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With grateful hand due altars let them raise,
To some good knight's" or holy prelate's' praise:
We tune our voices to a nobler theme,
Your eyes we bless, your praises we proclaim;
Saint John's was founded in a woman's name.
Enjoin'd by statute, to the fair we bow;
In spite of Time, we keep our ancient vow;
What Margaret Tudor was, is Harriet Harley now.

PROLOGUE TO THE ORPHAN®.

REPRESENTED BY SOME OF THE WESTMINSTER SCHO-
LARS, AT HICKFORD'S DANCING-ROOM,
FEBRUARY 2, 1720.

SPOKEN BY LORD DUPLIN, WHO acted cordelIO
THE PAGE.

WHAT! Would my humble comrades have me say,
"Gentle spectators, pray excuse the play?"
Such work by hireling actors should be done,
Whom you may clap or hiss for half a crown.
Our generous scenes for friendship we repeat;
And, if we don't delight, at least we treat.
Ours is the damage, if we chance to blunder;
We may be ask'd, "Whose patent we act under ?"
How shall we gain you, à la mode de France?
We hir'd this room; but none of us can dance.
In cutting capers we shall never please:
Our learning does not lie below our knees.

Shall we procure you symphony and sound?
Then you must each subscribe two hundred pound.
There we should fail too, as to point of voice:
Mistake us not; we're no Italian boys,
True Britons born; from Westminster we come,
And only speak the style of ancient Rome.
We would deserve, not poorly beg, applause;
And stand or fall by Freind's and Busby's laws.
For the distress'd, your pity we implore:
If once refus'd, we'll trouble you no more,
But leave our Orphan squalling at your door.

HUSBAND AND WIFE. H. OH! with what woes am I opprest! w. Be still, you senseless calf! What if the gods should make you blest? H. Why then I'd sing and laugh: But, if they won't, I'll wail and cry. w. You'll hardly laugh, before you die.

Through many a blooming mead they past,
And at a brook arriv'd at last.

The purling stream, the margin green,
With flowers bedeck'd, a vernal scene,
Invited each itinerant maid

To rest awhile beneath the shade.
Under a spreading beech they sat,
And pass'd the time with female chat;
Whilst each her character maintain'd;
One spoke her thoughts, the other feign'd.
At length, quoth Falsehood, "Sister Truth,"
(For so she call'd her from her youth)
"What if, to shun yon sultry beam,
We bathe in this delightful stream;
The bottom smooth, the water clear,
And there's no prying shepherd near !"-
"With all my heart," the nymph reply'd,
And threw her snowy robes aside,
Stript herself naked to the skin,
And with a spring leapt headlong in.
Falsehood more leisurely undrest,
And, laying by her taudry vest,
Trick'd herself out in Truth's array,
And cross the meadows tript away.

From this curst hour, the fraudful dame
Of sacred Truth usurps the name,
And, with a vile, perfidious mind,
Roams far and near, to cheat mankind;
False sighs suborns, and artful tears,
And starts with vain pretended fears;
In visits still appears most wise,
And rolls at church her saint-like eyes;
Talks very much, plays idle tricks,
While rising stock her conscience pricks ;
When being, poor thing, extremely gravell'd,
She secrets op'd, and all unravell'd.
But on she will, and secrets tell,
Of John and Joan, and Ned and Nell,
Reviling every one she knows,
As fancy leads, beneath the rose.
Her tongue so voluble and kind,
It always runs before her rind;
As times do serve, she slily pleads,
And copious tears still show her needs,
With promises as thick as weeds-
Speaks pro and con, is wondrous civil,
To day a saint, to morrow devil.

Poor Truth she stript, as has been said,
And naked left the lovely maid,
Who, scorning from her cause to wince,
Has gone stark-naked ever since;
And ever naked will appear,
Belov'd by all who Truth revere.

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When sober Damon thus began (And Damon is a clever man):

"I now grow old; but still, from youth,
Have held for modesty and truth.
The men, who by these sea-marks steer,
In life's great voyage never err :
Upon this point I dare defy
The world. I pause for a reply."

