIFE.

WHEN your kind wishes first I sought, 'Twas in the dawn of youth: I toasted you, for you I fought,

But never thought of truth.

You saw how still my fire increas'd;
I griev❜d to be denied:

You said, "Till I to wander ceas'd,
You'd guard your heart with pride,"
I, that once feign'd too many lies,
In height of passion swore,

By you and other deities,

That I would range no more.

I've sworn, and therefore now am fix'd,
No longer false and vain:

My passion is with honour mix'd,
And both shall ever reign.

I'll search Heaven, Earth, Hell, seas, and air,
And that shall set me free:

Oh, Laura's image will be there
Where Laura will not be.

My soul must still endure the pain,
And with fresh torment rave:
For none can ever break the chain
That once was Laura's slave.

THE SOLDIER'S WEDDING.

A SOLILOQUY BY NAN THRASHERWELL.

[dirt!

Being part of a play called The New Troop.
O My dear Thrasherwell, you're gone to sea,
And happiness must ever banish'd be
From our flock-bed, our garret, and from me!
Perhaps he is on land at Portsmouth now
In the embraces of some Hampshire sow,
Who, with a wanton pat, cries, "Now, my dear,
You're wishing for some Wapping doxy here."—
"Pox on them all! but most on bouncing Nan,
With whom the torments of my life began:
She is a bitter one!"-You lye, you rogue;
You are a treacherous, false, ungrateful dog.
Did not I take you up without a shirt?
Woe worth the hand that scrubb'd off all your
Did not my interest list you in the guard?
And had not you ten shillings, my reward?
Did I not then, before the serjeant's face,
Treat Jack, Tom, Will, and Martin, with disgrace?
And Thrasherwell before all others choose,
When I had the whole regiment to louse?
Curs'd be the day when you produc'd your sword,
The just revenger of your injur'd word!
The martial youth round in a circle stood,
With envious looks of love, and itching blood:
You, with some oaths that signified consent,
Cried Tom is Nan's!" and o'er the sword you
went.

Then I with some more modesty would step:
The ensign thump'd my bum, and made me leap.
I leap'd indeed; and you prevailing men
Leave us no power of leaping back again.

THE MAD LOVER.

I'LL from my breast tear fond desire,
Since Laura is not mine:
I'll strive to cure the amorous fire,
And quench the flame with wine.
Perhaps in groves and cooling shade
Soft slumbers I may find:

There all the vows to Laura made,
Shall vanish with the wind.

The speaking strings and charming song
My passion may remove:

Oh, music will the pain prolong,
And is the food of love.

THE OLD CHEESE.

YOUNG Slouch the farmer had a jolly wife,
That knew all the conveniences of life,
Whose diligence and cleanliness supplied
The wit which Nature had to bim denied:
But then she had a tongue that would be heard,
And make a better man than Slouch afeard.
This made censorious persons of the town
Say, Slouch could hardly call his soul his own:
For, if he went abroad too much, she'd use
To give him slippers, and lock up his shoes.
Talking he lov'd, and ne'er was more afflicted
Than when he was disturb'd or contradicted:
Yet still into his story she would break
With, ""Tis not so-pray give me leave to speak."
His friends thought this was a tyrannic rule,
Not differing much from calling of him fool;
Told him, he must exert himself, and be
In fact the master of his family.

show

Whether he were the lord at home, or no;
When their good company he would entreat
To well-brew'd ale, and clean, if homely, meat."
With aching heart home to his wife he goes,
And on his knees does his rash act disclose,
And prays dear Sukey, that, one day at least,
He might appear as master of the feast. [see
"I'll grant your wish," cries she, "that you may
'Twere wisdom to be govern'd still by me."

The guests upon the day appointed came, Each bowsy farmer with his simpering dame. "Ho! Sue!" cries Slouch, "why dost not thou appear!

Are these thy manners when aunt Snap is here?"
"I pardon ask," says Sue; "I'd not offend
Any ny dear invites, much less his friend."
Slouch by his kinsman Gruffy had been taught
To entertain his friends with finding fault,
And make the main ingredient of his treat
His saying, "There was nothing fit to eat :

The boil'd pork stinks, the roast beef's not enough,
The bacon's rusty, and the hens are tough;
The veal's all rags, the butter's turn'd to oil;
And thus I buy good meat for sluts to spoil.
'Tis we are the first Slouches ever sate
Down to a pudding without plumbs or fat.
What teeth or stomach's strong enough to feed
Upon a goose my grannum kept to breed?
Why must old pigeons, and they stale, be drest,
When there's so many squab ones in the nest?
This beer sour; this musty, thick, and stale,
And worse than any thing, except the ale."

