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In haste I ran, unlock'd my gate,
WHust I in prison or in court look down, Against the fire, and dry'd his hair;
Nor beg thy favour, nor deserve thy frown, Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,
In vain, malicious Fortune, hast thou try'd, And warı'd his little hands with mine. All this did 1 with kind intent;
By taking from my state, to quell my pride :
Insulting girl! thy present rage abate, But be, on wanton mischief bent,
And, would'st thou have me humbled, make me Said, “ Dearest friend, this bow you see,
Let others from the town retire; But leapt away, and laughing said,
And in the field seek new delight; " Kind host, adieu ! we now must part;
My Phillis does such joys inspire,
No other objects please my sight.
Beauties a country landscape grace:
No shade so lovely as her hair,
Nor plain so sweet as in her face.
Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in Aowery field; Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is,
Transparent is her skin so fine, That Sacharissa and Hortense
To this each crystal stream must yield. She looks, henceforth, upon as dowdies.
Her voice more sweet than warbling sound, Yet she to one must still submit,
Though sung by nightingale or lark; To dear mamma must pay her duty :
Her eyes such lustre dart around, She wonders, praising Wilmot's wit,
Compard to them, the Sun is dark. Thou should'st forget his daughter's beauty.
Both light and vital heat they give;
Cherish'd by them, my love takes root,
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit
Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive Lysander talks extremely well;
The common parent of mankind, On any subject let him dwell,
And made transgress our mother Eve :
Poison its core, though fair its rind.
Yet so delicious is its taste,
I cannot from the bait abstain,
Though I were sure 'twould end in paim
CAUTIOUS ALICE. So good a wife doth Lissy make,
That from all company she flieth ; Such virtuous courses doth she take,
That she all evil tongues defieth ; And, for her dearest spouse's sake,
She with bis brethren only lieth.
te!l thee, 'tis incurablo'tis age
Ere any farther I'll comply;
Had ever yet his hand so high!
Undaunted see me meet the wound;
A second Lucrece you have found.'.
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid !
In broken dying accents said.
Inspir'd by truth and brandy, smil'd,
“ And, hark ye, madam !” cry'd the bawd;
Oblige the squire, or quit the lodging." “ OL! have !”-Florimel went on
Honour, I say, or honest fame, " llave I then lost my Delia's aid?
I mean the substance, not the name; Where shall forsaken Virtue run,
(Not that light heap of taudry wares, If by her friend she is betray'd?
Of <rmine, coronets, and stars,
Which often is by merit sought, “Oh! curse on empty Friendship's namo !
By gold and fiattery oftener bought; Lord, what is all our future view!
The shade, for which Ainbition looks Then, dear destroyer of my fame,
In Seldin's or in Ashmore's? books) Let my last succour be to you!
But the true glory, which proceeds, « From Delia's rage, and Fortune's frown, Reflected bright, from honest deeds, A wretched love-sick maid deliter;
Which we in our own breast perceive, Oh! tip me but another crown,
And kings can neither take nor give. Dear sir, and make me yours for ever.”
ON PAM AT 100.
ENIGMA DOCTORS DIFFER. When Willis? of Ephraiın heard Rochester By birth I'm a slave, yet can give you a crowth preach,
[brother, I dispose of all honours, myself having none; Tlus Bentley said to him, “I prythee, dear
I'm oblig'd by just maxims to govern my life, How lik'st thou this sermon? 'tis out of my reach." Yet I hang my own master, and lie with his wife. “ His is one way,” said Willis,
“ and ours is
When men are a-gaming, I cunningly sneak, another.
And their cudgels and shovels away from them take. I care not for carping; but, this I can tell,
Fair maidens and ladies I by the hand get, We preach very sadly, if he preaches well.”
And pick off their diamonds, though ne'er so well
set. For when I have comrades we rob in whole bands,
Then presently take ofi your lands from your EPIGRAM".
But, this fury once over, I've such winning arts, Meer l'rancis lies here, friend : without stop or That you love me much more than you do your stay,
own hearts. As you value your peace, make the best of your Though at present arrested by Death's caitiff paw, If he stirs, he may still have recourse to the law; Porm'd half beneath, and half above the earth, And in the King's-bench should a verdict be found, We sisters owe to art our second birth; That by livery and seisin his grave is his ground,
The smith's and carpenter's adopted daughters, He will claim to himself what is strictly his due,
Made on the land, to travel on the waters.
