Then too, alas! when the fhall tear
The lines fome younger rival fends; * She 'll give me leave to write, I fear, And we fhall ftill continue friends.
For, as our different ages move,
'Tis fo ordain'd, (would Fate but mend it!) That I fhall be past making love,
When she begins to comprehend it.
THE fturdy Man, if he in love obtains,
In open pomp and triumph reigns:
The fubtile Woman, if the fhould fucceed,
Difowns the honour of the deed.
Though He, for all his boaft, is forc'd to yield,
Though She can always keep the field :
He vaunts his conquefts, fhe conceals her shame;
How Partial is the voice of Fame!
For the PLAN of a FOUNTAIN,
The Effigies of the QUEEN on a Triumphal Arch ;
The Figure of the DUKE of MARLBOROUGH beneath;
The chief Rivers of the World round the whole Work,
E active streams, where-e'er your waters flow, Let diftant climes and furtheft nations know, What ye
from Thames and Danube have been taught, How Anne commanded, and how Marlborough fought.
Quæcunque æterno properatis, flumina, lapfu,
Divifis latè terris, populifque remotis,
Dicite, nam vobis Tamefis narravit & Ifter,
Anna quid imperiis potuit, quid Marlburus armis.
S the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own;
But borrows from his neighbour's hue
His white or black, his green or blue;
And ftruts as much in ready light,
Which credit gives him upon fight,
As if the rain-bow were in tail
Settled on him and his heirs male;
So the young fquire, when first he comes
From country school to Will's or Tom's,
And equally, in truth, is fit
To be a statefman, or a wit;
Without one notion of his own,
He faunters wildly up and down,
Till fome acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the
They jeft, reply, difpute, harangue :
He acts and talks, as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him.
Thus, merely as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances.
If haply he the fect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their mysterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace;
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have said the week before;
His wisdom fets all Europe right,
And teaches Marlborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet
With folks who have more wealth than wit;
He loves cheap port, and double bub;
And fettles in the Hum-drum club:
He learns how ftocks will fall or rife;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of converfation;
And fays that learning spoils a nation.
But if, at first, he minds his hits,
And drinks champaign among the wits;
Five deep he toasts the towering laffes;
Repeats you verfes wrote on glaffes;
Is in the chair; prefcribes the law;
And lies with thofe he never faw.
SLY Merry Andrew, the laft Southwark-fair
(At Barthol'mew he did not much appear,
So peevish was the edict of the mayor);
At Southwark therefore, as his tricks he fhow'd,
To please our mafters, and his friends the croud;
A huge neat's-tongue he in his right-hand held,
His left was with a good black-pudding fill'd.
With a grave look, in this odd equipage,
The clownish mimic traverfes the stage.
Why how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll;
To-day's conceit, methinks, is fomething dull :
Come on, fir, to our worthy friends explain,
What does your emblematic worship mean?
Quoth Andrew, Honest English let us fpeak :
Your emble-(what d' ye call 't) is heathen Greck.
To tongue or pudding thou haft no pretence :
Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense.
That bufy fool I was, which thou art now;
Defirous to correct, not knowing how ;
With very good defign, but little wit,
Blaming or praifing things, as I thought fit.
I for this conduct had what I deferv'd;
And, dealing honestly, was almost starv'd.
But, thanks to my indulgent stars, I eat;
Since I have found the fecret to be great.
O, dearest Andrew, fays the humble droll,
Henceforth may I obey, and thou control;
Provided thou impart thy useful skill.
Bow then, fays Andrew; and, for once, I will.
Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he fays;
Sleep very much; think little; and talk lefs:.
Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong;
But eat your pudding, flave; and hold your tongue.
A reverend prelate ftopt his coach and fix,
To laugh a little at our Andrew's tricks.
But, when he heard him give this golden rule,
Drive on (he cried); this fellow is no fool.
DEAR Thomas, didft thou never pop
Thy head into a tin-man's fhop?
There, Thomas, didft thou never fee
('Tis but by way of fimile)
A fquirrel fpend his little rage,
In jumping round a rowling cage;
The cage, as either fide turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells at top?·
Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs:
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