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The Muses answer'd-Venus, we deride 10 glorious theft! O nobly wicked draught!
On the Death of a Lady's Cat. Harrison. But when he finds us studying hard he flies.
And is Miss Tabby from the world retir'd ?
And are her lives, all her nine lives, expir'd? By Aaron Hill.
What sounds so moving as her own can tell
How Tabby died, how full of play she fell ? When Christ at Cana's feast, by pow'r die Begin, ye tuneful nine, a mournful strife, vine,
And ev'ry muse shall celebrate a life.
A Receipt for Courtship. Swift.
Two or three dears, and two or three sweets; blush'd.
| Two or three balls, and two or three treats; | Two or three serenades, giv'n as a lure;
| Two or three oaths how much they endure; Upon the Busts of the English Worthies at
Two or three messages sent in one day;
Two or three times led out from the play; AMONG these chiefs of British race,
Two or three soft speeches made by the way; Who live in breathing stone,
Two or three tickets for two or three times; Why has not Cobham's bust a place?
Two or three love-letters writ all in rhymes; The structure was his own.
Two or three months keeping strict to these
Can never fail making a couple of fools. By Pope. Great Villiers' fatesage Cutler could foresee; 1 To a Lady who used Patches. And, well he thought, advis'd him." Live! Your homely face, Flippanta, you disguise,
With patches numerous as Argus' eyes;
I own that patching's requisite for you,
For more we're pleased the less your face we
Wear but one patch, and be that patch a mask.
Wood. And sat upon a rock, and bobb’d for whale.
Her wit and beauty for a court were made:
Her truth and goodness fit her for a shade.
To Mr. Addison, on his Tragedy of Cato.
The mind to virtue is by verse subdued, And the true poet is a public good.
This Britain feels: while, by your lines On Michael Angelo's famous Piece of the Cru
spir'd, cifixion, who stabbed a Person that he might Her free-born sons to glorious thoughts are fir'd. do it more naturally. DR. Young. In Rome had you espous'd the vanquish'd cause,
Inflam'd her senate, and upheld her laws, Whilst his Redeemer on the canvas dies, Your manly scenes had liberty restor’d, Stabb'd at his feet his brother welt'ring lies; And giv'n the just success to Cato's sword, The daring artist, cruelly serene,
O'er Cæsar's arms your genius had prevail'd, Views the pale cheek, and the distorted mien ; And the muse triumph'd where the patriot He drains off life by drops; and, deaf to cries, faild. Examines ev'ry spirit as it flies; He studies torment, dives in mortal woe, To rouse up ev'ry pang repeats the blow;
Tom's coach and six! Whither in such haste Each rising agony, each dreadful grace,
going? Yet warm transplanting to his Saviour's face; But a short journey to his own undoing.
| Like a poor highway brook, pretence runs loud:
Bustling, but shallow, dirty, weak, and proud. To Bedlam with him: is he sound in mind,
While, like some nobler stream, true knowWho still is seeking what he would not find ?
Silently strong, and its deep bottom hides.
The Royal Knotter. Şir Ch. Sedley.
Both to advance your glory! His heir you were not, had he seen you twice. While he by's valor conquers France,
She manufactures does advance,
And makes thread-fringes for ye.
Blest we! who from such queens are freed The great, good man, whom Fortune will
Who, by vain superstition led, displace,
Are always telling beads : May into scarceness fall, but not disgrace.
| But here's a queen now, thanks to God? His sacred person none will dare profane;
| Who, when she rides in coach abroad, He may be poor, but never can be mean.
Is always knotting threads.
And when the summer show is past,
Let all thy trumpets sound:
Thy conquests will surround.
What's Honor ?
Not to be captious, not unjustly fight; The gods and Cato did in this divide
al 'Tis to confess what's wrong, and do what's They chose the conqu’ring, he the conquer'd side. By Dean Swift.
A fair Ground for Pride. You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come:
Jack his own merit sees: this gives him
pride, Knock as you will, there's nobody at home.
For he sees more than all the world beside.
| Happy, could Ned's inverted rule The Goddess snatch'd the pencil from his hand:
Prove ev'ry fool to be a poet.