Sue all this while many excuses made:
Some things she own'd; at other times she laid
The fault on chance, but oftener on the maid.
Then cheese was brought. Says Slouch, "This

e'en shall roll:

I'm sure 'tis hard enough to make a bowl: This is skim-milk, and therefore it shall go; And this, because 'tis Suffolk, follow too." But now Sue's patience did begin to waste; Nor longer could dissimulation last.

Pray let me rise," says Sue, "my dear; I'll find A cheese perhaps may be to lovy's mind." Then in an entry, standing close, where he Alone, and none of all his friends, might see; And brandishing a cudgel he had felt, And far enough on this occasion smelt ; "I'll try, my joy!" she cried, "if I can please My dearest with a taste of his old cheese!" Slouch turn'd his head, saw his wife's vigorous Wielding her oaken sapling of command, [hand Knew well the twang: "Is't the old cheese, my dear?

No need, no need of cheese," cries Slouch: "I'll

Which shows us whom to love, and whom to hate,
To a young, handsome, jolly lass, made court,
And gave his friends convincing reasons for't,
That, since in life such mischief must he had,
Beauty had something still that was not bad.
Within two months, Fortune was pleas'd to send
A tinker to Clod's house, with "Brass to mend."
The good old wife survey'd the brawny spark,
And found his chine was large, though counte-
nance dark.

First she appears in all her airs, then tries
The squinting efforts of her amorous eyes.
Much time was spent, and much desire exprest:
At last the tinker cried, "Few words are best:
Give me that skillet then; and, if I'm true,
I dearly earn it for the work I do."
They 'greed; they parted. On the tinker goes,
With the same stroke of pan, and twang of nose,
Till he at Jolt's beheld a sprightly dame
That set his native vigour all on flame.
He looks, sighs, faints, at last begins to cry,
"And can you then let a young tinker die ?"
Says she, "Give me your skillet then, and try.”
"My skillet! Both my heart and skillet take;
I wish it were a copper for your sake."
After all this, not many days did pass,
Clod, sitting at Jolt's house, survey'd the brass
And glittering pewter standing on the shelf;
Then, after some gruff muttering with himself,
Cried, Pr'ythee, Jolt, how came that skillet
thine?"
"You know as well as I," quoth Jolt; "'t'en't
mine;
[matter
But I'll ask Nan."

66

'Twas done; Nan told the In truth as 'twas; then cried, "You've got the better:

For, tell me, dearest, whether you would chuse
To be a gainer by me, or to lose.

As for our neighbour Clod, this I dare say,
We've beauty and a skillet more than they."

THE FISHERMAN.

TOM BANKS by native industry was taught
The various arts how fishes might be caught.
Sometimes with trembling reed and single hair,
And bait conceal'd, he'd for their death prepare,
With melancholy thoughts and downcast eyes,
Expecting till deceit had gain'd its prize.
Sometimes in rivulet quick, and water clear,
They'd meet a fate more generous from his spear.
To basket oft he'd pliant oziers turn,
Where they might entrance find, but no return.
His net well pois'd with lead he'd sometimes throw,
Encircling thus his captives all below.
But, when he would a quick destruction make,
And from afar much larger booty take,
He'd through the stream, where most descending,
From side to side his strong capacious net;
And then his rustic crew with mighty poles
Would drive his prey out from their oozy holes,
And so pursue them down the rolling flood,
Gasping for breath, and almost choak'd with mud,

Till they, of farther passage quite bereft,
Were in the mash with gills entangled left.

[set

Trot, who liv'd down the stream, ne'er thought

his beer

Was good, unless he had his water clear.

He goes to Banks, and thus begins his tale:
"Lord! if you knew but how the people rail!
They cannot boil, nor wash, nor rinse, they say,
With water sometimes ink, and sometimes whey,
According as you meet with mud or clay.
Besides, my wife these six months could not brew,
And now the blame of this all's laid on you: '
For it will be a dismal thing to think
How we old Trots must live, and have no drink:
Therefore, I pray, some other method take
Of fishing, were it only for our sake."

