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Call'd Thyrfis from beneath the bed;
Where all this time he had been hid..

WHILE

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LE men have these ambitious fancies; And wanton wenches read romances; -what? out with it. Lyes.

Our fex will

And theirs in equal strains reply.

The moral of the tale I fing

(A pofy for a wedding ring)

In this fhort verfe will be confin'd:
Love is a jest, and vows are wind. ...

M

AN ENGLISH PADLOCK.

ISS Danae, when fair and young
(As Horace has divinely fung)

Cou'd not be kept from Jove's embrace
By doors of steel, and walls of brass.
The reafon of the thing is clear;
Wou'd Jove the naked truth aver:
Cupid was with him of the party;
And fhew'd himself fincere and hearty:
For, give that whipster but his errand;
He takes my lord chief justice' warrant :
Dauntless as death away he walls;
Breaks the doors open; snaps the locks;
Searches the parlour, chamber, study;
Nor stops 'till he has Culprit's body.
Since this has been authentic truth,
By age deliver'd down to youth;
Tell us, mistaken husband, tell us,
Why fo myfterious, why fo jealous?

Does the restraint, the bolt, the bar
Make us lefs curious, her lefs fair?
The spy, which does this treasure keep,
Does the ne'er say her prayers, nor fleep?
Does the to no excess incline?

Does fhe fly mufic, mirth, and wine?
Or have not gold and flatt'ry pow'r,
To purchase one unguarded hour?

Your care does further yet extend:
That spy is guarded by your friend.---
But has this friend nor eye, nor heart?
May he not feel the cruel dart,
Which, foon or late, all mortals feel?
May he not, with too tender zeal,
Give the fair pris'ner cause to see,
How much he wishes, she were free?
May he not craftily infer

The rules of friendship too fevere,
Which chain him to a hated truft;
Which make him wretched, to be just ? ·
And may not she, this darling fhe,
Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood,
Eafie with him, ill-us'd by thee,
Allow this logic to be good?
Sir, will your questions never end?
I trust to neither spy nor friend.
In short, I keep her from the fight
Of ev'ry human face.- She'll write.

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From pen and paper she's debar'd..
Has fhe a bodkin and a card?

She'll prick her mind.She will you fay:
But how shall she that mind convey ?

I keep her in one room: I lock it:
The key (look here) is in this pocket.

The key-hole, is that left? Moft certain. She'll thruft her letter thro'-Sir Martin. Dear angry friend, what must be done? Is there no way?- -There is but one, Send her abroad; and let her fee, That all this mingled mafs, which she Being forbidden longs to know, Is a dull farce, an empty show, Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau; A staple of romance and lies,

False tears, and real perjuries:

Where fighs and looks are bought and fold;

And love is made but to be told:

Where the fat bawd, and lavish heir
The spoils of ruin'd beauty share:
And youth feduc'd from friends and fame,
Muft give up age to want and shame.
Let her behold the frantic scene,
The women wretched, falfe the men:
And when, these certain ills to shun,
She would to thy embraces run;
Receive her with extended arms:
Seem more delighted with her charms:
Wait on her to the park and play:
Put on good humour; make her gay:
Be to her virtues very kind:
Be to her faults a little blind:
Let all her ways be unconfin'd:
And clap your Padlock

on her mind.

HA

HANS CARVEL.

ANS CARVEL, impotent and old,
Married a lafs of London mould:
Handsome? enough; extremely gay:
Lov'd mufic, company, and play:
High flights she had, and wit at will:
And so her tongue lay feldom still :
For in all vifits who but she,
To argue, or to repartee?

She made it plain, that human passion

Was order'd by predestination;

That if weak women went aftray,

Their ftars were more in fault than they:

Whole tragedies she had by heart;

Enter'd into Roxana's part:

To triumph in her rival's blood,
The action certainly was good.
How like a vine young Ammon curl'd!
O that dear conqu'ror of the world!
She pity'd Betterton in age,›
That ridicul'd the god-like rage..

She, first of all the town, was told,
Where newest India things were fold:
So in a morning, without bodice,
Slipt fometimes out to Mrs. Thody's ;
To cheapen tea, to buy a fcreen:
What else cou'd so much virtue mean?
For to prevent the leaft reproach,
Betty went with her in the coach.

But when no very great affair

Excited her peculiar care;

She without fail was wak'd at ten;
Drank chocolate, then flept again:
At twelve she rose; with much ado
Her cloaths were huddl'd on by two;
Then, does my lady dine at home?
Yes fure; but is the colonel come?
Next, how to spend the afternoon,
And not come home again too soon;
The change, the city, or the play,
As each was proper for the day;
A turn in fummer to Hyde-park,
When it grew tolerably dark.

Wife's pleasure causes husband's pain:
Strange fancies come in Hans's brain:
He thought of what he did not name;
And would reform; but durft not blame.
At first he therefore preach'd his wife
The comforts of a pious life:
Told her, how tranfient beauty was;
That all must die, and flesh was grass:
He bought her fermons, pfalms and graces;
And doubl'd down the useful places.
But ftill the weight of worldly care
Allow'd her little time for pray'r:
And Cleopatra was read o'er,

While Scot, and Wake, and twenty more,
That teach one to deny one's felf,
Stood unmolested on the shelf.

An untouch'd bible grac'd her toilet:
No fear that thumb of her's fhou'd spoil it.
In short, the trade was ftill the fame :

The dame went out: the colonel came.

What's to be done? poor Carvel cry'd:

Another batt'ry must be try'd:

K

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