They serve the poor for use, the rich for whim,
ON BISHOP ATTERBURY's
THE OLD GENTRY. BURYING THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,
Tuat all from Adam first began, 1720.
None but ungodly Woolston doubts; “ I wave no hopes,” the duke he says, and dies; And that his son, and his son's son, " In sure and certain hopes,” the prelate cries; Were all but ploughien, clowns, and louts Of these two learned peers I pr’ythee, say, man,
Each, when his rustic prins began, Who is the lying knave, the priest, or layman?
To merit pleaded equal right, The duke he'stands an infidel confest,
He's our dear brother” quoth the lordly priest. / 'Twas only who left or at noon, The duke, though knare, still brother dear," he
Or who went on to work till night. cries;
But coronets we owe to crowns,
And favour to a court's allection ;
And sons of Austis by electiov.
o Titles of Honour. Order of the Garten Sce Atterbury's Letters, in Pope's works, ed. 1751.
• Garter king at Arnis
Kingsale! eight hundred years have rollid But yet'till then it never did appear,
That, as she wanted eyes, she could not hear; When this in story shall be told,
I begg'd that she would give me leave to lose, Add, that my kindred do so now.
A thing she does not commonly refuse!
Two matadores are out against my gune, The man who by his labour gets
Yet still I play, and still my luck's the same : His bread, in independent state,
Unconquer'd in three suits it docs remain, Who never begs, and seldom eats,
Whereas I only ask in one to gain ;
Yet she, still contradicting, gifts imparts,
A FRENCH SONG PARAPHRASED,
THE INSATIABLE PRIEST.
His wife dy'd this year, he tras marry'd nis maid. Sort Cupid, wanton, amorous boy,
In flattering accents spoke his joy,
And utter'd thus his fond desire.
“ Oh! raise thy voice! one song I ask;
Touch then thy harmonious string :
Who can so sweetly play and sing.
“ Two kisses from my mother dear, A FRENCH SONG UMITATED.
Thyrsis, thy due reward shall be; Way thus from the plain does my shepherdess rove, None, none, like beauty's queen is fair, Forsaking her swain, and neglecting his love?
Paris has rouch'd this truth for me. You have heard all my grief, you see how I die,
I straight reply'd, " Thou know'st alone Oh! give some relief to the swain whom you fly.
That brightest Chloe roles my breast :
I'll sing thee two instead of one,
" One kiss from Chloe's lips, no more, When I ltave all the plain, you may guess 'tis for
I crave:” he promis'd me success; one.
I play'd with all my skill and power,
My glowing passion to express,
But, oh! my Chloe, beauteous maid !
Wilt thou the wish'd reward bestow? « Now how shall I do with my love and my pride, Wilt thou make good what Love has said, Dear Dick', give me counsel, if friendship has And, by thy grant, his power show ? any;"
[reply'd, Pry'thee purge, or let blood !" surly Richard “ And forget the coquette in the arms of your Nanny!.”
TO THE EARL OF OXFORD, While I pleaded with passion how much I deserv'd,
WRITTEN EXTEMPORE IN LADY OXFORD'S STUDY, For the pains and the torments of more than a
1717. year: She look'd in an almanack, whence she observ'd, Pen, ink, and wax, and paper, send That it wanted a fortnight to Bart'l'mew fair.
To the kind wife, the lovely friend : Bir Cowley and W'aller bow vainly 1 quote,
Smiling bid her freely write While my negligent juuge only hears with her
What her happy thoughts indite ; eye!
Of virtue, goodness, peace, and love, In a long flaxen wig, and embroider'J new coat,
Thoughts which angels may approve. Her spark, saying nothing, talks better than I.
In double beauty say your prayer :
If to these precepts you attend,
This stone had still remain d unmark'd,
His prudence and his wit were seen
His faith and truth all Whitehall knows,
LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PRINT OP
TOM BRITTON THE SMALL-COAL-MAN,
PAINTED BY MR. WOOLASTON.
