Nor him who through Asia and Europe did roam, Ulysses by name, who ne'er cry'd to go home, But rather desir'd to see cities and men, Than return to his farms, and converse with old Pen.

Hang Homer and Virgil! their meaning to seek, A man must have pok'd into Latin and Greek; Those who love their own tongue, we have reason to hope,

Have read them translated by Dryden and Pope.

But I sing of exploits that have lately been done By two British heroes, call'd Matthew and John 3: And how they rid friendly from fine London town, Fair Essex to see, and a place they call Down.

Now ere they went out you may rightly suppose How much they discours'd both in prudence and prose;

For, before this great journey was throughly concerted,

Full often they met, and as often they parted.

And thus Matthew said, "Look you here, my friend John,

I fairly have travell'd years thirty and one;
And, though I still carry'd my sovereign's warrants,
I only have gone upon other folk's errands.

"And now in this journey of life I would have A place where to bait, 'twixt the court and the

"For things in this world must by law be made We both must repair unto Oliver Martin; [certain: For he is a lawyer of worthy renown,

I'll bring you to see: he must fix you at Down."

Quoth Matthew, "I know, that, from Berwick to Dover,

You've sold all our premises over and over: And now, if your buyers and sellers agree, You may throw all our acres into the South Sea. "But a word to the purpose: to morrow, dear friend,

We'll see what to night you so highly commend; And, if with a garden and house I am blest, Let the Devil and Coningsby go with the rest." Then answered 'squire Morley. "Pray get a calash, [splash;

That in summer may burn, and in winter may I love dirt and dust; and 'tis always my pleasure, To take with me much of the soil that I measure."

But Matthew thought better; for Matthew thought right,

And hired a chariot so trim and so tight, That extremes both of winter and summer might pass:

For one window was canvas, the other was glass.

1 Mr. Prior, and Mr. John Morley of Halstead.

Where is Cicily so cleanly, and Prudence, and Sue? And where is the widow that dwelt here below? And the hostler that sung about eight years ago?

"And where is your sister, so mild and so dear? Whose voice to her maids like a trumpet was clear?"[I think:

"By my troth!" she replies, " you grow younger, And pray, sir, what wine does the gentleman drink?

"Why now let me die, sir, or live upon trust, If I know to which question to answer you first: Why things, since I saw you, most strangely have vary'd,

The hostler is hang'd, and the widow is marry'd.

"And Prue left a child for the parish to nurse; And Cicily went off with a gentleman's purse; And as to my sister, so mild and so dear, She has lain in the church-yard full many a year."

"Well, peace to her ashes! what signifies grief?

She roasted red veal, and she powder'd lean beef ;
Full nicely she knew to cook up a fine dish;
For tough were her pullets, and tender her fish."

"For that matter, sir, be you 'squire, knight,

or lord,

I'll give you whate'er a good inn can afford:
I should look on myself as unhappily sped,
Did I yield to a sister, or living, or dead.

"Of mutton a delicate neck and a breast Shall swim in the water in which they were drest : And, because you great folks are with rarities taken, [bacon." Addle-eggs shall be next course, tost up with rank

Then supper was serv'd, and the sheets they were laid,

And Morley most lovingly whisper'd the maid. The maid! was she handsome? why truly so-so: But what Morley whisper'd we never shall know.

Then up rose these heroes as brisk as the Sun, And their horses, like his, were prepared to run. Now when in the morning Matt ask'd for the score, John kindly had paid it the evening before.

Their breakfast so warm to be sure they did eat, A custom in travellers mighty discreet; And thus with great friendship and glee they went To find out the place you shall hear of anon, [on, Call'd Down, down, hey derry down.

But what did they talk of from morning to noon? Why of spots in the Sun, and the man in the Moon; Of the Czar's gentle temper, the stocks in the city, The wise men of Greece, and the secret committee.

So to Harlow they came; and, "Hey! where are you all!

Show us into the parlour, and mind when I call: Why your maids have no motion, your men have no life;

Well master, I hear you have bury'd your wife.

"Come this very instant, take care to provide Tea, sugar, and toast, and a horse and a guide. Are the Harrisons here, both the old and the young? [song?" And where stands fair Down, the delight of my "O'squire, to the grief of my heart I may say, I have bury'd two wives since you travell'd this way;

And the Harrisons both may be presently here; And Down stands, I think, where it stood the last year."

Then Joan brought the tea-pot, and Caleb the toast, [host:

And the wine was froth'd out by the hand of mine But we clear'd our extempore banquet so fast, That the Harrisons both were forgot in the haste.

Now hey for Down-hall! for the guide he was got;

The chariot was mounted; the horses did trot;
The guide he did bring us a dozen miles round,
But, oh all in vain, for no Down could be found.

O thou popish guide, thou hast led us
astray,"

Says he, "How the Devil should I know the way?
I never yet travell'd this road in my life:
But Down lies on the left, I was told by my wife."

"Thy wife," answer'd Matthew," when she

went abroad,

Ne'er told thee of half the by-ways she had trod : Perhaps she met friends, and brought pence to thy house,

But thou shalt go home without ever a sous.

"What is this thing, Morley, and how can you mean it?

[it."We have lost our estate here, before we have seen "Have patience," soft Morley, in anger reply'd: "To find out our way, let us send off our guide. "O here I spy Down: cast your eye to the west, [fest."

Where a windmill so stately stands plainly con"On the west," reply'd Matthew, no windmill I find:

As well thou may'st tell me, I see the west-wind. "Now, pardon me, Morley, the wind-mill I spy, But, faithful Achates, no house is there nigh.' "Look again," says mild Morley; gadzooks! you are blind:

The mill stands before, and the house lies behind."

"O Morley! O Morley! if that be a hall, The fame with the building will suddenly fallWith your friend Jemmy Gibbs about buildings agree;

My business is land, and it matters not me."

"I wish you could tell what a duce your head ails: [sailles? I show'd you Down-Hall; did you look for VerThen take house and farm as John Ballet will let you,

For better for worse, as I took my Dame Betty.

"And now, sir, a word to the wise is enough; You'll make very little of all your old stuff: And to build at your age, by my troth, you grow simple!

Are you young and rich, like the master of Wimple+?

"If you have these whims of apartments and gardens,

From twice fifty acres you'll ne'er see five farthings:

And in yours I shall find the true gentleman's fate; Ere you finish your house, you'll have spent your

SINCE Anna visited the Muses' seat

(Around her tomb let weeping angels wait!)
Hail thou, the brightest of thy sex, and best,
Most gracious neighbour', and most welcome guest,
Not Harley's self, to Cam and Isis dear,
In virtues and in arts great Oxford's heir;
Not he such present honour shall receive,
As to his consort we aspire to give.

To pay due homage to the softer sex:
Writings of men our thoughts to day neglects,
Plato and Tully we forbear to read,
And their great followers whom this house has bred,
To study lessons from thy morals given,
And shining characters, impress'd by Heaven.
Science in books no longer we pursue,
Minerva's self in Harriet's face we view;
For, when with beauty we can virtue join,
We paint the semblance of a form divine.

Their pious incense let our neighbours bring,
To the kind memory of some bounteous king;

4 Edward Earl of Oxford. The family seat was then at Wimple.

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 SCHOLARS, 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 rooms 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. ■. 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 pasty
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 mind;
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.

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—”

THUS

THE FEMALE PHAETON.

HUS Kitty', beautiful and young, And wild as colt untam'd, Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung, With little rage inflam'd:

Inflam'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't
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.

"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, 66 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 1: I Claros isle, and Tenedos, command

3 Lady Ranelagh.

Lady Salisbury.

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: