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ON THE SAME.

HELEN was juft flipt into bed ;

Her eye-brows on the toilet lay;
Away the kitten with them fled,
As fees belonging to her prey.

For this misfortune careless Jane,
Affure yourself, was loudly rated:
And madam, getting up again,
With her own hand the mouse-trap baited.

On little things, as fages write,
Depends our human joy or forrow:
If we don't catch a mouse to-night,
Alas! no eye-brows for to-morrow.

PHYLLIS'S

Ho

AGE.

OW old may Phyllis be, you afk,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?

To answer is no easy task:

For the has really two ages.

Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays,
Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
All day let Envy view her face,

And Phyllis is but twenty-one.

Paint, patches, jewels laid afide,
At night Aftronomers agree,
The evening has the day bely'd;
And Phyllis is fome forty-three.

FORMA BO NUM FRAGIL E.

WHAT a frail thing is beauty! fays Baron le

Cras,

Perceiving his mistrefs had one eye of glass:

And scarcely had he spoke it,

When the more confus'd, as more angry fhe grew,
By a negligent rage prov'd the maxim too true :
She dropt the eye, and broke it.

A N

E P I GRA M.

WRITTEN

TO THE DUKE DE NOAILLES.

VAIN the concern which you express,

That uncall'd Alard will poffefs

Your house and coach, both day and night,
And that Macbeth was haunted lefs

By Banquo's restless spright.

With fifteen thousand pounds a year,
Do

you complain, you cannot bear
An ill, you may fo foon retrieve?
Good Alard, faith, is modefter

By much than you believe.

Lend

Lend him but fifty Louis-d'or;

And fhall never fee him more:

you

Take the advice; probatum est.
Why do the Gods indulge our ftore,
But to fecure our reft?

EPILOGUE

TO SMITH'S PHEDRA AND HIPPOLYTUS,

SPOKEN BY MRS. OLDFIELD, WHO ACTED ISMENA.

LADIES, to-night your pity I implore

you

before :

For who never troubled
one,
An Oxford-man, extremely read in Greek,
Who from Euripides makes Phædra speak;
And comes to town to let us Moderns know,
How women lov'd two thousand years ago.

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If that be all, faid I, e'en burn your play :
Egad! we know all that as well as they :
Shew us the youthful, handsome charioteer,
Firm in his feat, and running his career;
Our fouls would kindle with as generous flames,
As e'er infpir'd the ancient Grecian dames :
Every Ifmena would refign her breast;
And every dear Hippolytus be bleft.

But, as it is, fix flouncing Flanders mares
Are e'en as good as any two of theirs :
And, if Hippolytus can but contrive
To buy the gilded chariot, John can drive.

Now

Now of the bustle you have feen to-day,
And Phædra's morals in this scholar's play,
Something at least in justice should be faid;
But this Hippolytus fo fills one's head—
Well! Phædra liv'd as chastely as she cou'd ;
For fhe was Father Jove's own flesh and blood.
Her aukwark love indeed was oddly fated;
She and her Poly were too near related;
And yet that scruple had been laid afide,
If honeft Thefeus had but fairly died:
But when he came, what needed he to know,
But that all matters stood in ftatu quo: ?
There was no harm, you fee; or, grant there
She might want conduct; but he wanted care.
'Twas in a husband little less than rude,
Upon his wife's retirement to intrude-
He should have fent a night or two before,
That he would come exact at fuch an hour;
Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jeft;
Found every thing contribute to his rest;
The picquet friend dismiss'd, the coast all clear,
And spouse alone impatient for her dear.

But, if these gay reflections come too late,
To keep the guilty Phædra from her fate;
If your more ferious judgment must condemn
The dire effects of her unhappy flame :
Yet, ye chafte matrons, and ye tender fair,
Let Love and Innocence engage your care:
My spotlefs flames to your protection take;
And spare poor Phædra for Ifmena's fake.

were,

A

CRITICAL MOMENT.

How

OW capricious were Nature and Art to poor
Nell!

She was painting her cheeks at the time her nofe fell.

EPILOGUE

TO MRS. MANLEY'S LUCIUS.

HE Female Author who recites to-day,

THE

Trufts to her sex the merit of her play. Like Father Bayes fecurely fhe fits down: Pit, box, and gallery, 'gad! all's our own. In ancient Greece, fhe fays, when Sappho writ, By their applause the critics fhew'd their wit, They tun'd their voices to her Lyric ftring; Though they could all do fomething more than fing. But one exception to this fact we find`;

That booby Phaon only was unkind,

An ill-bred boat-man, rough as waves and wind.
From Sappho down through all fucceeding ages,
And now on French or on Italian stages,
Rough fatyrs, fly remarks, ill-natur'd speeches,
Are always aim'd at Poets that wear breeches.
Arm'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
Drew a fharp pen upon a naked woman.

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