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While flows approv'd by all the Nine
Th' immortal soul of every line.
Collins, perhaps, his aid may lend,
Melpomene's selected friend.
Perhaps our great Augustan Gray
May grace me with a Doric lay;
With sweet, with manly words of woe,
That nervously pathetic flow.
What, Mason, may I owe to you?
Learning's first pride, and Nature's too;
On thee she cast her sweetest smile,
And gave thee Art's correcting file;
That file, which with assiduous pain,
The viper Envy bites in vain.-
Such glories my mean lot betide,
Hear, tawdry fool, and check thy pride.-
Thou, after scouring, dying, turning,
(If haply thou escape a burning)
From gown to petticoat descending,
And in a beggar's mantle ending,
Shalt in a dunghill or a stye,
'Midst filth and vermin rot and die.


YE thunders roll, ye oceans roar, And wake the rough resounding shore; Ye guns in smoke and flames engage, And shake the ramparts with your rage; Boreas distend your chops and blow; Ring, ring, ye honny bells of Bow; Ye drums and rattles, rend the ears, Like twenty thousand Southwark fairs; Bellow, ye bulls, and bawl, ye bats, Encore, encore, ye amorous cats; In vain, poor things, ye squeak and squall, Soft Sylvia shall out-tongue you all : But here she comes-there's no relief, She comes, and blessed are the deaf. "A magpie! why, you're mad, my dear, To bring a chattering magpie here. A prating play thing, fit for boysYou know I can't endure a noise.You brought this precious present sure, My headach and my cough to cure. Pray hand him in and let him stain Each curtain, and each counterpane; Yes, he shall roost upon my toilet, Or on my pillow-he can't spoil it : He'll only make me catch my death.O Heavens! for a little breath!Thank God, I never knew resentment, But am all patience and contentment, Or else, you paltry knave, I shou'd (As any other woman wou'd) Wring off his neck, and down your gullet Cram it, by way of chick or pullet.Well, I must lock up all my rings, My jewels, and my curious things: My Chinese toys must go to pot; My dear, my pinchbecks-and what not? For all your magpies are, like lawyers, At once thieves, brawlers, and destroyers.You for a wife have search'd the globe, You've got a very female Job,


Pattern of love, and peace, and unity,
Or how cou'd you expect impunity?
O Lord! this nasty thing will bite,
And scratch and clapper, claw and fight.
O monstrous wretch, thus to devise,
To tear out your poor Sylvia's eyes.
You're a fine Popish plot pursuing,
By presents to affect my ruin;
And thus for good are ill retorting
TO ME, who brought you such a fortune;
TO ME, you low-liv'd clown, to me,
Who came of such a family;

ME, who for age to age possess'd
A lion rampant on my crest;
ME, who have fill'd your empty coffers,
ME, who'd so many better offers;
And is my merit thus regarded,
Cuckold, my virtue thus rewarded.
O'tis past sufferance-Mary-Mary,
I faint the citron, or the clary."

The poor man, who had bought the creature, Out of pure conjugal good-nature, Stood at this violent attack, Like statues made by Roubilliac, Though form'd beyond all skill antique, They can't their marble silence break; They only breathe, and think, and start, Astonish'd at their maker's art. Quoth Mag," Fair Grizzle, I must grant, Your spouse a magpye cannot want: For troth (to give the Dev'l his due) He keeps a rookery in you. Don't fear I'll tarry long, sweet lady, Where there is din enough already, We never should agree together, Although we're so much of a feather; You're fond of peace, no man can doubt it, Who make such wond'rous noise about it; And your tongue of immortal mould Proclaims in thunder you're no scold. Yes, yes, you're sovereign of the tongue, And like the king can do no wrong; Justly your spouse restrains his voice, Nor vainly answers words with noise; This storm, which no soul can endure, Requires a very different cure; For such sour verjuice dispositions, Your crabsticks are the best physicians."


