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hall;

live ;

A BALLAD.

And ye ! whose souls are held,

Like lione s in a care!
Trahit fua quenque voluptas." Who talk of fetters links, and chains,
ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our

ttend and imitate my itrains ? FROM

O sweet, o sweet Anne Page ! young squire, To bring down a wife, whom the Swains might And you who boast or grieve, admire;

What h rrid wars we wage ! But, in spite of whatever the mortal could say,

Of wounds recei 'd from many an eye, I he goddess objected the length of the way!

Yet mean as I do, when I figh, To give up the opera, the park, and the ball,

o sweet, O sweet Anne Page ! For to view the Itag's horns in an old country Hence every fond conceit

Of shepherd or of sage; To have neither China nor India to see !

'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way Nor a laceman to plague in a morning—not she! Expresses ail you have to say, To forsake the dear play-house, Quin, Garrick,

o sweet, O sweet Anne Page ! and live, Who by dint of more humour had kept her aTo forego the dull box for his loncfome abode, O heavens ! Me fhould faint, he should die on the

The INVIDIOUS. MART. road ; To fort go the gay fashions and gestures of France, o

Fortúne ! if my prayer of old And leave dear Augufte in the midst of the dance,

Was ne'er folicitous for gold, A d Harlequin too !~'twas in vain to require it ;

With better grace thou may'st allow And the wonder'd how folks had the face to de- My suppliant wish, that asks it now. fire it.

Yet think not, goddess ! I require it

For the same end your clowns defire it. She might yield to resign 'the sweet-lingers of In a well made effe&tual string, Ruckholt,

Fain would I fee Lividio swing ! Where the citizen-matron seduces her cu kold ;

Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing, But Ranelagh soon would her footsteps recal,

But such a cur's not worth one s hanging. And the mulic, the lamps, and the glare of Vaux- Give me, O goddess ! store of pell, hall,

And he will tye the knot himself. To be sure the could breathe no where else but in

town, Thus she calk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a

clown ; But the while honest Harry despair'd to succeed, The Price of an ÉQUIPAGE. A coach with a coronct trail'd her to Tweed.

“ Servum si potes, Ole, non habere,

• Et regem potes, Ole non habere.” MAXT, SIENDER's Ghoft. Vide Shakespear.

A sk'd a friend, amidst the throng,
ENEATH a church-yard yew,
Decay'd and worn with age,

“ The gilded coach there-don't ye mind? At duik of eve methought I spy'd

i hat with the footmen stuck behind." Poor Slender's ghoit, that whimperiug cried, O Sir! says he, what! han't you seen it? O sweet, o sweet Anne Page !

'Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it. Ye gentle bards I give ear !"

'Tis odds, methinks, you have forgot Who talk of amorous rage,

Your friend, your neighbour, and what not ! W'ho spoil the lily, rob the rose,

Your old acquaintance Damon !-" True ; Conie learn of me to weep your woes :

But faith his equipage is new." O iweet, О (wect Anne Page !

" Bless me, said I, where can it end?

What niadness has possess'd ny friend ?
Why should such labour'd strains
Your formal Muse engage?

Four powder'd flaves, and those the tallest,

Their stomachs Coubelets not the smallest ! I never dream’d'or flame or dart,

Can Damon's revenue maintain That fir d my breast or pierc d my heart,

in lace and food, fo large a train ? But figh'd, Ofwcet Anne Page !

I know his land- each inch of groundAnd you ! whose love-fick minds

'Tis not a mile to waik it roundNo med vine can assuage!

If Damon's whole estate can bear Accule the lerch's art no mre,

To keep his lad and onc-horse chair, But liarn of lender to deplore ;

I own tis past my comprehension.” O [wcet, 0 Tweet Anne Page!

Yes, Sir, but Damon has a pension

Thus

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Thus does false ambition rule us,

To a FRIEND.
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us ;
To keep a race of Bickering, knaves,

LIVE you ne'er seen, my gentle squire, Ne grows himself the worst of laves.

The humours of your kitchen fire?
Says Ned to Sal, “* 1 lead a spade,
Why don't ye play ?-the girl's afraid

Play something—any thing—but play-
HINT from VOITUR E. sliš but to pais the time away-
Er Sol his annual journeys run

Phoo-how the stands-biting her nails
And when the radiant tak is done,

As though she play'd for halt her vails

Sorting her cards, hagling and picking-
Consels, through all the Glob-·, 't would pofc him
To match the charms that Celia shews him.

We play for nothing, do ng chicken

That card will do --'blood never doubt it,
And should he boait he once had seen

It's not worth while to think about it."
As just a form, as bright a mien,
Yet must it still for ever pose him,

Sal thought, and thought, and miss'd her ain, To watch what Celia never thews him.

