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Come, follow me by the smell,
Here are delicate onions to sell,
I promise to use you well.
They make the blood warmer ;
You'll feed like a farmer :
For this is every cook's opinion,

dish without an onion;

No savoury

But, lest your kissing should be spoil'd, Your onions must be thoroughly boild:

Or else you may spare

Your mistress a share,
The secret will never be known;

She cannot discover

The breath of her lover,
But think it as sweet as her own.

CHARMING oysters I cry:

My masters, come buy,
So plump and so fresh,
So sweet is their flesh,
No Colchester oyster
Is sweeter and moister :
Your stomach they settle,
And rouse up your mettle :

They'll make you a dad
Of á lass or a lad;
And madam


They'll please to the life;
Be slie barren, be she old,

Be she slut, or be she scold,
Eat my oysters, and lie near her,
She'll be fruitful, never fear her.


Be not sparing,
Leave off swearing.

Buy my herring
Fresh from Malahide *,
Better never was try'd.

Near Dublin

Come, eat them with pure fresh butter and mustard,
Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard.
Come, sixpence a dozen to get me some bread,
Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead.

ORANGES. Come buy my fine oranges, sauce for your veal, And charming when squeez'd in a pot of brown ale; Well roasted, with sugar and wine in a cup, They'll make a sweet bishop when gentlefolks sup.


Happiest of the spaniel race,
Painter, with thy colours grace :
Draw his forehead large and high,
Draw his blue and humid eye;
Draw his neck so smooth and round,
Little neck with ribands bound !
And the muscly swelling breast
Where the Loves and Graces rest;
And the spreading even back,
Soft, and sleek, and glossy black;
And the tail that gently twines,
Like the tendrils of the vines;
And the silky twisted hair,
Shadowing thick the velvet ear ;
Velvet ears, which, hancing low,
O'er the veiny temples flow.

* In ridicule of Philips's poemi on miss Carteret.

With a proper light and shade,
Let the winding hoop be laid ;
And within that arching bower
(Secret circle, mystick power)
In a downy slumber place
Happiest of the spaniel race ;
While the soft respiring dame,
Glowing with the softest flame,
On the ravish'd favourite pours
Balmy dews, ambrosial showers !

With thy utmost skill express
Nature in her richest dress,
Limpid rivers smoothly flowing,
Orchards by those rivers blowing;
Curling woodbine, myrtle shade,
And the gay enamellid mead;
Where the linnets sit and sing,
Little sportlings of the spring;
Where the beathing field and grove
Sooth the heart, and kindle love.
Here for me, and for the Muse,
Colours of resemblance choose,
Make of lineaments divine,
Daply female spaniels shine,
Pretty fondlings of the fair,
Gentle damsels' gentle care;
But to one alone impart
All the flattery of thy art.
Crowd each feature, crowd each grace,
Which complete the desperate face;
Let the spotted wanton dame
Feel a new resistless flame;
Let the happiest of his race
Win the fair to his embrace.
But in shade the rest conceal,
Nor to sight their joys reveal,
Lest the pencil and the Muse
Loose desires and thoughts infuse.

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A BIRTH-DAY POEM, NOV. 30, 1736.
To you, my true and faithful friend
These tributary lines I send,
Which every year, thou best of deans,
I'll pay as long as life remains;
But did you know one half the pain,
What work, what racking of the brain,
It costs me for a single clause,
How long l’m forc'd to think and pause ;
How long I dwell upon a proem,
To introduce your birthday poem,
How many blotted lines; I know it,
You'd have compassion for the poet.

Now, to describe the way I think,
I take in hand my pen and ink;
I rub my forehead, scratch my head,
Revolving all the rhymes I read.
Each complimental thought sublime,
Reduc'd by favourite Pope to rhyme,
And those by you to Oxford writ,
With true simplicity and wit.
Yet after all I cannot find
One panegyrick to my mind.
Now I begin to fret and blot,
Something I schemed but quite forgot;
My fancy turns a thousand ways
Through all the several forms of praise,
What elogy may best become
The greatest dean in christendom.

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