There is but one, but one alone,

Can fet the pilgrim free,

And make him cease to pine and moan;

O Frankland! it is Thee,

Oh! fave him from a dreary way,

To Coxwould he must hye, Bereft of thee, he bends aftray, At Coxwould he must die.

Oh! let him in thy hall but ftand,

And wear a porter's gown,

Duteous to what thou may'ft command,
Thus William's wishes crown,

V E

VENUS's

ADVICE

то THE

MUSE S.

THUS

HUS to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame; "Adorn my altars, and revere my name.

My Son fhall else affume his potent darts,

"Twang goes the bow, my girls; have at your hearts ?"

The Mufes anfwer'd, " Venus, we deride

"The Vagrant's malice, and his Mother's pride; "Send him to Nymphs who fleep on Ida's shade, "To the loofe dance, and wanton masquerade; "Our thoughts are fettled, and intent our look, "On the inftructive verfe, and moral book; "On Female idleness his power relies;

"But, when he finds us ftudying hard, he flies."

CUPID

HIS lamp, his bow, and quiver, laid afide,

A ruftic wallet o'er his shoulders ty'd;
Sly Cupid, always on new mifchief bent,
To the rich field and furrow'd tillage went;
Like any Ploughman toil'd the little God,
His tune he whistled, and his wheat he sow'd;
Then fat and laugh'd, and to the skies above
Raifing his eye, he thus infulted Jove :
Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms reftrain,
And, as I bid you, let it fhine or rain,
Elfe you again beneath my yoke shall bow,
Feel the sharp goad, and draw the fervile plow;
What once Europa was, Nannette is now,

}

PON

PONTIUS

AND

PONTI A.

PONTIUS (who love, you know a joke,

Much better than he loves his life)
Chanc'd t' other morning to provoke
The patience of a well-bred Wife.

Talking of you, faid he, my dear,
Two of the greatest wits in town
One afk'd, if that high furze of hair
WAS, BONA FIDE, all your own.

Her own! moft certain, t 'other faid;
For Nan, who knows the thing, will tell

The hair was bought, the money paid,

And the receipt was fign'd Ducailly.

Pontia (that civil prudent fhe,

Who values wit much less than fenfe, And never darts a repartee,

But purely in her own defence)

ye,

Reply'd,

Reply'd, these friends of your's, my dear,
Are given extremely much to fatire!
But pr'ythee, husband, let one hear
Sometimes lefs wit, and more good-nature.

Now I have one unlucky thought,

That would have spoil'd your friend's conceit; Some hair I have, I'm fure, unbought: Pray bring your Brother Wits to fee 't.

CUPID TURNED STROLLER.

FROM

ANACREON.

AT dead of night, when stars appear,

And strong Boötes turns the Bear;

When mortals fleep their cares away,

Fatigu'd with labours of the day,
Cupid was knocking at my gate;

Who's there! fays I, who knocks fo late,
Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my reft?
O fear not me, a harmless guest,

He faid, but open, open pray;
A foolish child, I've loft my way,
And wander here this moon-light night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.

With