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For you, my love, is all my fear,
Hark how the drums do rattle;
Alas, sir! what should you do here
In dreadful day of battle?
Let little Orange stay and fight,
For danger's his diversion;
The wise will think you in the right,
Not to expose your person:
Nor vex your thoughts how to repair
The ruins of your glory;
You ought to leave so mean a care
To those who pen your story.
Are not Boileau and Corneille paid
For panegyric writing?
They know how heroes may be made
Without the help of fighting.
When foes too saucily approach,
'Tis best to leave them fairly;
Put six good horses in your coach,
And carry me to Marly.
Let Boufleurs, to secure your fame,
Go take some town, or buy it;
Whilst you, great sir, at Nostredame,
Te Deum sing in quiet!”

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FROM THE GREEK.

GREAT Bacchus, born in thunder and in fire,
By native heat asserts his dreadful sire.
Nourish’d near shady rills and cooling streams,
He to the nymphs avows his amorous flames.
To all the brethren at the Bell and Vine,
The moral says; mix water with your wine.

EPIGRAM.

FRANK carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats:
He eats more than six; and drinks more than he
eats. -

Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes;
And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes.
Yet sighing, he says, we must certainly break; |
And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak:
For of late I invite him—but four times a week.

ANOTHER.

To John I ow’d great obligation;
But John unhappily thought fit

To publish it to all the nation:
Sure John and I are more than quit.

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ANOTHER.

YEs, every poet is a fool:
By demonstration Ned can show it:

Happy, could Ned's inverted rule
Prove every fool to be a poet.

ANOTHER.

THY nags, (the leanest things alive)
So very hard thou lov'st to drive;
I heard thy anxious coachman say,
It cost thee more in whips than hay.

TO A PERSON WHO WROTE ILL,
AND SPOKE WORSE AGAINST ME.

LIE, Philo, untouch'd on my peaceable shelf; Nor take it amiss, that so little I heed thee: I’ve no envy to thee, and some love to myself: Then why should I answer; since first I must read thee?

Drunk with Helicon's waters and double-brew'd bub, Be a linguist, a poet, a critic, a wag;

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To the solid delight of thy well-judging club,
To the damage alone of thy bookseller Brag.

Pursue me with satire : what harm is there in’t 2
But from all viva voce reflection forbear :
There can be no danger from what thou shalt
print:
There may be a little from what thou may'st swear,

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W IIILE, faster than his costive brain indifes.
Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes:
II is case appears to me like honest Teague's.
When he was run away with, by his legs.
Phoebus, give Philo o'er himself command;
Quicken his senses, or restrain his hand;
Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink:
So may he cease to write, and learn to think.

“QUID SIT FUTURUM CRAS FUGE
QUAERERE.”

For what to-morrow shall disclose,
May spoil what you to-night propose:
England may change; or Cloe stray:
Love and life are for to-day.

A BA], [AD OF THE NOTBROWNE MAYH) E.1

A. BE it ryght, or wrong, these men among on women do complayne ; Affyrmynge this—how that it is a labour spent in Wayne,

1 This ancient poem was originally printed in an old black-letter book, entitled, The Customes of London or Arnolde's Chronicle, which Mr. Capell supposes appeared about the year 1521. According to that gentleman's opinion—“It was certainly written in the beginning of the sixteenth century, and not sooner: the curious in these matters, who shall conceive a doubt of what is here asserted through remembrance of what he has seen advanced by a poet of late days, is desired to look into the works of the great Sir Thomas More, and particularly into a poem that stands at the head of them, and from thence receive conviction: if sameness of rhymes, sameness of orthography, and a very near affinity of words and phrases be capable of giving it.” The poet of late days mentioned above, is certainly Mr. Prior, who in the edition of his poems published in 1718, had asserted it to have been written three hundred years since. What led him to that mistaken notion, was probably a writer in the Muses Mercury for June 1707, who conjectures that it was written about the year 1472. The same writer says, and the ballad seems to confirm it, that the persons represented are a young Lord, the Earl of Westmoreland's son, and a lady of equal quality. The copy from which this poem hath hitherto been printed being very inaccurate, it is here given according to that published by Mr. Capell.

VOL. I. 17

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