And Ned, me'ér íludying, won the game.

Methinks, old fiend, 'tis wondrous true,
That virse is but a game at loo.

While many a bard, that shews so clearly
INSCRIPTION,

He writes for his amusement merely,

Is known to study, fret and toil;
To the memory

nd plwyfir nothing, all the while :
Of A. L. Esquire,

Or praileat most, for wreaths of yore
Justice of the peace for this county ;

Ne'er tignify'd a farthing more :
Who, in the whole course of his pilgrimage

Till, having vainly toi!'d to gain it,

He sees your flying pen obtain it.
Through a trilling ridiculous world,
Maintaining his proper dignity,

Through fragrant scenes the trifler roves,
Notwithtanding the scoffs of ill-disposed persons, And haljow'd haunts that Phæbus lovus:
And wits of the age,

Where with trạnge heats his bolom glows,
That ridiculed his behaviour,

And mystic flames the God behows.
Or censured his breeding ;

You now none other diame require,
Following the di&ates of nature, Than a good blazing parlour tire;
Desiring to ease the afflicted,

Write verle-to defy the scorrers,
Eager to set the prisoners at liberty, In Thic-houses and chimney-corners.

Without having for his end
The noise, or report such things generally cause in

Sal found her deep-laid schemes were vaiathe world,

The cards are cut-come deal again (As he was seen to perform them of none)

No good comes on it when one singer's
But the sole relief and happiness

P'll pay the cards come next my fingers

Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
Of the party in distress ;
Himself reiting easy

When she had left it wholly to her.
When he could render that so ;/

Wel, now who wins ?---why, fill the fame--
Not griping, or pinching himself,

For Sa has lost another game.
To hoard up superfluitics ;

" I've done; (the muttırd, I was saying,
Not coveting to keep in his possession It did not aruty my playing.
What gives more disquietude, than pleasure ; Some fulks will win, they cannot chuse,
But charitably diffusing it

But think or not think--iome muit loli.
To all round about him :

I may have won a game or ia
Making the muf sorrowful countenance But then it was all age age-
To frie

It ne'er will be my lot ag in-
In his presence ;

I won it of a baby then
Always bestowing more than he was asked,

Give me an ace of trumps and see, Always imparting before he was deured; Our Ned will bcat in with a time, Not proceeding in this manner

'Tis ali by luck that things are carry
Upon every trivial suggeftion,

H:'ll sutter for it, when ne's marry'd.”
But the most mature and folemn deliberation ;
With an incredible presence and undauntedneis

Thus Sal, with tears in cither eye;
of mind;

While vistur Ned lät littering by. With an inimitable gravity and economy

i hus 1, long envying your tuctuss,
of face;

And beat to write and dy luda,
Bidding loud defiance

Sate down and icribo una inice,
To politeness and the fa hion,

Just what yeu le-and you dcepile.
Dared let a ft.

You, ter ;

You, who can frame a tuneful song,
And hum it as you ride along;
And, trotting on the king's high-way,
Snatch from the hedge a sprig of bay ;
Accept this verse, howe'er it flows,
From one that is your friend in prose.

U hat is this wreath, so green! so fair !
Which many wish, and few must wear ?
Which some men's indolence can gain,
And some men's vigils ne'er obtain ?
For what must sal or poet sue,
Ere they engage with Ned or you?

For luck in verse, for luck at loo?
| Ah no! 'tis genius gives you fime,

And Ned, through skill, secures the game.

vent me,

One's credit, however, of course will grow bec-
Here enters the footman, and brings me a letter,

“ Dear fir! I received your obliging epiftle,
Your fame is secure-bid the critics go whiale.
I read over with wonder the poem you sent me;
And I must speak your praises, no soul fail pre-
The audience, believe me, cry'd out every line
Was strong, was affecting, was jutt, was divine;
All pregnant, as gold is, with worth, weight, and

beauty,
And to hide such a genius was far from your

duty.
I foresce that the court will be hugely delighted :
Sir Richard, for much a less genius was knighted.
Adieu, my good friend, and for high life prepare

ye;
I could say much more, but you're modeft, 1 spare

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The POET and the DUN. 1741.

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Quite fir'd with the flattery, I call for my paper, and waste that, and health, and my time and

my taper : I furibble till morn, when, with wrath no small

store, Comes my old friend the mercer, and raps at my

door. " Ah! friend, 'tis but idle to make such a po

ther, Fate, fate has ordain'd us to plague one anen

ther."

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I'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, fir,
But Job would be paid, Sir, had Job been a mer-

Written at an Inn at HENLEY,
My friend have but patience" Ay these are
your ways.”

