« הקודםהמשך »
And other truths are useless now.
A GREEK EPIGRAM IMITATED.
THE WANDERING PILGRIM,
HUMBLY ADDRESSED TO SIR THOMAS FRANKLAND,
GENERAL TO QUEEN ANNE.
1 WILL PIGGOT must to Coxwould ?
go, To live, alas! in want, 1 This merry petition was written to obtain the porter's place for Will Piggot.-Twelve miles north, beyond the city of York.
Unless Sir Thomas say, No, no;
The allowance is too scant.
2 The gracious knight full well does weet,
Ten farthings ne'er will do
Some bread to meat is due.
3 A Rechabite poor Will must live,
And drink of Adam's ale,
Or mortal soul regale.
4 Spare diet, and spring-water clear,
Physicians hold are good;
A fever in the blood.
5 But pass—the Æsculapian crew,
Who eat and quaff the best,
Or lin to break their fast.
6 Could Yorkshire-tyke but do the same,
Then he like them might thrive;
To starve thou dost him drive.
7 In Will's old Master's plenteous days,
His memory e'er be blessed!
His goodness stands confessed.
8 At his famed gate stood Charity, In lovely sweet array;
1. Lin ;' forget
Ceres and Hospitality
Dwelt there both night and day.
9 But, to conclude, and be concise,
Truth must Will's voucher be,
For naked still is she.
10 There is but one, but one alone,
Can set the pilgrim free,
O Frankland! it is thee.
11 Oh! save him from a dreary way,
To Coxwould he must hie,
At Coxwould he must die.
12 Oh! let him in thy hall but stand,
And wear a porter's gown,
Thus William's wishes crown.
VENUS'S ADVICE TO THE MUSES. Tuts to the Muses spoke the Cyprian dame; • Adorn my altars, and revere my name. My son shall else assume his potent darts, Twang goes the bow, my girls; have at your hearts!' The Muses answered, Venus, we deride The vagrant's malice, and his mother's pride; Send him to nymphs who sleep on Ida's shade, To the loose dance, and wanton masquerade;
Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look,
CUPID TURNED PLOUGHMAN.
His lamp, his bow, and quiver, laid aside,
PONTIUS AND PONTIA.
1 Pontius (who loves, you know, a joke,
Much better than he loves his life) Chanced t’other morning to provoke
The patience of a well bred wife.
2 Talking of you, said he, my dear,
Two of the greatest wits in town,
One asked, if that high furze of hair
Was, bona fide, all your own.
3 Her own! most certain, tother said;
For Nan, who knows the thing, will tell ye, The hair was bought, the money paid,
And the receipt was signed Ducailly.
4 Pontia (that civil prudent she,
Who values wit much less than sense, And never darts a repartee,
But purely in her own defence)
5 Replied, these friends of yours, my dear,
Are given extremely much to satire! But pr’ythee, husband, let one hear
Sometimes less wit, and more good-nature.
6 Now I have one unlucky thought,
That would have spoiled your friend's conceit; Some hair I have, I'm sure, unbought:
Pray bring your brother wits to see 't.
CUPID TURNED STROLLER.
At dead of night, when stars appear,