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« Nay, in his verses, as a friend,
“ I still found something to commend.
“Sir, I excus'd his Nut-brown Maid;
“ Whate'er feverer critics said :
“ Too far, I own, the girl was try'd :
“ The women all were on my side.
“ For Alina 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 fpit;
(Chance often helps us more than wit).
T'other 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 :
.66 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?"
“Know him! d’ye question it? Ods-fish! “Sir, does a beggar know his dish? • I lov'd him; as I told you, I 6 Advis'd liim —” Here a stander-by Twitch'd Damon gently by the cloke, And thus, unwilling, filence broke;
* Damon, 'tis time we should retiré :
“ The man you talk with is Mat Prior.
Patron through life, and from thy birth my friend,
Dorfet ! to theè, this Fable let me fend :
With Damon's lightnefs weigh thy folid worth :
The foil is known to set the diamond forth:
Let the feign'd Tale this real moral give,
How many Damons, how few Dorfets, live !
THUS Kitty *, beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untam'd,
Bespoke the Fair from whence the sprung,
Infiam'd with rage at fad restraint,
Which wife Mamma ordain'd;
And forely vext to play the Saint,
Whilft Wit and Beauty reign'd:
“ Shall I thumb holy books, confind
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 se make all the rout,
And bring home hearts by dozens ?
* Lady Catharine Hyde, now duchess of Queensberr: i
What has the better, pray, than I,
What hidden charms to boast,
Thar all mankind for her should die;
Whilft I am scarce a toast ?
Dearest Mamma! for once let me,
Unchain’d, my fortune try;
I'll have my Earl as well as She*,
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.
WHEN Kneller's works of various grace
Were to fair Venus shown;
The Goddess spy'd in every face
Some features of her own.
Just so ! (and pointing with her hand)
So shone, says she, my eyes to
When from two Goddefles I gain'd
An apple for a prize. * The Earl of Essex married Lady Jane Hyde. + Lady Ranelagh.
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,
Like this t, 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 undone,
And must refign to her the prize,
The apple, which I won.
But, soon as she had Myra seen,
The sparkling eye, the look serene,
and easy air;
With fiery emulation fillid,
The wondering Goddess cry'd,.
Apelles must to Kneller yield,
Or Venus must to Hyde.
Lady Salisbury: † Lady Jane, sister to the duke of Douglas; afterwards, married to Sir John Stewart. 3
DAP H N E AND APOLLO:
Imitated, from the first Book of Ovid's
“ Nympha, precor, Penei, mane."
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.
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.
You fly, alas ! not knowing whom you fly;
Nor ill-bred swain, nor rusty clown, am I:
I Claros ille and Tenedos command
Thank you : I would not leave my native land.
What is to come, by certain arts I know.
Pith! Partridge has as fair pretence as you.