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

even,

(Doubtless the dad's and mamma's joy.)
In short, to make things square and
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 Faster, for what I 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."

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?”

? Snuff

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 !»

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 Esculapian 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 Wil'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.

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.

CUPID TURNED PLOUGHMAN.

FROM MOSCHUS.

His lamp, his bow, and quiver, laid aside,
A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders ty'd,
Sly Cupid, always on new mischief bent,
To the rich field and furrow'd tillage went;
Like any ploughman toil'd the little god,
His tune he whistled, and his wheat he sow'd;
Then sat and laugh'd, and to the skies above
Raising his eye, he thus insulted Jove:
"Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms restrain,
And, as I bid you, let it shine or rain;

Else you again beneath my yoke shall bow,
Feel the sharp goad, and draw the servile plough;
What once Europa was, Nannette is now."

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) Reply'd, "These friends of yours, my dear, Are given extremely much to satire! But pr'ythee, husband, let one hear Sometimes less wit, and more good-nature. "Now I have one unlucky thought,

That would have spoil'd your friend's conceit: Some hair I have, I'm sure, unbought: Pray bring your brother wits to see't."

VENUS'S ADVICE TO THE MUSES.

THUS to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame;
"Adorn my altars, and rovere 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."

your

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,
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;

In haste I ran, unlock'd my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my fate:
I set the child an easy chair

Against the fire, and dry'd his hair;
Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,
And warm'd his little hands with mine.
All this did I with kind intent;
But he, on wanton mischief bent,
Said,

66

Dearest friend, this bow you see, This pretty bow, belongs to me: Observe, I pray, if all be right; I fear the rain has spoil'd it quite." He drew it then, and straight I found Within my breast a secret wound. This done, the rogue no longer staid, But leapt away, and laughing said, "Kind host, adieu! we now must part; Safe is my bow, but sick thy heart!"

TO A POET OF QUALITY,

PRAISING THE LADY HINCHINBROKE.

Or thy judicious Muse's sense,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is,
That Sacharissa and Hortense

She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies.
Yet she to one must still submit,

To dear mamma must pay her duty: She wonders, praising Wilmot's wit,

Thou should'st forget his daughter's beauty.

THE PEDANT.

LYSANDER talks extremely well;
On any subject let him dwell,

His tropes and figures will content ye:

He should possess, to all degrees,

The art of talk; he practises

Full fourteen hours in four-and-twenty.

TO FORTUNE.

WHILST I in prison or in court look down,
Nor beg thy favour, nor deserve thy frown,
In vain, malicious Fortune, hast thou try'd,
By taking from my state, to quell my pride:
Insulting girl thy present rage abate,
And, would'st thou have me humbled, make me
great.

NONPAREIL.

LET others from the town retire,
And in the field scek new delight;
My Phillis does such joys inspire,
No other objects please my sight.
In her alone I find whate'er
Beauties a country landscape grace:
No-shade so lovely as her hair,

Nor plain so sweet as in her face.
Lilies and roses there combine,

More beauteous than in flowery field; Transparent is her skin so fine,

To this each crystal stream must yield. Her voice more sweet than warbling sound, Though sung by nightingale or lark; Her eyes such lustre dart around,

Compar'd to them, the Sun is dark. Both light and vital heat they give;

Cherish'd by them, my love takes root,
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.

Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive
The common parent of mankind,

And made transgress our mother Eve:
Poison its core, though fair its rind.
Yet so delicious is its taste,

I cannot from the bait abstain,
But to th' enchanting pleasure haste,
Though I were sure 'twould end in pain.

CAUTIOUS ALICE.

So good a wife doth Lissy make, That from all company she flieth; Such virtuous courses doth she take, That she all evil tongues defieth; And, for her dearest spouse's sake, She with his brethren only heth.

THE INCURABLE..

PHILLIS, you boast of perfect health in vain,
And laugh at those who of their ills complain;
That with a frequent fever Chloe burns,
And Stella's plumpuess into dropsy turns!
O Phillis, while the patients are nineteen,
Little, alas! are their distempers seen.

But thou, for all thy seeming health, art ill,
Beyond thy lover's hopes, or Blackmore's skill;
No 1 nitives can thy disease assuage,
I tell thee, 'tis incurable-'tis age.

VUL. X.

CHASTE FLORIMEL.
"No-I'll endure ten thousand deaths,
Ere any farther I'll comply;

Oh, sir! no man on Earth that breathes,
Had ever yet his hand so high!

"Oh! take your sword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted see me meet the wound;
Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
A second Lucrece you have found."
Thus to the pressing Corydon,

Poor Florimel, unhappy maid!
Fearing by love to he undone,

In broken dying accents said.
Delia, who held the conscious door,
Insur'd by truth and brandy, smil'd,
Knowing that, sixteen months before,
Our Lucrece had her second child

R