Sir, either is a good assistant,"
Said one who sat a little distant:>
"Truth decks our speeches and our books,
And Modesty adorns our looks:
But farther progress we must take:
Not only born to look and speak;
The man must act. The Stagyrite
Says thus, and says extremely right:
Strict Justice is the sovereign guide,
That o'er our actions should preside:
This queen of virtues is confest
To regulate and bind the rest.
Thrice happy, if you once can find
Her equal balance poise your mind:
All different graces soon will enter,
Like lines concurrent to their centre."
'Twas thus, in short, these two went on,
With yea and nay, and pro and con,
Through many points divinely dark,
And Waterland assaulting Clarke;
Till, in theology half lost,
Damon took up the Evening-Post;
Confounded Spain, compos'd the North,
And deep in politics held forth.

"Methinks we're in the like condition,
As at the treaty of Partition:
That stroke, for all king William's care,
Begat another tedious war.

Matthew, who knew the whole intrigue,
Ne'er much approv'd that mystic league:
In the vile Utrecht treaty too,
Poor man! he found enough to do.
Sometimes to me he did apply;
But down-right Dunstable was I,

And told him where they were mistaken,
And counsell'd him to save his bacon:
But (pass his politics and prose)

I never herded with his foes;
Nay, in his verses, as a friend,
I still found something to commend.
Sir, I excus'd his Nut-brown Maid,
Whate'er severer critics said;
Too far, I own, the girl was try'd;
The women all were on my side.
For Alma I return'd him thanks;
I lik'd her with her little pranks.
Indeed, poor Solomon in rhyme
Was much too grave to be sublime."

Pindar and Damon scorn transition,
So on he ran a new division;

Till, out of breath, he turn'd to spit
(Chance often helps us more than wit).
Tother that lucky moment took,
Just nick'd the time, broke in and spoke.
"Of all the gifts the gods afford,
(If we may take old Tully's word)
The greatest is a friend, whose love
Knows how to praise, and when reprove :
From such a treasure never part,
But hang the jewel on your heart:
And, pray, sir, (it delights me) tell,
You know this author mighty well→→” .

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THE FEMALE PHAETON.

THUS Kitty', beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untam'd,

Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,
With little rage inflam'd:

Iuflam'd with rage at sad restraint,

Which wise mamma ordain'd; And sorely vex'd to play the saint,

Whilst wit and beauty reign'd:
"Shall I thumb holy books, confin'd
With Abigails forsaken ?
Kitty's for other things design'd,
Or I am much mistaken.
"Must lady Jenny frisk about,

And visit with her cousins?
At balls must she make all the rout,

And bring home hearts by dozens?
"What has she better, pray, than I,
What hidden charms to boast,
That all mankind for her should die,
Whilst I am scarce a toast?
"Dearest mamma! for once let me,
Unchain'd, my fortune try;
I'll have my earl as well as she2,
Or know the reason why.

"I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score, Make all her lovers fall:

They'll grieve I was not loos'd before;
She, I was loos'd at all."

Fondness prevail'd, mamma gave way;
Kitty, at heart's desire,
Obtain'd the chariot for a day,

And set the world on fire.

THE JUDGMENT OF VENUS WHEN Kneller's works of various grace Were to fair Venus shown,

The goddess spy'd in every face
Some features of her own.

Lady Catharine Hyde, now duchess of Queens

berry.

The carl of Essex married lady Jane Hyde.

"Just so," and pointing with her hand, "So shone," says she, " my eyes3, When from two goddesses I gain'd

An apple for a prize.

"When in the glass, and river too,
My face I lately view'd,
Such was I, if the glass be true,
If true the crystal flood.

"In colours of this glorious kind!
Apelles painted me;

My hair thus flowing with the wind,
Sprung from my native sea.

"Like this", disorder'd, wild, forlorn,
Big with ten thousand fears,
Thee, my Adonis, did I mourn,
Ev'n beautiful in tears."

But viewing Myra plac'd apart,
"I fear," says she, "I fear,
Apelles, that sir Godfrey's art

Has far surpass'd thine here.

"Or I, a goddess of the skies,
By Myra am outdone,
And must resign to her the prize,
The apple, which I won.""
But,, soon as she had Myra seen,
Majestically fair,

The sparkling eye, the look serene,
The gay and easy air,
With fiery emulation fill'd,

The wondering goddess cry'd, "Apelles must to Kneller yield, Or Venus must to Hyde."

1

DAPHNE AND APOLLO:

IMITATED FROM THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S META

MORPHOSES.

Nympha, precor, Pencia, mane.

APOLLO.