Dean Swift's Curate.
I march'd three miles thro' scorching sand,
With zeal in heart, and notes in hand; Can you count the silver lights
I rode four more to Great St. Mary, That deck the skies, and cheer the nights;
Using four legs when two were weary. Or the leaves that strew the vales,
To three fair virgins I did tie men, When groves are stript by winter gales; In the close bands of pleasing Hymen; Or the drops that in the morn
I dipp'd two babes in holy water, Hang with transparent pearl the thorn;
And purified their mothers after. Or bridegroom's joys, or miser's cares,
Within an hour and eke an half, Or gamester's oaths, or hermit's prayers;
I preach'd three congregations deaf; Or envy's pangs, or love's alarms,
While thund'ring out with lungs long-winded, Or Marlbro's acts, or Molly's charms?
I chopp'd so fast that few there minded.
My emblem, the laborious sun,
Saw all these mighty labors done
Before one race of his was run! How is the world deceiv'd by noise and show All this perform'd by Robert Hewit: Alas! how diff'rent, to pretend and know! What mortal else could e'er go through it?
The Miser's Feast.
Epigram by Dr. DODDRIDGE, on his Motto, His chimney smokes! it is some omen dire!
Dum vivimus, vivamus. His neighbours are alarm’d; and cry out, Fire! Live while you live, the epicure will say,
And take the pleasure of the present day.
Author, the Statues of Apollo, Venus, and And give to God each moment as it flies.
Pope. Lord, in my view let both united be!
I live in pleasure when I live to Thee. What God, what genius did the pencil
When Kneller painted these? sinove, 'Twas friendship-warm as Phæbus, kind as
On the Publication of Mrs. Rowe's Poems since Love,
her Death. And strong as Hercules.
Thus Philomela sung, on earth detain'd,
While Cuinb'rous clay the rising soul restrain'd; The Duke of Ch- s. Swirt. Now the freed spirit, with th' angelic choir,
In fields of light attunes th' immortal lyre, JAMES B w as the Dean's familiar friend:
And hymns her God in strains more soft, more James grows a Duke, their friendship here must
strongend. Surely the Dean deserves a sore rebuke,
There only could she learn a loftier song. From knowing James, to say he knows a duke.
By Lord Lansdowne.
Believe me, Chloe, those perfumes that SLEPT you well? “ Very well.” My draught cost did good.
Such sums to sweeten thee, is treasure lost ; " It did no harm: for yonder it hath stood.” | Not all Arabia would sufficient be;
Thou smell'st not of thy sweets, they stink of
When Topewell thought fit from the world Till loosen'd life, at last but breathing clay,
As full of Champagne as an egg's full of meat: Without one pang is glad to fall away.
He waked in the boat, and to Charon he said, Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
| He would be row'd back, for he was not yet Whose eyes have wepto’er every friend laid low;
dead. Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial death to death,
Trim the boat, and sit quiet, stern Charon reTill, dying, all he can resign is breath.
You may have forgot, you was drunk when you To the Rev. Mr. Murdoch, Rector of Strada died. dishall, in Suffolk. THOMSON.
Firmness under Distress. Thus safely low, my friend, thou canst not fall;
Brutus unmov'd heard how his Portia fell: Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all; Should Jack's wifedie, he would behave as well. No poise, no care, no vanity, no strife; Men, woods, and trees, all breathe untroubled life:
By Dean Swift.
Deaf, giddy, helpless, left alone,
To all my friends a burthen grown:
Than if it rang out for my knell : That bids defiance to the storms of fate :
At thunder now no more I start High bliss is only for a higher state.
Than at the rumbling of a cart:
Nay, what's incredible, alack The Power of Time. SWIFT. I hardly hear a woman's clack. If neither brass nor marble can withstand The mortal force of Time's destructive hand On a Fan which bore the Story of Cephalus and If mountains sink to vales, if cities die,
Procris, with this Motto: " Aura, veni.” And less'ning rivers mourn their fountains dryWhen my old cassock, said a Welch divine, Gome, gentle Air, th' Æolian shepherd said, Is out at elbows, why should I repine? | While Procris panted in the secret shade;
Come, gentle air, the fairer Delia cries,
On a Bee stifled in Honey.
