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Loose without bawd, and pious without zeal,

She still repeats the sins she would conceal. Envy herself from Silvia's life must grant,

An artful woman makes a modern saint.

THE PARALLEL.

PROMETIIEUs, forming Mr. Day,
Carv'd something like a man in clay.
The mortal's work might well miscarry;
He, that does heaven and earth control,
Alone has power to form a soul,
His hand is evident in Harry.
Since one is but a moving clod,
Toother the lively form of God;
Squire Wallis, you will scarce be able
To prove all poetry but fable.

TO A YOUNG LADY,
WHO WAS FOND OF FORTUNE TELLING.

YoU, madam, may with safety go,
Decrees of destiny to know;
For at your birth kind planets reign'd,
And certain happiness ordain’d:
Such charms as yours are only given
To chosen favourites of heaven.

But, such is my uncertain state, ‘Tis dangerous to try my fate; For I would only know from art The future motions of your heart, And what predestinated doom Attends my love for years to come; No secrets else, that mortals learn, My cares deserve, or life concern: But this will so important be, I dread to search the dark decree; For, while the smallest hope remains, Faint joys are mingled with my pains; Vain distant views my fancy please, And give some intermitting ease: But should the stars too plainly show That you have doom'd my endless woe, No human force, or art, could bear The forment of my wild despair.

This secret then I dare not know, And other truths are useless now. What matters, if unblest in love, How long or short my life will prove? To gratify what low desire, Should I with needless haste inquire, How great, how wealthy, I shall be 2 Oh! what is wealth or power to me ! If I am happy, or undone, It must proceed from you alone.

A GREEK EPIGRAM IMITATED.

WHEN hungry wolves had trespass'd on the fold,
And the robb’d shepherd his sad story told;
“Call in Alcides,” said a crafty priest;
“Give him one half, and he’ll secure the rest.”
No! said the shepherd, if the Fates decree,
By ravaging my flock, to ruin me,
To their commands I willingly resign,
Power is their character, and patience mine;
Though, troth ! to me there seems but little odds,
Who prove the greatest robbers, wolves or gods !

TO A FRIEND ON HIS NUPTIALS.

WHEN Jove lay blest in his Alcmaena's charms,
Three nights, in one, he prest her in his arms;
The sun lay set, and conscious nature strove
To shade her god, and to prolong his love.
From that auspicious night Alcides came,
What less could rise from Jove, and such a dame 2
May this auspicious night with that compare,
Nor less the joys, nor less the rising heir;
He strong as Jove, she like Alcmaena fair!

[graphic]

THE WANDERING PILGIRIM. HUMIbi, Y ADDRESSED TO SII: THOMAS FIRANKL.A.N. so, BART. Post-MASTER, AND PAYMASTERGENERAL TO QUEEN ANNE.

WILL Progot' must to Coxwould” go,
To live, alas! in want,

Unless Sir Thomas say, No, no;
Th’ allowance is too scant.

The gracious knight full well does weet,
Ten farthings ne'er will do

To keep a man each day in meat,
Some bread to meat is due.

A Rechabite poor Will must live,
And drink of Adam's ale,

Pure element no life can give,
Or mortal soul regale.

Spare diet, and spring-water clear,
Physicians hold are good;

Who diets thus, need never fear
A fever in the blood.

1 This merry petition was written to obtain the porter's place for Will Piggot. 2 Twelve miles north, beyond the city of York.

But pass—the AEsculapian crew,
Who eat and quaff the best,

They seldom miss to bake and brew,
Or lin to break their fast.

Could Yorkshire-tyke but do the same,
Then he like them might thrive;

But Fortune, Fortune, cruel dame!
To starve thou dost him drive.

In Will's old Master's plenteous days, His memory e'er be blest!

What need of speaking in his praise? His goodness stands confest.

At his fam'd gate stood Charity,
In lovely sweet array;

Ceres and Hospitality
Dwelt there both night and day.

But, to conclude, and be concise,
Truth must Will's voucher be,

Truth never yet went in disguise,
For naked still is she.

There is but one, but one alone,
Can set the pilgrim free,

And make him cease to pine and moan;
O Frankland it is thee.

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