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HELEN was just slipt 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,
Assure yourself, was loudly rated :

And madam, getting up again,
With her own hand the mouse-trap baited.

On little things, as sages write,
Depends our human joy or sorrow :

If we don't catch a mouse to-night, Alas! no eye-brows for to-morrow.

P H x L L Is • s

A

G

E.

H ow old may Phyllis be, you afk,
11 Whose beauty thus all hearts engages ?
To answer is no easy task :

For she 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 aside,

At night Astronomers agree,
The evening has the day bely'd ;

And Phyllis is some forty-three.

FORMA BONUM FRAGIL E.

7 HAT a frail thing is beauty! says Baron le

Cras,
Perceiving his mistress had one eye of glass :

And scarcely had he spoke it,
When the more confus’d, as more angry she grew,
By a negligent rage prov'd the maxim too true :

She dropt the eye, and broke it.

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WRITTEN TO THE DUK E DE NOAILLE S.
V AIN the concern which you express,

That uncall’d Alard will possess
Your house and coach, both day and night,
And that Macbeth was haunted less

By Banquo's restless spright.

With fifteen thousand pounds a year,
Do you complain, you cannot bear

An ill, you may so soon retrieve ?
Good Alard, faith, is modefter

By much than you believe.

Lend

Lend him but fifty Louis-d'or ;
And you shall never see him more:

Take the advice ; probatum eft.
Why do the Gods indulge our store,

But to secure our rest?

EPILOGUE

TO SMITH's PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLYTUS,

S POK EN BY MRS. OLDFIELD, WHO ACTED ISMENA,

TADIES, to-night your pity I implore

For one, who never troubled you before :
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.
· 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 seat, and running his career ;
Our souls would kindle with as generous flames,
As e'er inspir'd the ancient Grecian dames :
Every Ismena would resign her breast;
And every dear Hippolytus be blest.

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

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Now of the bustle you have seen to-day,
And Phædra's morals in this scholar's play,
Something at least in justice should be faid;
But this Hippolytus so fills one's head
Well! Phædra liv'd as chastely as she cou'd ;
For she 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 honest Theseus 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 see; or, grant there were,
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 sent a night or two before,
That he would come exact at such an hour ;
Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jest ;
Found every thing contribute to his reft ;
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 serious judgment must condemn
The dire effects of her unhappy flame :
Yet, ye chaste matrons, and ye tender fair,
Let Love and Innocence engage your care :
My spotless flames to your protection take;
And spare poor Phædra for Ismena's sake.

CRITICAL MOMENT.

How capricious were Nature and Art to poor

Nell! She was painting her cheeks at the time her nose fell.

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TO MRS. MAN LEY'S LUCIU S.

THE Female Author who recites to-day,

1 Trusts to her sex the merit of her play. Like Father Bayes securely she fits down : Pit, box, and gallery, 'gad ! all's our own. In ancient Greece, she says, when Sappho writ, By their applause the critics shew'd their wit, They tun’d their voices to her Lyric string ; Though they could all do something 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 succeeding ages, And now on French or on Italian ftages, Rough satyrs, sly 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 sharp pen upon a naked woman.

The

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