A LETTER

TO THE

HONOURABLE LADY MARGARET CAVENDISH HARLEY, WHEN A CHILD.

Y

My noble, lovely, little Peggy,
Let this my firft epiftle beg you,
At dawn of morn, and close of even,

To lift your
heart and hands to Heaven.
In double beauty fay your prayer :
Our Father firft,-then, Notre Pere:
And, dearest child, along the day,
In every thing you do and fay,
Obey and please my lord and lady,
So God fhall love, and angels aid ye.
If to these precepts you attend,

No fecond letter need I fend,

And so I reft your conftant friend.

LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PRINT OF TOM BRITTON THE SMALL-COAL-MAN, PAINTED BY

MR. WOOLASTON

'HOUGH doom'd to small-coal, yet to arts ally'd,

THOU

Rich without wealth, and famous without pride; Mufick's best patron, judge of books and men, Belov'd and honour'd by Apollo's train :

In

In Greece or Rome fure never did appear
So bright a genius, in fo dark a sphere:
More of the man had artfully been fav'd,
Had Kneller painted, and had Vertue grav'd.

TRUTH TOLD AT LAS T.

AYS Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife,

SAYS

"You never yet told me one truth in your life.” Vext Pontia no way could this thefis allow,

"You're a cuckold, fays fhe; do I tell you truth now?”

WRITTEN IN LADY HOWE'S OVID'S EPISTLES..

HOWEVER high, however cold, the fair,
However great the dying lover's care,
Ovid, kind author, found him fome relief,
Rang'd his unruly fighs, and fet his grief;
Taught him what accents had the power to move,
And always gain'd him pity, fometimes love.
But, oh! what pangs torment the destin’d heart,
That feels the wound, yet dares not shew the dart ;
What eafe could Ovid to his forrows give,
Who must not speak, and therefore cannot live?

AN EPISTL E, 1716.

I Pray, good Lord Harley, let Jonathan know,
How long you intend to live incognito.

Your humble fervant,

ANOTHER

ELKANAH SETTLE

EPISTLE.

I

Pray Lady Harriot the time to affign

When she shall receive a turkey and chine; That a body may come to St. James's, to dine.

TRUE'S

EPITA P H.

IF wit or honefty could fave

Our mouldering afhes from the grave,
This ftone had still remain'd unmark'd,
I ftill writ profe, True ftill have bark'd.
But envious Fate has claim'd its due;
Here lies the mortal part of True :
His deathlefs virtues must survive,
To better us that are alive.

His prudence and his wit were seen
In that, from Mary's grace and mien,
He own'd the power, and lov'd the Queen.

}

By

1

By long obedience he confest

That ferving her was to be bleft-
Ye murmurers, let True evince

That men are beasts, and dogs have sense!
His faith and truth all Whitehall knows,
He ne'er could fawn or flatter those

Whom he believ'd were Mary's foes:

Ne'er fkulk'd from whence his fovereign led him,
Or fnarl'd against the hand that fed him.-
Read this, ye statesmen now in favour,
And mend your own, by True's behaviour!

E PIG R A

M.

}

TO Richmond and Peterburgh, Matt gave his letters,

And thought they were safe in the hands of his

betters.

How happen'd it then that the packets were loft? Thefe were Knights of the Garter, not Knights of the Poft.

THE

THE

VICEROY,

A B A L L A D.

TO THE TUNE OF, LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.

OF

F Nero, tyrant, petty king*,
Who heretofore did reign

In fam'd Hibernia, I will fing,
And in a ditty plain.

He hated was by rich and poor,

For reafons you shall hear;
So ill he exercis'd his power,
That he himself did fear.

Full proud and arrogant was he,
And covetous withal;

The guilty he would still fet free,
But guiltless men enthral.

He, with a haughty impious nod,
Would curfe and dogmatize;
Not fearing either man or God:

Gold he did idolize.

* Lord Coningsby, one of the lords juftices of Ireland.

A patriot