Says Banks, "I'm sorry it should be my lot
Ever to disoblige my gossip Trot:

Yet 't'en't my fault; but so 'tis Fortune tries one,
To make his meat become his neighbour's poison;
And so we pray for winds upon this coast,
By which on t'other navies may be lost.
Therefore in patience rest, though I proceed:
There's no ill-nature in the case, but need.
Though for your use this water will not serve,
I'd rather you should choak, than I should starve."

A CASE OF CONSCIENCE.

OLD Paddy Scot, with none of the best faces,
Had a most knotty pate at solving cases;
In any point could tell you, to a hair,
When was a grain of honesty to spare.
It happen'd, after prayers, one certain night,
At home he had occasion for a light
To turn Socinus, Lessius, Escobar,
Fam'd Covarruvias, and the great Navarre:
And therefore, as he from the chapel came,
Extinguising a yellow taper's flame,
By which just now he had devoutly pray'd,
The useful remnant to his sleeve convey'd.
There happen'd a physician to be by,
Who thither came but only as a spy,
To find out others' faults, but let alone
Repentance for the crimes that were his own.
This doctor follow'd Paddy; said, "He lack'd
To know what made a sacrilegious fact."

Paddy with studied gravity replics,
"That's as the place or as the matter lies:
If from a place unsacred you should take
A sacred thing, this sacrilege would make;
Or an unsacred thing from sacred place,
There would be nothing different in the case;
But, if both thing and place should sacred be,
"Twere height of sacrilege, as doctors all agree."

Then," says the doctor, "for more light in To put a special case, were not amiss. Suppose a man should take a Common Prayer Out of a chapel where there's some to spare ?" "A Common Prayer!" says Paddy," that

would be

A sacrilege of an intense degree."

"Suppose that one should in these holidays Take thence a bunch of rosemary or bays?"

"I'd not be too censorious in that case, But 'twould be sacrilege still from the place." "What if a man should from the chapel take A taper's end should he a scruple make, If homeward to his chambers he should go, Whether 'twere theft, or sacrilege, or no?" The sly insinuation was perceiv'd: Says Paddy, "Doctor, you may be deceiv'd, Unless in cases you distinguish right; But this may be resolv'd at the first sight.

As to the taper, it could be no theft,
For it had done its duty, and was left:
And sacrilege in having it is none,
Because that in my sleeve I now have one."

THE CONSTABLE.

ONE night a fellow wandering without fear,
As void of money as he was of care,
Considering both were wash'd away with beer,
With Strap the constable by fortune meets,
Whose lanterns glare in the most silent streets.
Resty, impatient any one should be

So bold as to be drunk that night but he:

Stand; who goes there," cried Strap, "at hours so late?

Answer. Your name; or else have at your pate.""I wo'nt stand, 'cause I can't. Why must you

know

From whence it is I come, or where I go?"

"See here my staff," cries Strap; trembling

behold

Its radiant paint, and ornamental gold:
Wooden authority when thus I wield,
Persons of all degrees obedience yield.
Then, be you the best man in all the eity,
Mark me! I to the Counter will commit ye."
"You! kiss, and so forth. For that never
[spare:
If that be all, commit me if you dare;
No person yct, either through fear or shame,
Durst commit me, that once had heard my naine.”—
"Pray then, what is't. ?"-" My name's Adultery;
And, faith, your future life would pleasant be,
Did your wife know you once committed me."

LITTLE MOUTHS.

FROM London Paul the carrier coming down
To Wantage, meets a beauty of the town;
They both accost with salutation pretty,
As,

"How do'st, Paul?"-" Thank you: and
how do'st, Betty?"

"Didst see our Jack, nor sister? No, you've seen, I warrant, none but those who saw the queen." "Many words spoke in jest," says Paul," are

true,

I came from Windsor'; and, if some folks knew As much as I, it might be well for you,”

Lord, Paul! what is't?"-" Why give me something for't,

This kiss; and this. The matter then is short:
The parliament have made a proclamation,
Which will this week be sent all round the nation;
That maids with little mouths do all prepare
On Sunday next to come before the mayor,
And that all bachelors be likewise there:
For maids with little mouths shall, if they please,
From out of these young men choose two apiece."
Betty, with bridled chin, extends her face,
And then contracts her lips with simpering grace,
Cries, "Hem! pray what must all the huge ones do
For husbands, when we little mouths have two?"

