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If Pope, the prince of poets, fick a-bed,
O'er steaming coffee bends his aching head,
The fools in public o'er the fragrant draught
Incline those heads, that never ach'd or thought,
This must provoke his mirth or his disdain,
Cure his complaint,-or make him sick again,
I too, like them, the poet's path pursue,
And keep great Flaccus ever in my view;
But in a distant view-yet what I write,
In these loose sheets, must never see the light;
Epistles, odes, and twenty trifles more,
Things that are born and die in half an hour.


must dedicate, says sneering Spence,
This year some new performance to the prince:
Tho' money is your scorn, no doubt in time,
You hope to gain some vacant stall by rhyme;
Like other poets, were the truth but known,
You too admire whatever is your own.
These wise remarks my modesty confound,
While the laugh rises, and the mirth goes round;
Vext at the jest, yet glad to fhun a fray,
I whisk into my coach, and drive away, :



D The Author apologizes to a Lady, for his being a little man, Natura nusquam magis, quam in minimis tota eft. Pliny.

By Mr. L UN

ES, contumelious fair, you scorn

The amorous dwarf, that courts you to his arms;
But ere you leave him quite forlorn,
And to fome youth gigantic yield your charms,
Hear him--on! hear him, if you will not try,
And let your judgment check th' ambition of your eye.



Say, is it carnage makes the man?
İs to be monstrous really to be great ?

Say, is it wise or just to scan
Your lover's worth by quantity, or weight?
Ask your mamma, and nurse, if it be fo;
Nurse and mamma, I ween, thall jointly answer, no.

The less the body to the view,
The soul (like springs in closer durance pent)

Is all exertion, ever new,
Unceasing, unextinguish'd, and unspent ;
Still pouring forth executive desire,
As bright, as brisk, as lasting, as the vestal fire.

Does thy young bosom pant for fame ;
Woud'st thou be of pofterity the toast?

The poets shall ensure thy name,
Who magnitude of mind, not body boast.
Laurels on bulky bards as rarely grow,
As on the sturdy oak the virtuous milletoe.


Look in the glass, survey that cheek-
Where FLORA has with all her roses blush'd ;

The shape fo tender, looks fo meek,
The breasts made to be prefs'd, not to be cruth'd
Then turn to me,--turn with obliging eyes,
Nor longer nature's works, in miniature, despise.

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Young AMMON did the world subdue,
Yet had not more external man than I;

Ah! charmer, should I conquer you,
With him in fame, as well as size, I'll vie.
Then, scornful nymph, come forth to yonder grove,
Where I defy, and challenge, all thy utmost love.



By the same.

Y FLORIO, wildest of his sex,
(Which sure the veriest faint wou'd vex)

From beauty roves to beauty ;
Yet tho' abroad the wanton roam,
Whene'er he deigns to stay at home,

He always minds his duty.

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Something to every charming she,
In thoughtless prodigality,

He's granting still and granting;
To PHYLLIS that, to CHLOE this,
And every madam, every miss,

Yet I find nothing wanting.

If haply I his will displease,
Tempestuous as th' autumnal seas,

He foams and rages ever :
But when he ceales from his ire;
I cry, such spirit, and such fire,

Is, furely, wondrous clever.


I ne'er want reason to complain,
But sweet is pleasure after pain,

And ev'ry joy grows greater ;
Then trust me, damsels, whilft I tell,
I shou'd not like him half so well,

If I cou'd make him better.




N soft CLARISSA's form united shine

Such female ease and majesty divine,
That each beholder must with awe declare
Apelles' VENUS was not half so fair;
But when the stores of judgment, wit and sense
Her lips with graceful diffidence dispense,
Each hearer owns, with pleasure and surprise,
That Homer's Pallas was not half so wise:
These diff'rent charms such different paffions move,
Who sees must reverence, but who hears must love.


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EAR JOHN, if you are not bely'd,

You've chang'd your course of life ;
You that so many nymphs have try'd,

To take, good Gods, a wife!

Of all the numerous female fcum,

What jade, the devil take her,
Could thus bewitch thee to become

Cuckold, from cuckold-maker.

Since thou art in-for't now, old friend,

And fetter'd past retreating ;
Give me, a husband, leave to send

To thee, a husband, greeting.

I who, hard fate ! am forc'd to rove,

True to my nuptial vows,
And leave my country out of love,

An exile for my spouse.

But I, by heav'ns decree, remain

Bleft on a foreign fhore ;
And hourly fuch delights obtain,

I need not wish for more.

Me a kind wife's embraces chear,

A lovely creature she;
Nor can the sun find out a pair

More hap’ly join'd than we.

Fain would I hear the jests that pass,

The mirth that's made on me;
Fain would partake the circling glass,

And vent my wit on thee.


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