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And ye ! whose souls are held,
Like lione s in a care!
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,
“ 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 ?
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 does false ambition rule us,
To a FRIEND.
LIVE you ne'er seen, my gentle squire, Ne grows himself the worst of laves.
The humours of your kitchen fire?
Play something—any thing—but play-
Phoo-how the stands-biting her nails
As though she play'd for halt her vails
Sorting her cards, hagling and picking-
We play for nothing, do ng chicken
That card will do --'blood never doubt it,
It's not worth while to think about it."
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,
While many a bard, that shews so clearly
He writes for his amusement merely,
Is known to study, fret and toil;
nd plwyfir nothing, all the while :
Or praileat most, for wreaths of yore
Ne'er tignify'd a farthing more :
Till, having vainly toi!'d to gain it,
He sees your flying pen obtain it.
Through fragrant scenes the trifler roves,
Where with trạnge heats his bolom glows,
And mystic flames the God behows.
You now none other diame require,
Write verle-to defy the scorrers,
Without having for his end
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
P'll pay the cards come next my fingers
Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
When she had left it wholly to her.
Wel, now who wins ?---why, fill the fame--
For Sa has lost another game.
" I've done; (the muttırd, I was saying,
But think or not think--iome muit loli.
I may have won a game or ia
It ne'er will be my lot ag in-
I won it of a baby then
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
H:'ll sutter for it, when ne's marry'd.”
Thus Sal, with tears in cither eye;
While vistur Ned lät littering by. With an inimitable gravity and economy
i hus 1, long envying your tuctuss,
And beat to write and dy luda,
Sate down and icribo una inice,
Just what yeu le-and you dcepile.
You, ter ;
You, who can frame a tuneful song,
U hat is this wreath, so green! so fair !
For luck in verse, for luck at loo?
And Ned, through skill, secures the game.
One's credit, however, of course will grow bec-
“ Dear fir! I received your obliging epiftle,
The POET and the DUN. 1741.
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
I'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, fir,
Written at an Inn at HENLEY,
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,
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate !
And chuse my lodgings at an inn,
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,
Such it my theme, which means to prove,
As that or this is most in fashion,
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")
The Icach, howe'er his fortunes vary,
Still walks before th' apothecary.
Flavia in vain has wit and charms,
And all that shines, and all that warms;
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,
Nor bite your lip nor furl your brow,
Should, one day, gain precedence of ye ?
Firft serv'd though in a dish of coffee? And deem the pastime I'm relating,
Plac'd first, although, where you are found,
You gain the eyes of all around ?
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!
Yet be content, observing this,
And worth, howe'er you have pursued it,
Has now no power—but to exclude it.
You'll find your general reputation
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 ;
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.
If then 'tis rank which all men covet,
Howe'er men aim at elegation,
Sir, if your drift I rightly scan,
But women with precedence ever;
Pre-eminence in vain you cry!
Where Avon roils her winding stream,
The soil with annual plenty bleft
Thrice happy lout ! whose wide domain
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,
'Tis worth a fage's observation,
nd claim'd the debt withheld before.
The amorous youth, for their offence,
Each food a while, as 'twere fufpended,
At length, with soft pathetic fighs,
'Tis vain to strive-justice, I know
Our flicpherd, like the Prygian swain,