0 But Sir-pr’ythee take it, and tell your attorney, From fattery, cards, and dice, and din; If I han't paid your bill, I have paid for your

Nor art they found in nuansions higher journey

T'han the low cott, or humble iun. Well, now thou art gone, let me govern my,

'Tis here with boundless power I reign ; paflion,

And'every health which I begin, And calmly confider-confider? vexation!

Converts dull port to bright champaigne.;

Such freedoin crowns it, at an inn,
What whore that must paint, and must put on
false locks,

I fly from pomp, I fly from plate !
And counterfeit joy in the pangs of the pox ! i fly from falsehood's specious grin!
What beggar's wife's nephew, now flarv'd and Freedom I love, and form I hate,
now beaten,

And chuse my lodgings at an inn,
Who, wanting to cat, fears himself shall be eat-
en!

Here, waiter ! take my sordid ore, What perter, what turnspit, can deem his case

Which lacqueys elle might hope to win; hard !

It buys, what courts have not in fore; Or what dun boast of patience that thinks of a

It buys me freedom at an inn. bard!

Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round, Well, I'll leave this poor trade, for no trade can Where'er his stages may have been,

Nay figh to think he still has found Turn shoe-boy, or courtier, or pimp, or procu. The warmest welcome at an inn.

rer; Cet love, and respect, and good living, and pelf, And dun fone pour dog of a poet nyse.f,

A SIMILE

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A'SIMILE.

Such it my theme, which means to prove,
That though we drink, or game, or love,

As that or this is most in fashion,
THAT vilage but has sometime seen

Precedence is our ruling pafsion. Tremendous claws, and shagged hair,

When college-students take degrees, of that grim brutc yclept a bear ?

And pay the beadles endless fees, He from his dam, the learn'd agree,

What moves that Icientific body, Received the curious form you see ;

But the first cutting at a gawdy? Who, with her plastic tongue alone,

And whence such shoals, in bare conditions, Produc'd a visage-like her own

That Itarve and languish as physicians, And thus they hint, in mystic fashion,

Content to trudge the streets, and stare at The powerful force of education *

The fat apothecary's chariot ? Perhaps yon crowd of swains is viewing

But that, in Charlot's chamber (see

Moliere's “ Medicin malgre lui")
L'en now, the strange exploits of Bruin;
V ho plays his antics, roars aloud;

The Icach, howe'er his fortunes vary,

Still walks before th' apothecary.
The wonder of a gaping crowd !

Flavia in vain has wit and charms,
So have I known an awkward lad,
Whose birth has made a parish glad,

And all that shines, and all that warms;
Forbid, for fear of sense, to roam,

In vain all human race adore her, And taught y kind mamma at home;

For-Lady Mary ranks before her. Who gives hini many a well-try'd rule,

O Celia, gentle Celia ! tell us, With ways and means--to play the fuol.

You who are neither vain nor jealous ! In sense the same, in stature higher,

The softest breast, the mildest mien! He shines, 'ere long, a rural squire,

Would you not feel some little spleen,
Pours forth unwittv jokes, and swears,

Nor bite your lip nor furl your brow,
And bawls, and drinks, but chiefly stares : If Florimel, your equal now,
His tenants of superior sense

Should, one day, gain precedence of ye ?
Carouze, and laugh, at his expence ;

Firft serv'd though in a dish of coffee? And deem the pastime I'm relating,

Plac'd first, although, where you are found,
To be as pleatant, as hear baiting.

You gain the eyes of all around ?
Nam'd first, though not with half the fame,
That waits my charming Celia's name?

Hard fortune ! barely to inspire

Our fix'd esteem, and fond defire! The CHARMS of PRECEDENCE.

Barely, where'er you go, to prove

The source of universal love!
A T A L E:

Yet be content, observing this,
Honour 's the offspring of caprice :

And worth, howe'er you have pursued it,
IR, will you please to walk before ?"

Has now no power—but to exclude it.
Sir-you are ne«t the door.

You'll find your general reputation
" Upon mine honour, I 'll not itir"
Sir, I'm at home, consider, Sir-

A kind of supplemental station. " Excuse me, sir, I'll not go first.”

Poor Swift with all his worth, could ne'er, Well, if I must be rude, I mufi

He tells us, hope to rise a peer ;
But
yet
I wish I could evade it

So, to supply it, wrote for fame : 'Tis Atrangely clownish, be persuadeda

And well the wic fecur'd his aim.. Go forward, cits ! go forward, squires !

A common patriot has a drift, Nor scruple each, what each animires.

Not quite so innocent as Swift : Life Squares not, friends, with your proceeding ;

In Britain's cause he rants, he labours ; It flics, while you display your breeding :

“ He's honeft, faith”-have patieme, neigh, Such breeding as one's granam preaches,

bours, Or some old dancing-master teaches,

For patriots may sometime deceive, O for some rude tumultuous fellow,

May beg their friends' reluctant leave, Half crazy, or, at least, half mellow,

To terve them in a higher sphere; Tu come behind you unawares,

And drop their virtue, to get there. And fairly push you both down stairs !