Is, in the sweets she hoards to die.
With life's soft sweets, each fay’rite joy :
| If we taste wisely, they relieve, Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
But, if we plunge too deep, destroy. At random wounds, nor knows the wound she
gives : She views the story with attentive eyes,
On Mr. Pope's Death. And pities Procris, while her lover dies.
ARISE, ye glimmering stars of wit!
For, lo! the Sun of Verse is set.
By Dr. SWIFT.
As Thomas was cudgell'd one day by his wife, Says Ralph, a merry wag :
He took to his heels, and he ran for his life. An epigram, if smart and good,
Tom's three dearest friends came by in the In all its circumstances should
squabble, Be like a jelly-bag.
And screen d him at once from the shrew and Your simile, I own, is new;
the rabble; But how wilt make it out? says Hugh. Then ventur'd to give him some wholesome Quoth Ralph, I'll tell thee, friend;
advice : Make it at top both wide, and fit
But Tom is a fellow of honor so nice, To hold a budget-full of wit,
Too proud to take counsel, too wise to take And point it at the end.
warning, That he sent to all three a challenge next
morning. By Mrs. PILKINGTON.
He fought with all three; thrice ventur'd his Stella and Flavia ev'ry hour
This wife. Unnumber'd hearts surprise ;
Then went home, and was cudgell'd again by In Stella's soul lies all her power,
And Flavia's in her eyes.
On Dr. Blackmore.
Ler Blackmore still, in good king Arthur's All can discern a face that's fair,
vein, But few a lovely mind.
To Fleckno's empire his just right maintain ; Stella, like Britain's monarch, reigns Let him his own to common sense oppose, O'er cultivated lands;
With praise and slander maul both friends and Like eastern tyrants Flavia deigns
foes; To rule o'er barren sands.
Let him great Dryden's awful name profane, Then boast, fair Flavia, boast your face, And learned Garth with envious pride disdain; Your beauty's only store:
Let the quack scribble any thing but bills: Each day that makes thy charms decrease, His satire wounds not, but his physic kills. Will give to Stella more.
On Mr. Butler's Monument in WestminsterTo Mr. Pope on his Dunciad.
S. WESTLEY, The raven, rook, and pert jackdaw,
Whilst Butler, needy wretch! was yet alive,
No gen'rous patron would a dinner give : Though neither birds of moral kind,
See him, when starv'd to death, and turn'd to Yet serve, if hang'd, or stuff'd with straw, To show us which way blows the wind.
| Presented with a monumental bust. [dust,
The poet's fate is here in emblem shown; Thus dirty knaves, or chuttering fools, Strung up by dozens in thy lay,
He ask'd for bread, and he receiv'd a stone. Teach more by half than Dennis' rules, And point instruction ev'ry way.
| Inscription for a Fountain adorned with Queen With Egypt's art thy pen may strive:
Anne's and the Duke of Marlborough's StaOne potent drop let this but shed,
tues, and the chief Rivers of the World And every rogue that stunk alive
round the Work.
PRIOR. Becomes a precious mummy dead.
Yeactive streains, where'er your waters flow, | Let distant climes and farthest nations know,
What ye from Thames and Danube have been Treason does never prosper; what's the taught, reason?
How Anne commanded, and how Marlbro' Why, when it prospers, none dare callit treason. fought.
By W. CONGREVE.
On Plutarch's Statue. From the Greek. See, see, she wakes, Sabina wakes,
DRYDEN. And now the sun begins to rise ;
Wise, honest Plutarch! to thy deathless Less glorious is the morn that breaks
From his bright beams, than her bright eyes. The sons of Rome this grateful statue raise: With light united, day they give,
For why? both Greece and Rome thy fame But diff'rent fates ere night fulfil:
have shar'd; How many by his warmth will live!
Their heroes written, and their lives compar'd. How many will her coldness kill!
But thou thyself couldst never write thy own:
'Their lives had parallels, but thine has none. By Josiah Relph. No, