Usquebaugh to our feast in pails was brought up,
An hundred at least, and a madder Tour eup.
O there is the sport! we rise with the light
In disorderly sort from snoring all night.
O how was I trick'd: my pipe it was broke,
My pocket was pick'd, I lost my new cloak.
I'm rifled, quoth Nell, of mantle and kercher 2:
Why then fare them well, the de'el take the searcher.
Come, harper strike up; bnt, first, by your favour,
Boy, give us a cup: ah this has some savour.
Orourk's jolly boys ne'er dreamt of the matter,
Till, rous'd by the noise and musical ciatter,
They bounce from their nest, no longer will tarry,
They rise ready drest, without one ave-mary.
They dance in a round, cutting capers and ramping;
A mercy the ground did not burst with their stamp.
The floor is all wet with leaps and with jumps, [ing.
While the water and sweat splish-splash in their

pumps.

4.

Bless
you late and early, Laughlin O'Enagin!
By my hand 3 you dance rarely, Margery Grinagin.
Bring straw for our bed, shake it down to the feet,
Then over us spread the winnowing sheet:
To show I don't flinch, fill the bowl up again;
Then give us a pinch of your sneezing, a yean
Good Lord! what a sight, after all their good cheer,
For people to fight in the midst of their beer!
They rise from their feast, and hot are their brains,
A cubit at least the length of their skeans 5.
What stabs and what cuts, what clattering of sticks;
What strokes on the guts, what bastings and kicks;
With cudgels of oak well harden'd in flame,

An hundred heads broke, an hundred struck lame.
You churl, I'll maintain my father built Lusk,
The castle of Slain, and Carrick Drumrusk :
The earl of Kildare and Moynalta his brother,
As great as they are, I was nurst by their mother.
Ask that of old madam; she 'll tell you who 's who
As far up as Adam, she knows it is true.

Come down with that beam, if cudgels are scarce,
A blow on the weam, or a kick on the a-se.

Our wives they grow sullen

At wearing of woollen,

And all we poor shop-keepers must our horns pull in Then we'll buy English silks for our wives and our daughters,

In spite of his deanship and journeyman Waters.
Whoever our trading with England would hinder,
To inflame both the nations do plainly conspire;
Because Irish linen will soon turn to tinder,
And wool it is greasy, and quickly takes fire.
Therefore I assure you,

Our noble grand jury, [great fury: When they saw the dean's book, they were in a They would buy English silks for their wives and their daughters,

In spite of his deanship and journeyman Waters. This wicked rogue Waters, who always is sinning,

And before corum nobus so oft has been call'd, Henceforward shall print neither pamphlets nor linen, And, if swearing can do 't, shall be swingingly And as for the dean, [mawld : You know whom I mean, [clean, If the printer will peach him, he 11 scarce come off Then we'll buy English silks for our wives and our daughters,

In spite of his deanship and journeyman Waters.

THE PROGRESS OF BEAUTY

1720.

WHEN first Diana leaves her bed,
Vapours and steams her look disgrace,
A frowzy dirty-colour'd red

Sits on her cloudy wrinkled face:
But by degrees, when mounted high,
Her artificial face appears
Down from her window in the sky,

Her spots are gone, her visage clears.
"Twixt earthly females and the Moon
All parallels exactly run:
If Celia should appear too soon,

Alas, the nymph would be undone !
To see her from her pillow rise,

All reeking in a cloudy steam,
Crack'd lips, foul teeth, and gummy eyes,
Poor Strephon! how would he blaspheme!
Three colours, black, and red, and white,
So graceful in their proper place,
Remove them to a different scite,
They form a frightful hideous face:
For instance, when the lily skips
Into the precincts of the rose,
And takes possession of the lips,
Leaving the purple to the nose:
So Celia went entire to bed,

But, when she rose, white, black, and red,
All her complexion safe and sound;

Though still in sight, had chang'd their ground.
The black, which would not be confin'd,
A more inferior station seeks,
Leaving the fiery red behind,

Aud mingles in her muddy cheeks.

Eut Celia can with ease reduce,

By help of pencil, paint, and brush, Each colour to its place and use,

And teach her cheeks again to blush. She knows her early self no more,

But fill'd with admiration stands; As other painters oft adore

The workmanship of their own hands.

Thus, after four important hours,

Celia's the wonder of her sex :
Say, which among the heavenly powers
Could cause such marvellous effects?
Venus, indulgent to her kind,

Gave women all their hearts could wish,
When first she taught them where to find
White-lead and Lusitanian dish.
Love with white-lead cements his wings:
White-lead was sent us to repair
Two brightest, brittlest, earthly things,
A lady's face, and China-ware.
She ventures now to lift the sash;

The window is her proper sphere: Ah, lovely nymph! be not too rash,

Nor let the beaux approach too near. Take pattern by your sister star:

Delude at once and bless our sight; When you are seen, be seen from far, And chiefly choose to shine by night. But art no longer can prevail,

When the materials all are gone; The best mechanic hand must fail, Where nothing 's left to work upon. Matter, as wise logicians say,

Cannot without a form subsist; And form, say I as well as they, Must fail, if matter brings no grist. And this is fair Diana's case;

For all astrologers maintain, Each night a bit drops off her face, When mortals say she 's in her wane: While Partridge 2 wisely shows the cause Efficient of the Moon's decay, That Cancer with his poisonous claws Attacks her in the milky way: But Gadbury, in art profound,

From her pale cheeks pretends to show, That swain Endymion is not sound, Or else that Mercury's her foe. But, let the cause be what it will,

In half a month she looks so thin, That Flamsteed 4 ean, with all his skill, See but her forehead and her chin, Yet, as she wastes, she grows discreet, Till midnight never shows her head: So rotting Celia strolls the street, When sober folks are all a-bed:

For sure, if this be Luna's fate,
Poor Celia, but of mortal race,
In vain expects a longer date

To the materials of her face.
When Mercury her tresses mows,
To think of black-lead combs is vain;
No painting can restore a nose,
Nor will her teeth return again.
Ye powers, who over love preside!
Since mortal beauties drop so soon,
If ye would have us well supply'd,
Send us new nymphs with each new moon !

THE

PROGRESS OF POETRY.

THE farmer's goose, who in the stubble
Has fed without restraint or trouble,
Grown fat with corn, and sitting still,
Can scarce get o'er the barn-door sill;
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her belly in the neighbouring pool;
Nor loudly cackles at the door;
For cackling shows the goose is poor.

But, when she must be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren common strays,
Hard exercise and harder fare

Soon make my dame grow lank and spare:
Her body light, she tries her wings,
And scorns the ground, and upward springs;
While all the parish, as she flies,
Hear sounds harmonious from the skies.

Such is the poet fresh in pay
(The third night's profits of his play);
His morning-draughts till noon can swill
Among his brethren of the quill:
With good roast beef his belly full,
Grown lazy, foggy, fat, and dull,
Deep sunk in plenty and delight,
What poet e'er could take his flight?
Or, stuff'd with phlegm up to the throat,
What poet e'er could sing a note?
Nor Pegasus could bear the load
Along the high celestial road;

The steed, oppress'd, would break his girth,
To raise the lumber from the Earth.

But view him in another scene,
When all his drink is Hippocrene,
His money spent, his patrons fail,
His credit out for cheese and ale;
His two-years coat so smooth and bare,
Through every thread it lets in air;
With hungry meals his body pin'd,
His guts and belly full of wind;
And, like a jockey for a race,
His flesh brought down to flying case:
Now his exalted spirit loaths
Encumbrances of food and clothes;
And up he rises, like a vapour,
Supported high on wings of paper;
He singing flies, and flying sings,
While from below all Grub-street rings.

THE SOUTH SEA PROJECT.

1721.

Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto,

Arma virum, tabulæque, et Troïa gaza per undas.

YE wise philosophers, explain

What magic makes our money rise, When dropt into the Southern main; Or do these jugglers cheat our eyes? "Put in your money fairly told;

Presto! be gone-Tis here again: Ladies and gentlemen, behold,

Here's every piece as big as ten.”
Thus in a bason drop a shilling,

Then fill the vessel to the brim;
You shall observe, as you are filling,
The ponderous metal seems to swim.
It rises both in bulk and height,

Behold it swelling like a sop;
The liquid medium cheats your sight;
Behold it mounted to the top!

"In stock three hundred thousand pound;
I have in view a lord's estate;
My manors all contiguous round;

A coach and six, and serv'd in plate !"
Thus, the deluded bankrupt raves;
Puts all upon a desperate bet;
Then plunges in the Southern waves,
Dipt over head and ears-in debt.
So, by a calenture misled,

The mariner with rapture sees,
On the smooth ocean's azure bed,
Enamel'd fields and verdant trees:
With eager haste he longs to rove

In that fantastic scene, and thinks
It must be some enchanted grove;
And in he leaps, and down he sinks.
Five hundred chariots, just bespoke,

Are sunk in these devouring waves, The horses drown'd, the harness broke,

And here the owners find their graves. Like Pharaoh, by directors led;

They with their spoils went safe before? His chariots, tumbling out the dead,

Lay shatter'd on the Red-seg shore. Rais'd up on Hope's aspiring plumes, The young adventurer o'er the deep An eagle's flight and state assumes, And scorns the middle-way to keep. On paper wings he takes his flight,

With war the father bound them fast The war is melted by the height,

And down the towering boy is cast.

A moralist might here explain

The rashness of the Cretan youth; Describe his fall into the main,

And from a fable form a truth. His wings are his paternal rent,

He melts the war at every flame; His credit sunk, his money spent,

In Southern Seas he leaves his name.

;

Virg.

Inform us, you that best can tell,

Why in yon' dangerous gulph profound, Where hundreds and where thousands fell, Fools chiefly float, the wise are drown'd So have I seen from Severn's brink

A flock of geese jump down together; Swim, where the bird of Jove would sink, And, swimming, never wet a feather. But, I affirm, 'tis false in fact,

Directors better knew their tools; We see the nation's credit crackt, Each knave hath made a thousand fools. One fool may from another win,

And then get off with money stor'd; But, if a sharper once comes in,

He throws at all, and sweeps the board. As fishes on each other prey,

The great ones swallowing up the small; So fares it in the Southern Sea;

The whale directors eat up all.
When stock is high, they come between,
Making by second-hand their offers;
Then cunningly retire unseen,

With each a million in his coffers.
So, when upon a moon-shine night
An ass was drinking at a stream;
A cloud arose, and stopt the light,
By intercepting every beam:
"The day of judgment will be soon"
(Cries out a sage among the croud);
"An ass hath swallow'd up the Moon!
(The Moon lay safe behind a cloud).”
Each poor subscriber to the sea

Sinks down at once, and there he lies; Directors fall as well as they,

Their fall is but a trick to rise.

So fishes, rising from the main,
Can soar with moisten'd wings on high;
The moisture dry'd, they sink again,
And dip their fins again to fly.
Undone at play, the female troops

Come here their losses to retrieve;
Ride o'er the waves in spacious hoops,
Like Lapland witches in a sieve.
Thus Venus to the sea descends,

As poets feign; but where 's the moral? It shows the queen of love intends

To search the deep for pearl and coral. The sea is richer than the land,

I heard it from my grannam's mouth; Which now I clearly understand,

For by the sea she meant the South. Thus by directors we are told,

"Pray, gentlemen, believe your eyes; Our ocean's cover'd o'er with gold,

Look round and see how thick it lies:

We, gentlemen, are your assisters,

We'll come, and hold you by the chin.-" Alas! all is not gold that glisters, Then thousand sink by leaping in. Oh! would those patriots be so kind, Here in the deep to wash their hands, Then, like Pactolus, we should find

The sea indeed had golden sands

A shilling in the bath you fling; The silver takes a nobler hue, By magic virtue in the spring,

And seems a guinea to your view. But, as a guinea will not pass

At market for a farthing more, Shown through a multiplying-glass, Than what it always did before: So cast it in the Southern seas,

Or view it through a jobber's bill; Put on what spectacles you please, Your guinea 's but a guinea still. One night a fool into a brook

Thus from a hillock looking down,
The golden stars for guineas took,
And silver Cynthia for a crown.
The point he could no longer doubt;

He ran, he leapt into the flood;
There sprawl'd awhile, and scarce got out,
All cover'd o'er with slime and mud.
"Upon the water cast thy bread,

And after many days thou 'lt find it ;"
But gold upon this ocean spread

Shall sink, and leave no mark behind it. There is a gulph, where thousands fell,

Here all the bold adventurers came, A narrow sound, though deep as Hell; 'Change-Alley is the dreadful name. Nine times a day it ebbs and flows;

Yet he that on the surface lies,
Without a pilot seldom knows

The time it falls, or when 'twill rise.
Subscribers here by thousands float
And jostle one another down;
Each paddling in his leaky boat;

And here they fish for gold, and drown. "Now bury'd in the depth below,

Now mounted up to Heaven again,
They reel and stagger to and fro,

At their wits end, like drunken men 1,"
Mean time secure on Garraway 2 cliffs,
A savage race by shipwrecks fed,
Lie waiting for the founder'd skiffs,
And strip the bodies of the dead.

But these, you say, are factious lies,
From some malicious Tory's brain;

For, where directors get a prize,

The Swiss and Dutch whole millions drain.

Thus, when by rooks a lord is ply'd,
Some cully often wins a bet,
By venturing on the cheating side,
Though not into the secret let.
While some build castles in the air,
Directors build them in the seas;
Subscribers plainly see them there,

For fools will see as wise men please.
Thus oft by mariners are shown

(Unless the men of Kent are liars) Earl Godwin's castles overflown,

And palace-roofs, and steeple-spires. Mark where the sly directors creep, Nor to the shore approach too nigh!

1 Psalm cvii.

? A coffee-house in 'Change-Alley.

The monsters nestle in the deep,
To seize you in your passing by.
Then, like the dogs of Nile, be wise,

Who, taught by instinct how to shun
The crocodile, that lurking lies,

Run as they drink, and drink and run. Antæus could, by magic charms,

Recover strength whene'er he fell; Alcides held him in his arms,

And sent him up in air to Hell. Directors, thrown into the sea,

Recover strength and vigour there; But may be tam'd another way, Suspended for a while in air. Directors! for 'tis you I warn,

By long experience we have found What planet rul'd when you were born; We see you never can be drown'd. Beware, nor over-bulky grow,

Nor come within your cully's reach;
For, if the sea should sink so low
To leave you dry upon the beach,
You'll owe your ruin to your bulk :
Your foes already waiting stand,
To tear you like a founder'd hulk,

While you lie helpless on the sand.
Thus, when a whale has lost the tide,

The coasters crowd to seize the spoil; The monster into parts divide,

And strip the bones, and melt the oil. Oh! may some western tempest sweep These locusts whom our fruits have fed, That plague, directors, to the deep,

Driv'n from the South-Sea to the Red! May he, whom Nature's laws obey,

Who lifts the poor, and sinks the proud, "Quiet the raging of the sea,

And still the madness of the crowd!"
But never shall our isle have rest,
Till those devouring swine run down,
(The devils leaving the possest)

And headlong in the waters drown.
The nation then too late will find,
Computing all their cost and trouble,
Directors' promises but wind,
South-Sea at best a mighty bubble. ·

THE DOG AND SHADOW.

ORE cibum portans catulus dum spectat in undis,
Apparet liquido prædæ melioris imago:
Dum speciosa diu damna admiratur, et alte
Ad latices inhiat, cadit imo vortice præceps
Ore cibus, nec non simulachrum corripit una.
Occupat ille avibus deceptis faucibus umbram
Illudit species, ac dentibus aëra mordet.

TO A FRIEND,

WHO HAD BEEN MUCH ABUSED IN MANY
DIFFERENT LIBELS.

THE greatest monarch may be stabb'd by night,
And fortune help the murderer in his flight;

OUR set of strollers, wandering up and down,
Hearing the house was empty, came to town;
And, with a licence from our good lord mayor,
Went to one Griffith, formerly a player;
Him we persuaded, with a moderate bribe,
To speak to Elrington and all the tribe,
To let our company supply their places,

And hire us out their scenes, and clothes, and faces.
Is not the truth the truth? Look full on me;
I am not Elrington, nor Griffith he.

When we perform, look sharp among our crew,
There's not a creature here you ever knew.
The former folks were servants to the king;
We, humble strollers, always on the wing.
Now, for my part, I think upon the whole,
Rather than starve, a better man would stroll.
Stay, let me see-Three hundred pounds a year,
For leave to act in town! "Tis plaguy dear.
Now, here's a warrant; gallants, please to mark,
For three thirteens and sixpence to the clerk.
Three hundred pounds! Were I the price to fix,
The public should bestow the actors six.
A score of guineas, given under-hand,
For a good word or so, we understand.
To help an honest lad that 's out of place,
May cost a crown or so; a common case:
And, in a crew, 'tis no injustice thought
To ship a rogue, and pay him not a groat.
But, in the chronicles of former ages,
Who ever heard of servants paying wages?
I pity Elrington with all my heart;
Would he were here this night to act my part!
I told him what it was to be a stroller;
How free we acted, and had no comptroller:
In every town we wait on Mr. Mayor,
First get a licence, then produce our ware;
We sound a trumpet, or we beat a drum;
Huzza! (the school-boys roar) the players are come!
And then we cry, to spur the bumpkins on,
Gallants, by Tuesday next we must be gone.

I told him, in the smoothest way I could,
All this and more, yet it would do no good.
But Elrington, tears falling from his cheeks,
He that has shone with Betterton and Wilks,
To whom our country has been always dear,
Who chose to leave his dearest pledges here,
Owns all your favours, here intends to stay,
And as a stroller, act in every play:
And the whole crew this resolution takes,
To live and die all strollers for your sakes:
Not frighted with an ignominious name,
For your displeasure is their only shame.
A pox on Elrington's majestic tone!
Now to a word of business in our own.

Gallants, next Thursday night will be our last;
Then, without fail, we pack up for Belfast.
Lose not your time, nor our diversions miss,
The next we act shall be as good as this.

EPIGRAM.

GREAT folks are of a finer mould;
Lord! how politely they can scold!
While a coarse English tongue will itch
For whore and rogue, and dog and bitch.

PROLOGUE

TO A PLAY FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE DISTRESSED

WEAVERS. BY DR. SHERIDAN.

SPOKEN BY MR. ELRINGTON, 1721. GREAT cry and little wool-is now become The plague and proverb of the weaver's loom : No wool to work on, neither weft nor warp; Their pockets empty, and their stomachs sharp. Provok'd, in loud complaints to you they cry: Ladies, relieve the weavers; or they die! Forsake your silks for stuffs; nor think it strange To shift your clothes, since you delight in change. One thing with freedom I'll presume to tellThe men will like you every bit as well.

See, I am drest from top to toe in stuff; And, by my troth, I think I'm fine enough: My wife admires me more, and swears she never, In any dress, beheld me look so clever. And, if a man be better in such ware, What great advantage must it give the fair! Our wool from lambs of innocence proceeds: Silks come from maggots, callicoes from weeds: Hence 'tis by sad experience that we find Ladies in silks to vapours much inclin❜dAnd what are they but maggots in the mind? For which I think it reason to conclude That clothes may change our temper like our food. Chintzes are gawdy, and engage our eyes Too much about the party-colour'd dyes: Although the lustre is from you begun, We see the rainbow, and neglect the Sun.

How sweet and innocent 's the country maid, With small expense in native wool array'd; Who copies from the fields her homely green, While by her shepherd with delight she's seen! Should our fair ladies dress like her in wool, How much more lovely, and how beautiful,