THE fragrance of the new-mown hay
Paid incense to the god of day;
Who issuing from his eastern gate,
Resplendent rode in all his state:
Rous'd by the light from soft repose,
Big with the Muse, a bard arose,
And the fresh garden's still retreat
He measured with poetic feet.
The cooling, high, o'er-arching shade,
By the embracing branches made,
The smooth shorn sod, whose verdant gloss,
Was check'd with intermingled moss,
Cowslips, like topazes that shine,
Close by the silver serpentine,
Rude rustics which assert the bow'rs,
Amidst the educated flow'rs.

The lime tree and sweet-scented bay,
(The sole reward of many a lay)
And all the poets of the wing,
Who sweetly without salary sing,
Attract at once his observation,
Peopling thy wilds, Imagination!
"Sweet Nature, who this turf bedews,
Sweet Nature, who's the thrush's Muse!
How she each anxious thought beguiles,
And meets me with ten thousand smiles!
O infinite benignity!

She smiles, but not alone on me;
On hill, on dale, on lake, on lawn,
Like Celia when her picture's drawn ;
Assuming countless charms and airs,
'Till Hayman's matchless art despairs,
Pausing like me he dreads to fall
From the divine original."

More had he said-but in there came
A lout-Squire Booby was his name.-
The bard, who at a distant view
The busy prattling blockhead knew,
Retir'd into a secret nook,

And thence his observations took.
Vex'd he cou'd find no man to tea".
The squire 'gan chattering to the bees,
And pertly with officious mien,

He thus address'd their humming queen :
"Madam, be not in any terrours;
I only come t'amend your errours;
My friendship briefly to display,
And put you in a better way.
Cease, madam, (if I may advise)
To carry honey on your thighs,
Employ ('tis better, I aver)
Old Grub, the fairies' coach-maker;
For be who has sufficient art

To make a coach, may make a cart.
To these you'll yoke some sixteen bees,
Who will dispatch your work with ease;
And come and go, and go and come,
To bring your honey harvest home.—
Ma'am, architecture you're not skill'd in,
1 don't approve your way of building;
In this there's nothing like design,
Pray learn the use of Gunter's line.
I'll serve your highness at a pinch,
1 am a scholar every inch,

And know each author Ilay fist on,
From Archimedes down to Whiston.-
Though honey making be your trade,
In chemistry you want some aid.—
Pleas'd with your work, altho' you sing,
You're not quite right-'tis not the thing.
Myself wou'd gladly be an actor,
To help the honey manufacture.—
I hear for war you are preparing,
Which I should like to have a share in :
Yet though the enemy be landing,
'Tis wrong to keep an army standing.--
If you'll ensure me from the laws,
I'll write a pamphlet in your cause.-
I vow, I am concern'd to see
Your want of state--economy.
Of nothing living I pronounce ill,
But I don't like your privy-council.
There is, I know, a certain bee,
(Wou'd he was from the ministry)

Which certain bee, if rightly known
prove no better than a drone;
There are (but I shall name no names,
I never love to kindle flames)

A pack of rogues with crimes grown callous,
Who greatly wou'd adorn the gallows;
That with the wasps, for paltry gold,
A secret correspondence hold,
Yet you'll be great-your subjects free,
If the whole thing be left to me.-"
Thus, like the waters of the ocean,
His tongue had run in ceaseless motion,
Had not the queen ta'en up in wrath,
This thing of folly and of froth.

"Impertinent and witless meddler,
Thou smattering, empty, noisy pedler!
By vanity, thou bladder blown,
To be the football of the town.
O happy England, land of freedom,
Replete with statesmen, if she need 'em,
Where war is wag'd by Sue or Nell,
And Jobson is a Machiavel!-
Tell Hardwick that his judgment fails,
Show Justice how to hold her scales.-
To fire the soul at once, and please,
Teach Murray and Demosthenes;
Say Vane is not by goodness grac'd,
And wants humanity and taste.-
Tho' Pelham with Mæcenas vies,
Tell Fame she's false, and Truth she lies
And then return, thou verbal Hector,
And give the bees another lecture."

This said, the portal she unbarr'd,
Calling the bees upon their guard,
And set at once about his ears
Ten thousand of her grenadiers.—
Some on his lips and palate hung,
And the offending member stung.
"Just" (says the bard from out the grot)
"Just, though severe, is your sad lot,
Who think, and talk, and live in vain,
Of sweet society the bane.
Business misplac'd is a mere jest,
And active idleness at best."