As Lucian tells us, in his fathion, But death's at handlet me advise ye,

How souls put off each earthly passion, Go forward, friends! or he'll surprise ye.

Ere on Elyum's flowery trand

Old Charon suffer'd them to land; Beldes, how infincere you are !

So ere we meet a court's caresses. Do ye not flatter, lye, forswear,

No doubt our souls muit change their dresses: And daily cheat, and weekly pray,

And souls there he, who, bound that way, and all for this--to lead the way?

Attire themselves ten times a day, * Of a fond matron's cducation.

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No, pray

If then 'tis rank which all men covet,
And saints alike and finners love it ;
If place, for which our courticts throng
So thick, that few can get along ;
For which such servile toils are seen,
Who's happier than 4 king ?- queen.

Howe'er men aim at elegation,
"Tis properly a female passion :
Women, and beaur, beyond all measure
Are charm’d with rank's extatic pleasure

Sir, if your drift I rightly scan,
You'd hint a beau was not a man :
Say, women then are fond of places;
I wave all disputable cafes.
A man perhaps would something linger,
Were his lov'd rank to coit-a finger ;
Or were an ear or toe the price on 't,
He ght deliberate once or twice en 't :
Perhaps ask Gataker's advice on 't,
And many, as their frame grows old,
Would hardly purchase it with gold.

But women with precedence ever;
"Tis their whole life's fupreme en leavour :
It fires their youth with jealous rage,
And strongly animates their age.
Perhaps they would not sell out-right,
Or main a limb that was in fighi';
Yet on worse terms they sonietimes chuse it ;
Nor ev’n in punishments refuse it.

Pre-eminence in vain you cry!
All fierce and pregnant with reply.
But lend your patience, and your car,
An argument shall make it clear.
But hold, an argument may fail,
Beside niy title says, a tale.

Where Avon roils her winding stream,
Avon, the Muses' favourite theme !
Avon, that fills the farmers' purses,
And decks with flowers both farms and verses,
She visits many a fertile vale-
Such was the scene of this my tale.
For 'tis in Evesham's vale, or near it,
'That folks with laughter tell and hear it.

The soil with annual plenty bleft
Was by young Corydon pusfest.
His youth alone Ilay before ye,
As most material to my story:
For ftrength and vigour too, he had them,
And ’rwere not much amiss, to add them.

Thrice happy lout ! whose wide domain
Now green with grass, now gilt with grain,
In ruffet robes of clover deep,
Or thinly veil'd, and white with Meep ;
Now fragrant with the bean's perfume;
Now purpled with the pulse's bloom,
Might well with bright allusion store me ;
-Bæt happier bards have been before me!

Amongst the various year's increase, The itripling own'd a field of peale; Whicb, when at night he ceas'd his labours, Were haunted by some female neighbours.

Each morn discover'd to his fighe,
The shameful havock of the night :
Traces of this they left behind them,
But no instructions where to find them.
The Devil's works are plain and evil,
But few or none have seen the Devil.
Old Noll, indeed, if we may credit
The words of Echard, who has said it,
Contriv'd with Satan how to fool us;
And bargain’d face to face to rule us ;
But then old Noll was one in ten,
And sought him more than other men.
Our shepherd too, with like attention,
May meet the female fiends we mencion.
He rose one morn at break of day,
And near the field in anıbush lay:
When lo! a brace of girls appears,
The third, a matron much in years,
Smiling, amidit the pease, the finners
Sate down to cul their future dinners;
And, caring little who might own them,
Made free as though themselves had fown them,

'Tis worth a fage's observation,
How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger hail forc'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid !
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out of door;

nd claim'd the debt withheld before.
lf anger bid our youth revile,
Love form's his features to a smile :
And knowing well 'twas ail grimace,
to threaten with a smiling face,
Hie in f-w words express’ut his mind
And none would deem them much unkind.

The amorous youth, for their offence,
Demanded in lant recomponce :
That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bathful Muse to naine.
Yet, more this sentence to discover,
'Twas what Bet * * grants her lover,
When he, to make the trumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune-to a shilling.

Each food a while, as 'twere fufpended,
And loth to do, what each intended.

At length, with soft pathetic fighs,
The matron, bent with age, replies :

'Tis vain to strive-justice, I know
And our ill sars, will have it foco
But let my tears your wrath assuage,
And shew fome deference for age!
I from a distant village came,
Am old, God knows and something lame;
And if we yield, as yield we mus,
Dispatch my crazy body fift.

Our flicpherd, like the Prygian swain,
When circled round on Ida's plain
With goddesses he stond suspended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his cuty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.

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