ABATE, fair fugitive, abate thy speed,
Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy beauteous head;
With kind regard a panting lover view;
Less swiftly fly, less swiftly I'll pursue:
Pathless, alas! and rugged is the ground,
Some stone may hurt thee, or some thorn may
wound.

DAPHNE. (ASIDE.)

This care is for himself, as sure as death? One mile has put the fellow out of breath; He'll never do: I'll lead him t'other round: Washy he is, perhaps not over sound.

APOLIO.

You fly, alas! not knowing whom you fly;
Nor ill-bred swain, nor rusty clown, am 1:
I Claros isle, and Tenedos, command-

Lady Ranelagh.

4 Lady Salisbury.

'Lady Jane, sister to the Duke of douglas, wards married to sir John Stewart.

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First, therefore, be not so extremely rude.
Tear not the hedges down, nor tread the clover,
Like an hobgoblin, rather than a lover.
Next, to my father's grotto sometimes come;
At ebbing tide he always is at home.

Read the Courant with him, and let him know

A little politics; how matters go
Upon his brother-rivers, Rhine or Po.
As any maid or footman comes or goes,
Pull off your hat, and ask how Daphne does:
after-These sort of folks will to each other tell,

That you respect me; that, you know, looks well.

THE MICE.

Then if you are, as you pretend, the god
That rules the day, and much upon the road,
You'll find a hundred trifles in your way,
That you may bring one home from Africa;
Some little rarity, some bird, or beast,
And now and then a jewel from the East;
A lacquer'd cabinet, some china ware;
You have them mighty cheap at Pekin fair.
Next, nota bene, you shall never rove,
Nor take example by your father Jove.
Last, for the ease and comfort of my life,

Make me your (Lord! what startles you?) your

wife.

I'm now (they say) sixteen, or something more;
We mortals seldom live above fourscore:
Fourscore; you're good at numbers; let us see,
Seventeen, suppose, remaining sixty-three;
Aye, in that span of time, you'll bury me.
Mean time, if you have tumult, noise, and strife,
(Things not abhorrent to a marry'd life!)
They'll quickly end, you'll see; what signify
A few odd years to you that never die?
And, after all, you're half your time away;
You know your business takes you up all day;
And, coming late to bed, you need not fear,
Whatever noise I make, you'll sleep, my dear:
Or, if a winter evening should be long,
Ev'n read your physic-book, or make a song.
Your steeds, your wife, diachalon, and rhyme,
May take up any honest godhead's time.
Thus, as you like it, you may love again,
And let another Daphne have her reign.

Now love, or leave, my dear; retreat, or fol-
low:

I Daphne (this premis'd) take thee, Apollo.
And may I split into ten thousand trees,
If I give up on other terms than these!

She said; but what the amorous god reply'd,
(So Fate ordain'd) is to our search deny'd:
By rats, alas! the manuscript is eat,
O cruel banquct! which we all regret.
Bavius, thy labours must this work restore;
May thy good-will be equal to thy power!

THE MICE.

TO MR. ADRIAN DRIFT, 1708.

Two Mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion,
And (what is more) good education,
Frolic and gay in infant years,
Equally shar'd their parent's cares.
The sire of these two babes (poor creature!)
Paid his last debt to human nature;
A wealthy widow left behind,

Four babes, three males, one female kind.
The sire being under ground and bury'd,
'Twas thought his spouse would soon have
marry'd;

Matches propos'd, and numerous suitors,
Most tender husbands, careful tutors,
She modestly refus'd; and show'd

She'd be a mother to her brood.

"Mother! dear mother! that endearing thought Has thousand and ten thousand fancies brought.

Tell me, oh! tell me (thou art now above)
How to describe thy true maternal love,
Thy early pangs, thy growing anxious cares,
Thy flattering hopes, thy fervent pious prayers,
Thy doleful days and melancholy nights,
Cloyster'd from common joys and just delights;
How thou didst constantly in private mourn,
And wash with daily tears thy spouse's urn;
How it employ'd your thoughts and lucid time,
That your young offspring might to honour climb;
How your first care, by numerous griefs opprest,
Under the burthen sunk, and went to rest;
How your dear darling, by consumption's waste,
Breath'd her last piety into your breast;
How you, alas! tir'd with your pilgrimage,
Bow'd down your head, and dy'd in good old age.
Though not inspir'd, oh! may I never be
Forgetful of my pedigree, or thee!
Ungrateful howso'er, mayn't I forget
To pay this small, yet tributary debt!
And when we meet at God's tribunal throne,
Own me, I pray thee, for a pious son
"But why all this? Is this
Believe me, Mat, it seems a Babel;
If you will let me know th' intent on't,
Go to your Mice, and make an end on't."

your

"Well then, dear brother——

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fable?

