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* A brace of warriors, not in buff, But ruitling in their filks and tissues.
The first came cap-a-pee from France, Her conquering destiny fulfilling, Whom meaner beauties eye aikance, And vainly ape her art of killing.
The other Amazon kind heaven Had arm’d with spirit, wit, and satire: But Cobham had the polish given, And tipp'd her arrows with good-nature.
To celebrate her eyes, her airCoarse panegyrics would but teaze her. Melissa is her Nom de Guerre. Alas, who would not wish to please her!
* The reader is already apprised who these Ladies were ; the two descriptions are prettily contratted ; and nothing can be more happily turned than the compliment to Lady Cobham in the eighth ftanza. M.
With bonnet blue and capuchinc,
Fame, in the shape of * Mr. P-t,
Who prowld the country far and near, Bewitch'd the children of the peasants, Dried up the cows, and lam'd the deer, And fuck’d the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants,
My Lady heard their joint petition,
* I have been told that this Gentleman, a neighbour and acquaintance of Mr. Gray's in the country, was much difpleafed at the liberty here taken with his name ; yet, furely, without any great reason. M.
The The Heroines undertook the talk, Thro’lanes unknown, o'er ftiles they ventur'u, Rap'd at the door, nor stay'd to as, But bounce into the parlour enter'd.
The trembling family they daunt, They firt, they fing, they laugh, they tattle, Rummage his Mother, pinch his Aunt, And up ítairs in a whirlwind rattle.
Fach hole and cupboard they explore,
Into the drawers and china pry,
On the first marching of the troops, The Muses, hopeless of his pardon, Convey'd him underneath their hoops To a small closet in the garden.
So Rumour says : (who will, believe.) But that they left the door a-jar; Where, safe and laughing in his sleeve, He heard the distant din of war.
Short was his joy. He little knew The power of Magic was no fable; Out of the window, whisk, they flewy, But left a spell upon the table.
The words too eager to unriddle, The Poet felt a strange disorder : Transparent bird-lime form’d the middle; And chains invisible the border..
So cunning was the Apparatus,
Yet on his way (no sign of grace,
The Godhead would have back'd his quarrel; But with a blush, on recollection, Own'd, that his quiver and his laurel 'Gainst four such eyes were no protection.
The court was sat, the culprit there,