So at pure barn of loud Non-con,

Where with my granam I have gone,

When Lobb had fifted all his text,
And I well hop'd the pudding next;
Now to apply, has plagu❜d me more,
Than all his villain cant before..
For your religion, first, of her

Your friends do fav'ry things aver:
They fay, she's honest, as your claret,

Not fowr'd with cant, nor ftum'd with merit's
Your chamber is the fole retreat?
Of chaplains ev'ry Sunday night:
Of grace, no doubt, a certain sign,
When lay-man herds with man divine:
For if their fame be justly great,
Who would no popish nuncio treat;
That his is greater, we must grant,
Who will treat nuncio's proteftant.
One fingle pofitive weighs more,
You know, than negatives a score.

In politics, I hear, you're stanch,
Directly bent against the French;
Deny to have your free-born toe
Dragoon'd into a wooden fhoe::
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,
And keep your places 'till you die.

For me, whom wandring fortune threw
From what I lov'd, the town and you;

Let me just tell you how my time is
Paft in a country life.- Imprimis,

As foon as Phoebus' rays infpect us,
First, Sir, I read, and then I breakfast;

So on, 'till forefaid god does fet
I fometimes ftudy, fometimes eat.
Thus, of your heroes, and brave boys,
With whom old Homer makes such noise,
The greatest actions I can find,

Are, that they did their work, and din'd.
The books of which I'm chiefly fond,
Are fuch as you have whilom con'd;
That treat of China's civil law,
And fubject's right in Golconda;
Of highway-elephants at Ceylan,

That rob in clans, like men o' th' Highland;
Of apes that storm, or keep a town,

As well almost as Count Lauzun;
Of unicorns and alligators,

Elks, mermaids, mummies, witches, fatyrs,
And twenty other stranger matters;

Which, tho' they're things I've no concern in,

Make all our grooms admire my learning.

Critics I read on other men,

And hypers upon them again;

From whose remarks I give opinion

On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one.
Then all your wits that flear and sham,
Down from Don Quixot to Tom Tram;
From whom I jefts and puns purloin,
And flily put 'em off for mine :
Fond to be thought a country wit:
The reft,-when fate and you think fit.
Sometimes I climb my mare, and kick her
To bottl'd ale, and neighbouring vicar;
Sometimes at Stamford take a quart,

Squire Shephard's health, -With all my heart.
Thus, without much delight, or grief,

I fool away an idle life;

}

"Till Shadwell from the town retires,

(Choak'd up with fame and fea-coal fires,)
To blefs 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
MILTON, By Mr. BRADBURY.

EE here how bright the first-born virgin fhone,

SEE

And how the first fond lover was undone.
Such charming words, our beauteous mother fpoke,
As Milton wrote, and such as yours her look.
Yours, the best copy of th' original face,
Whose beauty was to furnish all the race:
Such chains no author could escape but he;
There's no way to be fafe, but not to fee.

HE

To the LADY DURSLEY, on the fame
Jubject.

ERE reading how fond Adam was betray'd, And how by fin Eve's blasted charms decay'd; Our common lofs unjustly you complain; So fmall that part of it, which you sustain. You ftill, fair mother, in your offspring trace The stock of beauty deftin'd for the race: Kind nature, forming them, the pattern took From heav'n's first work, and Eve's original look. You, happy faint, the ferpent's pow'r controul: Scarce any actual guile defiles your foul:

D

And hell does o'er that mind vain triumph boast, Which gains a heav'n, for earthly Eden loft.

With virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm'd, In vain the fruit had blush'd, or serpent charm'd: Nor had our bless by penitence been bought; Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote,

To my LORD BUCKHURST, very young, playing with a Cat.

Twas

HE am'rous youth, whose tender breast
Was by his darling cat possest,

Obtain'd of Venus his defire,

Howe'er irregular his fire:

Nature the pow'r of love obey'd:
The cat became a blufhing maid;
And, on the happy change, the boy
Imploy'd his wonder, and his joy.

Take care, O beauteous child, take care,

Left thou prefer so rash a pray'r:

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 foon will fee
Her own Adonis live in thee,

Will lightly her first loss deplore;

Will eafily forgive the boar:

Her eyes with tears no more will flow;
With jealous rage her breaft will glow:
And on her tabby rival's face

She deep will mark her new difgrace.

WH

I.

from our looks, fair nymph, you guefs The secret passions of our mind ; My heavy eyes, you say, confefs,

A heart to love and grief inclin'd.

II.

There needs, alas! but little art,

To have this fatal fecret found;

With the fame case you threw the dart,
'Tis certain you may show the wound.

III.

How can I fee you, and not love;

While you as op'ning east are fair? While cold as northern blafts you prove; How can I love, and not despair?

IV.

The wretch in double fetters bound
Your potent mercy may release:
Soon, if my love but once were crown'd,
Fair prophetess, my grief would cease.

A

SONG.

N vain you tell your parting lover,

IN

You wish fair winds may waft him over.

Alas! what winds can happy prove,

That bear me far from what I love?

Alas! what dangers on the main

Can equal thofe that I sustain,

From flighted vows, and cold disdain?