They parted; (did they fo, an't please you?)
Yes, that they did, (dear Sir) to eafe you;
One went to Holland, where they huff folk,
Th' other to vent his wares in Suffolk.
(That mice have travell'd in old times,
Horace and Prior tell in rhymes,
Thofe two great wonders of their ages,
Superior far to all the fages.)
Many days paft, and many a night,
Ere they could gain each other's fight;
At laft, in weather cold nor fultry,
They met at the Three Cranes in Poultry.
After much fufs, and great grimace,
(Ufual, you know, in fuch a cafe)
Much chat arofe, what had been done,
What might, before next fummer's fun;
Much faid 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 fense,
All's gone, dear brother, only we
Remain to raife 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 fave, and, for this end,
To prove a brother and a friend,
What I propofe is juft, I swear it,
may I perifh by this claret.
The dice are thrown, chufe this or that,
('Tis all alike to honeft Matt)
I'll take then the contrary part,
And propagate with all my heart.
After fome thought, fome 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;
Truft me I'll do for't what I can,
Home went, well pleas'd, the Suffolk Tony,
Heart-free from care, as purfe from money,
Refolving full to please his taudy,
He got a spouse, and jerk'd her body.
At laft, when teeming-time was 'come,
Out came her burden from her womb;
It prov'd a lufty fqualling boy;
(Doubtless the dad's and mammy's joy)
In fhort, to make things fquare and even,
Adrian he nam'd was by Dick Stephen.
Matt's debt thus paid, he now enlarges,
And fends you in a bill of charges;
A cradle, brother, and a basket,
(Granted as foon as e'er I afk'd it)
A coat not of the smallest fcantling,
Frocks, stockings, fhoes, to grace the bantling; 105
Thefe, too, were fent, (or I'm no drubber)
Nay, add to these the fine gum-rubber;
Yet these won't do, fend th' other coat,
For faith the firft's not worth a groat,
Difmally fhrunk, as herrings fhotten,
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 fame make,
You'll find what 'tis to have a namefake.
Cold and hard times, Sir, here, (believe it)
I've loft my curate, too, and grieve it;
At Eafter, for what I can fee,
(A time of cafe and vacancy)
If things but alter, and not undone,
I'll kiss your hand, and vifit Londen.
Molly fends greeting, fo do I, Sir.
Send a good coat, that's all; good bye Sir.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN LOVE.
A Tale.
FROM noife and
ROM public noife and factious ftrife,
Take me my Celia to thy breaft,
And lull my weary'd foul to reft:
For ever in this humble cell
Let thee and I my fair one dwell;
None enter elfe but Love-and he
Shali bar the door and keep the key,
To painted roofs and fhining fpires
(Uneafy feats of high defires)
Let the unthinking many crowd
That dare be covetous and proud;
In golden bondage let them wait,
And barter happiness for state:
But oh my Celia, when thy swain
Defires to fee a court again,
May heaven around this deftin'd head,
The choiceft of its curfes fhed:
To fum up all the rage of fate,
In the two things I dread and hate,
May't thou be faife and I be great.
Thus, on his Celia's panting breast,
Fond Celadon his foul expreft,
While with delight the lovely maid
Receiv'd the vows the thus repaid.
Hope of my age, joy of my youth,
Bleft miracle of love and truth,
All that could e'er be counted mine,
My love and life, long fince are thine :
A real joy I never knew
Till I believ'd thy paffion true;
A real grief I ne'er can find
Till thou prov't perjur'd or unkind.
Content, and poverty, and care,
All we abhor, and all we fear,
Bleft with thy prefence I can bear.
Thro' waters and thro' flames I'll go,
Suff'rer and folace of thy woe:
Trace me fome yet unheard-of way
That I thy ardour may repay,
And make my conftant paffion known
By more than woman yet has done.
Had I a wifh that did not bear
The stamp and image of my dear,
I'd pierce my heart thro' ev'ry vein,
And die to let it out again.
No; Venus fhall my witnefs be,
(If Venus ever lov'd like me)
That for one hour I would not quit
My fhepherds arms and this retreat
To be the Perfian monarch's bride,
Partner of all his pow'r and pride,
Or rule in regal state above,
Mother of gods and wife of Jove.
O happy thefe of human race!
But foon, alas! our pleasures pass.
He thank'd her on his bended knee,
Then drank a quart of milk and tea,
And leaving her ador'd embrace,
Haften'd to court to beg a place;
While fhe, his abfence to bemoan,
The very moment he was gone
Call'd Thyrfis from beneath the bed,
Where all this time he had been hid.
WHILE men have these ambitious fancies,
And wanton wenches read romances,
Our fex will-What? Out with it. Lie,
And theirs in equal strains reply.
The moral of the tale I fing
(A pofy for a wedding ring)
In this fhort verfe will be confin'd;
Love is a jeft, and vows are wind.
THE CONVERSATION.
IT always has been thought difcreet
To know the company you ineet;
And fure there may be fecret danger
In talking much before a stranger.
Agreed what then? Then drink your ale;
I'll pledge you, and repeat my
No matter where the scene is fixt,
The persons were but oddly mixt;
When fober Damon thus began,
(And Damon is a clever man :)
1 now grow old, but ftill from youth
Have held for modefty and truth:
The men who by these fea-marks steer
In life's great voyage never err:
Upon this point I dare defy
The world; I paufe for a reply.
Sir, either is a good affiftant,
Said one, who fat a little diftant;
Truth decks our speeches and our books,
And modefty adorns our looks:
But farther progress we must take;
Not only born to look and fpeak,
The man must act. The Stagirite
Says thus, and fays extremely right:
Strict juftice is the fovereign guide
That o'er our actions fhould prefide;
This queen of virtues is confeft
To regulate and bind the rest,
Thrice happy if you can but find
Her equal balance poise your
All diff'rent graces foon will enter,
Like lines concurrent to their centre.
'Twas thus, in fhort, thefe two went on,
With yea and nay, and pro and con.
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