LOVE my friend-but love my ease, And claim a right myself to please; To company however prone, At times all men wou'd be alone. Free from each interruption rude, Or what is meant by solitude. My villa lies within the bills,. So-like a theatre it fills: To me my kind acquaintance stray, And Sunday proves no sabbath day; Yet many a friend and near relation, Make up a glorious congregation; They crowd by dozens and by dozens, And bring me all their country cousins. Though cringing landlords on the road, Who find for man and horse abode;

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The ungreas'd grumbling axle scow'rs,

To pass in rural sweets a day,

But there's a lion in the way:

This lion a most furious elf,

Hung up to represent himself,
Redden'd with rage, and shook his mane,
And roar'd, and roar'd, and roar'd again.
Wond'rous, tho' painted on a board,
He roar'd, and roar'd, and roar'd, and roar'd.
"Fool!" (says the majesty of beasts)
"At whose expense a legion feasts,
Foe to yourself, you those pursue,
Who're eating up your cakes and you;
Walk in, walk in, (so prudence votes)
And give poor Ball a feed of oats,
Look to yourself, and as for ma'm,
Coax her to take a little dram;
Let Miss and Pug with cakes be fed,
Then, honest man, go back to bed;
You're better, and you're cheaper there,
Where are no hangers on to fear.
Go buy friend Newbery's new Pantheon,
And con the tale of poor Acteon,
Horn'd by Diana, and o'erpower 'd,
And by the dogs he fed devour'd.
What be receiv'd from charity,
Lewdness perhaps may give to thee;
And tho' your spouse my lecture scorns,
Beware his fate, beware his horns."

The lion thank'd him for his proffer,
And if a vacancy shou'd offer,
Declar'd he had too just a notion,
To be averse to such promotion.
The citizen drove off with joy,
"For London-Ball-for London-hoy."
Content to bed he went his way,

And is no bankrupt to this day.



Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus..

I wrTH friend Juvenal agree,
Virtue's the true nobility;

Has of herself sufficient charms,
Altho' without a coat of arms.
Honestus does not know the rules,

Concerning Or and Fez, and Gules,
Yet sets the wond'ring eye to gaze on,
Such deeds no herald e'er could blaze on.
Tawdry achievements out of place,
Do but augment a £ol's disgrace ;.
A coward is a double jest,
Who has a lion for his crest;

"Sir," says the Cit, (who made a stand, And strok'd his forehead with his hand) "By your grim gravity and grace, You greatly wou'd become the mace. This kind advice I gladly take,Draw'r, bring the dram, and bring a cake, With good brown beer that's brisk and humming." "A coming, sir! a coming, coming!" The Cit then took a hearty draught, And shook his jolly sides and laugh'd. Then to the king of beasts he bow'd, And thus his gratitude avow'd."Sir, for your sapient oration, I owe the greatest obligation. You stand expos'd to sun, and show'r, I know Jack Ellis of the Tow'r; By him you soon may gain renown, He'll show your highness to the town ; Or, if you chuse your station here, To call forth Britons to their beer, As painter of distinguish'd note, He'll send his man to clean your coat." VOL. XVI.

And things are come to such a pass,
Two horses may support an ass;
And on a gamester or buffoon,
A moral motto's a lampoon.
An honest rustic having done
His master's work 'wixt sun and sun,
Retir'd to dress a little spot,
Adjoining to his homely cot,

Where pleas'd, in miniature, he found
His landlord's culniary ground,

Some herbs that feed, and some that heal,

The winter's medicine or meal.