As sure as Hudi's sword could swaddle,
Two Mice were brought up in one cradle;
Well bred, I think, of equal port,
One for the gown, one for the court:
They parted;" (" did they so, an't please you?”
"Yes, that they did, (dear sir) to ease you.
One went to Holland, where they huff folk,
T'other to vend his wares in Suffolk.
(That Mice have travell'd in old times,
Horace and Prior tell in rhymes,
Those two great wonders of their ages,
Superior far to all the sages!)
Many days past, and many a night,
Ere they could gain each other's sight;
At last, in weather cold nor sultry,
They met at the Three Cranes in Poultry.
After much buss, and great grimace,
(Usual, you know, in such a case)
Much chat arose, what had been done,
What might before next summer's sun;
Much said of France, of Suffolk's goodness,
The gentry's loyalty, mob's rudeness.
That ended, o'er a charming bottle
They enter'd on this tittle-tattle:

"Quoth Suffolk, by pre-eminence
In years, though (God knows) not in sense;
'All's gone, dear brother, only we
Remain to raise posterity:
Marry you, brother; I'll go down,
Sell nouns and verbs, and lie alone;
May you ne'er meet with feuds, or babble,
May olive-branches crown your table! .
Somewhat I'll save, and for this end,
To prove a brother and a friend.
What I propose is just, I swear it;
Or may I perish, by this claret!

The dice are thrown, choose this or that
("Tis all alike to honest Mat);
I'll take then the contrary part,
And propagate with all my heart,'

• Hudibras.

EPIGRAM, EXTEMPORE,

After some thought, some Portuguese',
Some wine, the younger thus replies:

'Fair are your words, as fair your carriage, Let me be free, drudge you in marriage; Get me a boy call'd Adrian,

Trust me, I'll do for't what I can.'

"Home went, well pleas'd, the Suffolk tony, Heart free from care, as purse from money; He got a lusty squalling boy

(Doubtless the dad's and mamma's joy.)
In short, to make things square and even,
Adrian he nam'd was by Dick Stephen.
Mat's debt thus paid, he now enlarges,
And sends you in a bill of charges,
A cradle, brother, and a basket,
(Granted as soon as e'er I ask it)

A coat not of the smallest scantling,
Frocks, stockings, shoes, to grace the bantling;
These too were sent, (or I'm no drubber)
Nay, add to these the fine gum-rubber;
Yet these won't do, send t'other coat,
For, faith, the first's not worth a groat;
Dismally shrunk, as herrings shotten,
Suppos'd originally rotten.

Pray let the next be each way longer,
Of stuff more durable, and stronger;
Send it next week, if you are able;
By this time, sir, you know the fable.
From this, and letters of the same make,
You'll find what 'tis to have a name-sake.

"Cold and hard times, sir, here (believe it). I've lost my curate too, and grieve it. At Easter, for what I can see, (A time of ease and vacancy)

If things but alter, and not undone,
I'll kiss your hands, and visit London.
Molly sends greeting; so do I, sir;

Send a good coat, that's all; good by, sir."

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TWO RIDDLES.

FIRST PRINTED IN THE EXAMINER, 1710.
SPHINX was a monster that would eat
Whatever stranger she could get,
Unless his ready wit disclos'd
The subtle riddle she propos'd.

Oedipus was resolv'd to go,

And try what strength of parts would do.
Says Sphinx, "On this depends your fate;

Tell me what animal is that,

Which has four feet at morning bright,
Has two at noon, and three at night?"
""Tis man," said he, "who, weak by nature,
At first creeps, like his fellow-creature,
Upon all four; as years accrue,
With sturdy steps he walks on two;
In age, at length, grows weak and sick,
For his third leg adopts a stick.

Now, in your turn, 'tis just, methinks,
You should resolve me, madam Sphinx.
What greater stranger yet is he,

Who has four legs, then two, then three;
Then loses one, then gets two more,
And runs away at last on four?"

? Snu

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