Brifk as a body-loufe the trips,
Clean as a penny dreft;

Sweet as a rofe her breath and lips,

Round as the globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee;
And happy as a king.

Good Lord! how all men envy'd me!
She lov'd like any thing.

But, falfe as hell! fhe, like the wind,
Chang'd, as her fex muft do;
Though feeming as the turtle kind,
And like the gospel true.

If I and Molly could agree,

Let who would take Peru!

Great as an emperor fhould I be,
And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick,

I'm dull as any poft;

Let us, like burs, together stick,

And warm as any toast.

You'll know me truer than a dye,

And with me better fped; Flat as a flounder when I lie,

And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun, the 'll drop a tear,

And figh perhaps, and wish,

When I am rotten as a pear,

And mute as any fish.

NEW.

How Mr. JONATHAN WILD's Throat was cut from Ear to Ear with a Penknife, by Mr. BLAKE, alias BLUE-SKIN, the Bold Highwayman,

As he ftood at his Trial in the OLD-BAILY, 1725. To the Tune of, "The Cut-purfe."

YE gallants of Newgate, whofe fingers are nice,

In diving in pockets, or cogging of dice;

Ye sharpers fo rich, who can buy off the noofe;
Ye honester poor rogues, who die in

Attend and draw near,

Good news you fhall hear,

your fhoes

How Jonathan's throat was cut from ear to ear; How Blue-fkin's fharp penknife hath fet you at ease, And every man round me may rob, if he please. When to the Old-Baily this Blue-skin was led, He held up his hand, his indictment was read, Loud rattled his chains, near him Jonathan flood, For full forty pounds was the price of his blood. Then, hopeless of life,

He drew his penknife,

And made a fad widow of Jonathan's wife. But forty pounds paid her, her grief shall appease, And every man round me may rob, if he please.

Some fay there are courtiers of highest renown,
Who fteal the King's gold, and leave him but a crown,
Some fay there are peers, and fome parliament-men,
Who meet once a year, to rob courtiers again:
Let them all take their swing,

To pillage the King,

And get a blue-ribbon instead of a string. Now Blue-fkin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And every man round me may rob, if he please.

Knaves of old, to hide guilt by their cunning inventions,,
Call'd briberies grants, and plain robberies penfions;
Physicians and lawyers (who take their degrees
To be learned rogues) call'd their pilfering, fees:
Since this happy day,

Now every man may

Rob (as fafe as in office) upon the highway.
For Blue-fkin's fharp penknife hath fet you at ease,
And every man round me may rob, if he please.

Some cheat in the customs, fome rob the excise,
But he who robs both is esteemed moft wife.
Church-wardens, too prudent to hazard the halter,.
As yet only venture to fteal from the altar:
But now to get gold,

They may be more bold,

And rob on the highway, fince Jonathan's cold. For Blue-fkin's fharp penknife hath fet you at ease, And every man round me may rob, if he please.

MISCEL

MISCELLANIE S.

PROLOGUE,

Defigned for the Paftoral Tragedy of DIONE.

T

HERE was a time (O were those days renew'd!)
Ere tyrant-laws had woman's will fubdued;

Then Nature rul'd; and Love, devoid of art,
Spoke the confenting language of the heart.
Love uncontrol'd! infipid, poor delight!
'Tis the restraint that whets our appetite.
Behold the beafts who range the forests free
Behold the birds who fly from tree to tree;
In their amours fee Nature's power appear!
And do they love? Yes one month in the
Were these the pleasures of the golden reign?
And did free Nature thus inftruct the fwain ?
I envy not, ye nymphs, your amorous bowers:
Such harmless fwains! I'm e'en content with ours.
But yet there's fomething in thefe fylvan fcenes,

year.

That tells our fancy what the lover means.
Name but the mofly bank, and moon-light grove,
Is there a heart that does not beat with love?

To-night we treat you with fuch country-fare: Then for your lover's fake our author fpare.

He draws no Hemikirk boors, or home-bred clowns,
But the foft fhepherds of Arcadia's downs.

When Paris on the three his judgement pafs'd;
I hope, you'll own the fhepherd fhew'd his taste :
And Jove, all know, was a good judge of beauty,
Who made the nymph Califto break her duty;
Then was the country-nymph no aukward thing.
See what strange revolutions time can bring!

Yet ftill inethinks our author's fate I dread,
Were it not fafer beaten paths to tread
Of Tragedy; than o'er wide heaths to ftray,
And fecking strange adventures lofe his way?
No trumpet's clangor makes his heroine ftart,
And tears the foldier from her bleeding heart.
He, foolish bard! nor pomp nor fhow regards.
Without the witnefs of a hundred guards

His lovers figh their vows. - If fleep should take ye,
He has no battle, no loud drum to wake ye.

What, no fuch fhifts? there 's danger in 't, 'tis true; Yet fpare him, as he gives you fomething new.

A CON