The sage, which in his garden seen,
No man need ever die I ween;
The marjoram comely to behold,
With thyme, and ruddiest marygold,
And mint and pennyroyal sweet,
To deck the cottage windows meet,
And baum, that yields a finer juice
Than all that China can produce;
With carrots red, and turnips white,
And leeks, Cadwallader's delight;
And all the savory crop that vie
To please the palate and the eye.
Thus, as intent, he did survey
His plot, a Herald came that way,
A man of great escutcheon'd knowledge,
And member of the motley college.
Heedless the peasant pass'd he by,
Indulging this soliloquy;

"Ye gods! what an enormous space,
'Twixt man and man does Nature place;
While some by deeds of honour rise,
To such a height, as far out-vies
The visible diurnal sphere;
While others, like this rustic here,
Grope in the groveling ground content,
Without or lineage or descent,

'Cur moriatur homo, cui salvia crescit is horto?


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Hail, Heraldry! mysterious art,
Bright patroness of all desert,
Mankind would on a level lie,
And undistinguish'd live and die;
Depriv'd of thy illustrious aid,
Such! so momentous is our trade."

"Sir," says the clown, "why sure you joke," (And kept on digging as he spoke) "And prate not to extort conviction, But merrily by way of fiction. Say, do your manuscripts attest, What was old father Adam's crest; Did he a nobler coat receive

In right of marrying Mrs. Eve;
Or had supporters when he kiss'd her,
On dexter side, and side sinister;
Or was his motto, prithee speak,
English, French, Latin, Welch, or Greek ;

Or was he not, without a lye,
Just such a nobleman as I?
Virtue, which great defects can stifle,
May beam distinction on a trifle;
And honour, with her native charms,
May beautify a coat of arms;
Realities somewhat will thrive,
E'en by appearance kept alive;
But by themselves, Gules, Or, and Fez,
Are cyphers neither more or less:
Keep both thy head and hands from crimes,
Be honest in the worst of times:
Health's on my countenance impress'd,
And sweet content's my daily guest,
My fame alone I build on this,
And Garter King at Arms may kiss.”—

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Thou to thy doom, old boy, art fated,
To morrow-and thou shalt be baited."
The deed was done-curse on the wrong!
Bloody description, hold thy tongue.-
Victorious yet the bull return'd,
And with stern silence inly mourn❜d.

A vet'ran, brave, majestic cock,
Who serv'd for hour glass, guard, and clock,
Who crow'd the mansion's first relief,
Alike from goblin and from thief;
Whose youth escap'd the Christmas skillet,
Whose vigour brav'd the Shrovetide billet,
Had just return'd in wounds and pain,
Triumphant from the barbarous train.-
By riv'let's brink, with trees o'ergrown,
He heard his fellow sufferer's moan;
And greatly scorning wounds and smart,
Gave him three cheers with all his heart.

"Rise, neighbour, from that pensive attitude,
Brave witness of vile man's ingratitude;
And let us both with spur and horn,
The cruel reasoning monster scorn.-
Methinks at every dawn of day,
When first I chant my blithsome lay,
Methinks I hear from out the sky,
All will be better by and by;
When bloody, base, degenerate man,
Who deviates from his Maker's plan;
Who Nature and her works abuses,
And thus his fellow servants uses,
Shall greatly, and yet justly want,
The mercy he refus'd to grant;
And (while his heart his conscience purges)
Shall wish to be the brute he scourges."




WHEN rul'd by truth and nature's ways,
When just to blame, yet fix'd to praise,
As votary of the Delphic god,
I reverence the critic's rod;

But when inflam'd with spite alone,
I hold all critics but as one;

For though they class themselves with art,
And each man takes a different part;
Yet whatsoe'er they praise and blame;
They in their motives are the same,

Forth as she waddled in the brake,
A grey goose stumbled on a snake,
And took th' occasion to abuse her,
And of rank plagiarism accuse her.
""Twas I," quoth she, "in every vale,
First hiss'd the noisy nightingale ;
And boldly cavill'd at each note,
'That twitter'd in the woodlark's throat:
I, who sublime and more than mortal,
Must stoop to enter at the portal,
Have ever been the first to show

My hate to every thing that's low; While thou, mean mimic of my manner, (Without inlisting to my banner)


Dar'st in thy grov'ling situation,
To counterfeit my sibilation."

The snake enrag'd, reply'd, “Know, madam,

I date my charter down from Adam;

Nor can I, since I bear the bell,

E'er imitate where I excell.

