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"Just so," and pointing with her hand,

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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."

DAPHNE AND APOLLO:

IMITATED FROM THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S META

MORPHOSES.

Nympha, precor, Peneia, 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.

APOLLO.

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

3 Lady Ranelagh.

4 Lady Salisbury.

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Lady Jane, sister to the Duke of douglas, after These sort of folks will to each other tell, wards married to sir John Stewart.

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

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 follow:

1 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 banquet! 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 your fable?
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."
"Well then, dear brother-

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 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?”

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A SAILOR'S WIFE.

QUOTH Richard in jest, looking wistly at Nelly, "Methinks, child, you seem something round in the belly."

Nell answer'd him snappishly, "How can that be, When my husband has been more than two years at sea?"

"Thy husband!" quoth Dick: "why that matter was carry'd [marry'd." Most secretly, Nell; I ne'er thought thou wert

ON A FART,

LET IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

READER, I was born, and cry'd;
I crack'd, I smelt, and so I dy'd.
Like Julius Cæsar's was my death,
Who in the senate lost his breath.
Much alike entomb'd does lie
The noble Romulus and I:
And when I dy'd, like Flora fair,

I left the Commonwealth my heir.

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 torment of my wild despair.

This secret then I dare not know,
And other truths are useless now.
What matters, if unbles 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?
Oh! what is wealth or power to me!
If I am happy, or undone,

It must proceed from you alone.

THE MODERN SAINT.

HER time with equal prudence Silvia shares,
First writes a billet-doux, then says her prayers;
Her mass and toilet; vespers and the play;
Thus God and Ashtaroth divide the day:
Constant she keeps her Ember-week and Lent,
At Easter calls all Israel to her tent:
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.

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!"

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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.

But pass-The Asculapian 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 oue alone,

Can set the pilgrim free,

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

O! save him from a dreary way;
To Coxwould he must hie,
Bereft of thee, he wends astray,

At Coxwould he must die.

Oh! let him in thy hall but stand,

And wear a porter's gown, Duteous to what thou may'st command; Thus William's wishes crown.

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PONTIUS AND PONTIA
PONTIUS (who loves, you know, a joke,
Much better than he loves his life)
Chanc'd t'other morning to provoke
The patience of a well-bred wife.
"Talking of you," said he, "

my dear,
Two of the greatest wits in town,
One ask'd if that high furze of hair
Was, bona fide, all your own.

Her own! most certain,' t'other said;
For Nan, who knows the thing, will tell ye,
The hair was bought, the money paid,
And the receipt was sign'd Ducailly."
Pontia (that civil prudent she,

Who values wit much less than sense,

And never darts a repartee,

But purely in her own defence)

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VENUS'S ADVICE TO THE MUSES.

THUS to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame;
"Adorn my altars, and revere my name.
My son shall else assume his potent darts,
Twang goes the bow, my girls; have at
hearts!"

The Muses answer'd, "Venus, we deride
The vagrant's malice, and his mother's pride;
Send him to nymphs who sleep on Ida's shade,
To the loose dance, and wanton masquerade;
Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look,
On the instructive verse, and moral book:
On female idleness his power relies;
But, when he finds us studying hard, he flies."

CUPID TURNED STROLLER.

FROM ANACREON.

Ar dead of night, when stars appear, And strong Boötes turns the bear; When mortals sleep their cares away, Fatigu'd with labours of the day, Cupid was knocking at my gate; "Who's there!" says 1, "who knocks so late, your Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my rest?" "O fear not me, a harmless guest," He said, "but open, open, pray! A foolish child, I've lost my way, And wandering here this moon-light night, All wet and cold, and wanting light." With due regard his voice I heard, Then rose, a ready lamp prepar'd, And saw a naked boy below, With wings, a quiver, and a bow;

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