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One ushers friends to Bathurst's door;
One fawns, at Oxford's, on the poor.
Nobles, whom arms or arts adorn,
Wait for my infants yet unborn.
None but a peer of wit and grace
Can hope a puppy of my race.

And, O would fate the bliss decree
To mine (a bliss too great for me!)
That two my tallest sons might grace,
Attending each with stately pace,
Iulus' side, as erst Evauder's,*

To keep off flatterers, spies and panders,
To let no noble slave come near

And scare Lord Fannys from his ear;
Then might a royal youth, and true,
Enjoy at least a friend-or two;

A treasure which, of royal kind,
Few but himself deserve to find.

Then Bounce ('tis all that Bounce can crave)

Shall wag her tail within the grave,

And though no doctors, whig or tory ones,
Except the sect of Pythagoreans,

Have immortality assign'd

To any beast but Dryden's hind:†

Yet master Pope, whom Truth and Sense
Shall call their friend some ages hence,
Though now on loftier themes he sings,
Than to bestow a word on kings,
Has sworn by Styx, the poet's oath,
And dread of dogs and poets both,
Man and his works he'll soon renounce,
And roar in numbers worthy Bounce.

*Virgil, Eneid 8.

"A milk white hind, immortal and unchang'd."

Hind and Panther, ver, I.

ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON CUTTING PAPER.

PALLAS grew vap'rish once and odd;
She would not do the least right thing,
Either for goddess or for god,

Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor sing.

Jove frown'd, and "Use (he cried) those eyes
"So skilful, and those hands so taper;
Do something exquisite and wise-””.
She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut paper.

This vexing him who gave her birth,
Thought by all Heaven a burning shame;
What does she next, but bids, on earth,
Her Burlington do just the same.

Pallas, you give yourself strange airs;
But sure you'll find it hard to spoil
The sense and taste of one, that bears
The name of Saville and of Boyle.

Alas! one bad example shown,

How quickly all the sex pursue! See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown Between John Overton and you!

ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT.

I KNOW the thing that's most uncommon, (Envy be silent, and attend!)

I know a reasonable woman,

Handsome and witty, yet a friend.

Not warp'd by passion, aw'd by rumour,
Not grave thro' pride, or gay thro' folly!
An equal mixture of good humour,
And sensible, soft melancholy.

"Has she no faults, then (Envy says) sir ?” Yes, she has one, I must aver;

When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman's deaf, and does not hear.

MISCELLANIES

IN

PROSE,

CONTINUED.

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