Where queen Anne and her court frequently resided.

"Hold, not so fast," cries he; "pray pardon

me:

Maids with huge, gaping, wide mouths, must have three."

Betty distorts her face with hideous squall,
And mouth of a foot wide begins to bawl,
"Oh! ho! is't so? The case is alter'd, Paul.
Is that the point? I wish the three were ten;
I warrant I'd find mouth, if they'll find men."

HOLD FAST BELOW.

THERE was a lad, th' unluckiest of his crew,
Was still contriving something bad, but new.
His comrades all obedience to him paid,
In executing what designs he laid:

'Twas they should rob the orchard, he'd retire,
His foot was safe whilst theirs was in the fire.
He kept them in the dark to that degree,
None should presume to be so wise as he;
But, being at the top of all affairs,

The profit was his own, the mischief theirs.
There fell some words made him begin to doubt,
The rogues would grow so wise to find him out;
He was not pleas'd with this, and so next day
He cries to them, as going just to play,
"What a rare jack-daw's nest is there! look up,
You see 'tis almost at the steeple's top."
"Ab," says another, "we can have no hope
Of getting thither to 't without a rope."
Says then the fleering spark, with courteous grin,
By which he drew his infant cullies in ;
"Nothing more easy; did you never see
How, in a swarm, bees, hanging bee by bee,
Make a long sort of rope below the tree.
Why mayn't we do the same, good Mr. John?
For that contrivance pray let me alone.
Tom shall hold Will, you Will, and I'll hold you;
And then I warrant you the thing will do.
But, if there's any does not care to try,
Let us have no jack-daws, and what care I!"

That touch'd the quick, and so they soon com-
No argument like that was e'er denied, [plied,
And therefore instantly the thing was tried.
They hanging down on strength above depend:
Then to himself mutters their trusty friend,
"The dogs are almost useless grown to me,
I ne'er shall have such opportunity
To part with them; and so e'en let them go."
Then cries aloud, "So ho! my lads! so ho!
You're gone, unless ye all hold fast below.
They've serv'd my turn, so 'tis fit time to drop
them;

The Devil, if he wants them, let him stop them."

Sitting," says she, "'s not usual in my trade: Should you be rude, and then should throw me

down,

I might perhaps break more backs than my own."
He smiling cries, "Come, I'll the knot untie,
And, if you mean the child's, we'll lay it by."
Says she, "That can't be done, for then 'twill cry.
I'd not have us, but chiefly for your sake,
Discover'd by the hideous noise 'twould make.
Use is another nature, and 'twould lack,
More than the breast, its custom to the back."
"Then," says the gentleman, "I should be loth
To come so far and disoblige you both:
[do ?"
Were the child tied to me, d'ye think 'twould
"Mighty well, sir! Oh, Lord! if tied to you!"

With speed incredible to work she goes,
And from her shoulder soon the burthen throws;
Then mounts the infant with a gentle toss
Upon her generous friend, and, like a cross,
The sheet she with a dextrous motion winds,
Till a firm knot the wandering fabric binds.

The gentleman had scarce got time to know What she was doing; she, about to go, Cries, "Sir, good b'ye; ben't angry that we part, I trust the child to you with all my heart: But, ere you get another, 't'en't amiss To try a year or two how you'll keep this."

THE VESTRY.

[find,

WITHIN the shire of Nottingham there lies
A parish fam'd, because the men were wise:
Of their own strain they had a teacher sought,
Who all his life was better fed than taught.
It was about a quarter of a year
Since he had snor'd, and eat, and fatten'd there;
When he the house-keepers, their wives, and all,
Did to a sort of parish-meeting call;
Promising something, which, well understood,
In little time would turn to all their good.
When met, he thus harangues: "Neighbours, I
That in your principles you're well inclin'd
But then you're all solicitous for Sunday;
None seem to have a due regard for Monday,
Most people then their dinners have to seek,
As if 'twere not the first day of the week;
But, when you have hash'd meat and nothing more,
You only curse the day that went before.
On Tuesday all folks dine by one consent,.
And Wednesdays only fast by parliament,
But fasting sure by Nature ne'er was meant.
The market will for Thursday find a dish,
And Friday is a proper day for fish;
After fish, Saturday requires some meat;
On Sunday you're obliged by law to treat;