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As boys eat bread, to fill up chinks.
Kind Sir, I should be glad to see you; I hope y' are well; so God be wi' you; Was all I thought at first to write: But things, since then, are alter'd quite; Fancies flow in, and Muse flies high; So God knows when my clack will lie: no I must, Sir, prattle on, as afore, And beg your pardon yet this half hour.
So at pure barn of loud Non-con, Where with my grannam I have gone, When Lobb had sifted all his text, And I well hop'd the pudding next; Now To Apply, has plagued me more, Than all his villain cant before.
For your religion, first, of her
They say, she's honest, as your claret,
One single positive weighs more,
In politics, I hear, you're stanch,
Are in no plots; but fairly drive at
The public welfare, in your private:
And will, for England's glory, try
Turks, Jews, and Jesuits to defy, no
And keep your places till you die.
For me, whom wand'ring Fortune threw
With whom old Homer makes such noise,
The books of which I'm chiefly fond,
Critics I read on other men,
On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one. 170 Then all your wits, that fleer and sham,
Down from Don Quixote to Tom Tram;
From whom I jests and puns purloin,
And slily put them off for mine:
Fond to be thought a country wit:
The rest,—when fate and you think fit.
To bottled ale, and neighbouring vicar;
Sometimes at Stamford take a quart,
Squire Shephard's health,—with all my heart, isi Thus, without much delight, or grief, I fool away an idle life;
Till Shadwell from the town retires,
(Chok'd up with fame and sea-coal fires,)
To bless the wood with peaceful lyric;
Then hey for praise and panegyric;
Justice restor'd, and nations freed,
And wreaths round William's glorious head.
TO THE COUNTESS OF DORSET,
WRITTEN IN HER HILTON, BY HR. BRADBURY.
IEE here how bright the first-born virgin
Such charming words our beauteous mother spoke,
Yours, the best copy of th' original face,
TO THE LADY DURSLEY:'
ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
) ERE reading how fond Adam was bc-
Our common loss unjustly you complain;
You still, fair mother, in your offspring trace
With virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm'd, In vain the fruit had blush'd, or serpent charm'd: Nor had our bliss by penitence been bought; Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote.
* Elizabeth, daughter of Baptist Noel, Viscount Campden. She died 30th July, 1719. Her husband, Charles Earl of Berkeley (when Lord Dursley), had been envoy extraordinary and plenipotentiary to the States of Holland, from whence he returned in 1695.
TO MY LORD BUCKHURST.*
VERY YOUNO, PIAYING WITH A CAT.
?HE am'rous youth, whose tender breast Was by his darling cat possest, Obtain'd of Venus his desire, Howe'er irregular his fire:Nature the pow'r of love obey'd:The cat became a blushing maid;And, on the happy change, the boy Employ'd his wonder, and his joy. Take care, O beauteous child, take care, Lest thou prefer so rash a pray'r: 10 Nor vainly hope, the queen of love Will e'er thy fav'rite's charms improve. O quickly from her shrine retreat;Or tremble for thy darling's fate. The queen of love, who soon will see Her own Adonis live in thee, Will lightly her first loss deplore;Will easily forgive the boar:Her eyes with tears no more will flow;With jealous rage her breast will glow: 20 And on her tabby rival's face She deep will mark her new disgrace.
* Lionel, afterwards Duke of Dorset, to whom Prior dedicated his poems.