Though doom'd to small-coal, yet to arts ally'd,
EPIGRAM. To Richmond and Peterburgh, Matt gave his letters,
(betters. And thought they were safe in the hands of his How happen'd it then that the packets were lost? These were Knights of the Garter, not Knights of
TRUTH TOLD AT LAST. Says Pontius in rage, contradicting his wife, “ You never yet told me one truth in your life.” Vext Pontia no way could this thesis allow, “ You're a cuckold,” says she, “ do I tell you
LADY HOWE’S OVID'S EPISTLES. However
Lowever high, however cold, the fair, However great the dying lover's care, Ovid, kind author, found him some relief, Rang'd his unruly sighs, and set his grief: Taught him what accents had the power to move, And always gain'd him pity, sometimes love. But, oh! what pangs torment the destin'd heart, That feels the wound, yet dares not show the dart; What rase could Ovid to his sorrows give, Who nust nut speak, and therefore cannot live?
TO THE TUNE OP, LADY ISABELLA'S TRACEDY, Of Nero, tyrant, petty king?,
Who heretofore did reign
And in a ditty plain.
For reasons you shall hear;
That he himself did fear.
And covetous withal;
But guiltless men enthral.
Would curse and dogmatize;
Gold he did idolize.
Who could no longer bear
Against him did declare.
Of his enormous crimes,
In low, but faithful rhymes.
AN EPISTLE, 1716.
I PRAY lady Harriot the time to assign When she shall receive a turkey and chine; That a budy may come to St. James's, to dine.
TRUE'S EPITAPH. Ir wit or honesty could save Our mouldering aslies from the grave,
· Lord Coningsby, one of the lords justices of Ireland.
The earl of Bellamont impcache] Coningsby.
The articles recorded stand
But for this horrid murder vile Against this peerless peer,
None did him prosecute; Search but the archives of the land",
His old friend help'd him o'er the stile : You'll find them written there.
With Satan who dispute ! Attend, and justly I'll recite
With France, fair England's mortal foe, His treasons to you all,
A trade he carry'd on; The heads set in their native light
any other don't, I trow, (And sigh poor Gaphny's fall).
To Tripos he had gone. That traitorously he did abuse
That he did likewise traitorously, The power in him repos’d,
To bring his ends to bear, And wickedly the same did use,
Enrich himself most knavishiy; On all mankind impos’d.
O thief without compare ! That he, contrary to ali law,
Vast quantities of stores did he An oatb did frame and make,
Einbezzle and purloin; Compelling the militia
Of the king's stores he kept a key,
Converting them to coin.
The forfeited estates also,
Both real and personal,
Did with the stores together go,
Fierce Cerberus swallow'd all.
Mean while the soldiers sigh'd and sobb’d, He laid a tax full hard and sore,
For not one sous had they; Though many men were sick.
His excellence had each man fobb'd,
For he had sunk their pay.
Nero, without the least disguise,
The Papists, at all times, And fled the cainp away.
Still favour'd, and their robberies
Look'd on as trivial crimes.
The Protestants, whom they did rob The soldiers food and drink did want,
During his government, Nor famine could they fly.
Were forc'd with patience, like good Job,
To rest themselves content.
For he did basely them refuse
All legal remedy ; Without reliet pardie.
The Romans still he well did use,
Still screen'd their roguery.
Succinctly thus to you I've told
How this Ciceroy did reign; The farmer's fate decree:
And other truths I shall unfold, That he, o Ciel! without trial,
For truth is always plain. Straightway should hanged be;
The best of queens he hath revild, Though then the courts were open all,
Before and since her death; Yet Nero judge would be.
Ile, cruel ad ungrateful, snil'd No sooner said, but it was done,
When she resign'd her breath. The bourreau did his worst;
forgetful of the favours kind Gaphny, alas! is dead and gone,
She had on him bestow'd, And left his judge accurst.
Like Lucifer his rancorous mind, In this concise despotic way
He lov'd nor her nor God. Unhappy Gaphny fell,
But listen, Nero, lend thine ears, Which did all honest men affray,
As still thou hast them on; As truly it might well.
Hear what Britannia says, with ears, Full two goo:] hundred pounds a year,
Of Anna dead and gone.
Oh! sacred be her meniory,
For over dear her naine!
There never was, nor e'er can be,
A brighter, justor dame.
“ Blest be my sons, an? .ke all those He ow'd hiin to the bribe.
Who on her praises dwell!
She conqner'd Britain's fiercest foes, * Journal, Sabbati, 16 die Decemb.is, 1693. She did all queens excel