Had any other creature dar'd
Once to aver, what you've averr'd,
I might have been more fierce and fervent,
But you're a goose,—and so your servant.”
"Truce with your folly and your pride,"
The warbling Philomela cry'd;

"Since no more animals we find
In nature of the hissing kind,
You should be friends with one another,
Nay, kind as brother is to brother.
For know, thou pattern of abuse,
Thou snake art but a crawling goose;
And thou dull dabbler in each lake,
Art nothing but a feather'd snake."




WITH frowning brow, and aspect low'ring,
As Abigail one day was scow'ring,
From chair to chair she past along,
Without soliloquy or song;
Content, in humdrum mood, t'adjust
Her matters to disperse the dust.-
Thus plodded on the sullen fair,
'Till a dumb-waiter claim'd her care;
She then in rage, with shrill salute,
Bespoke the inoffensive mute:-
"Thou stupid tool of vapourish asses,
With thy brown shelves for pots and glasses;
Thou foreign whirligig, for whom
Us honest folks must quit the room;
And, like young misses at a christ'ning,
Are forc'd to be content with list'ning;
Though thou'rt a fav'rite of my master's,
'll set thee gadding on thy castors.
This said-with many a rough attack,
She scrubb'd him 'till she made him crack;
Insulted stronger still and stronger,
The poor dumb thing could hold no longer
"Thou drab, born mops and brooms to dandle,
Thou haberdasher of small scandal,
Factor of family abuse,
Retailer of domestic news;
My lord, as soon as I appear,
Confines thee in thy proper sphere;
Or else, at ev'ry place of call,
The chandler's shop, or cobler's stall,
Or ale-house, where (for petty tales,
Gin, beer, and ale are constant vails)
Each word at table that was spoke,
Wou'd soon become the public joke,
And cheerful innocent converse,
To scandal warp'd—or something worse.--
Where'er my master I attend,
Freely his mind he can unbend ;-
But when such praters fill my place,
Then nothing should be said-but grace."


A BAG-WIG of a jauntee air.
Trick'd up with all a barber's care,
Loaded with powder and perfume,
Hung in a spendthrift's dressing-room:
Close by its side, by chance convey'd,
A black tobacco-pipe was laid;
And with its vapours far and near,
Outstunk the essence of Monsieur;
At which its rage, the thing of hair,
Thus, bristling up, began declare.

"Bak'd dirt! that with intrusion rude
Break'st in upon my solitude,
And whose offensive breath defiles
The air for forty thousand miles-
Avaunt-pollution's in thy touch-
O barb'rous Englishman! horrid Dutch!
I cannot bear it-Here, Sue, Nan,
Go call the maid to call the man,
And bid him come without delay,
To take this odious pipe away.

Hideous! sure some one smok'd thee, friend,
Reversely, at his t'other end.
Oh! what mix'd odours! what a throng
Of salt and sour, of stale and strong!
A most unnatural combination,
Enough to mar all perspiration-
Monstrous! again-'twou'd vex a saint!
Susan, the drops or else I faint !"
The pipe (for 'twas a pipe of soul)
Raising himself upon his bole,
In smoke, like oracle of old,
Did thus his sentiments unfold.

"Why, what's the matter, Goodman Swagger, Thou flaunting French, fantastic bragger? Whose whole fine speech is (with a pox) Ridiculous and heterodox.

'Twas better for the English nation
Before such scoundrels came in fashion,
When none sought hair in realms unknown,
But every blockhead bore his own.
Know, puppy, I'm an English pipe,
Deem'd worthy of each Briton's gripe,
Who, with my cloud-compelling aid,
Help our plantations and our trade,
And am, when sober and when mellow,
An upright, downright, honest fellow.
Though fools, like you, may think me rough,
And scorn me, 'cause I am in buff,
Yet your contempt I glad receive,
'Tis all the fame that you can give:
None finery or fopp'ry prize,
But they who've something to disguise;
For simple nature hates abuse,
And plainness is the dress of Use."


OLD Care, with industry and art,
At length so well had play'd his part;
He heap'd up such an ample store,
That av'rice could not sigh for more:

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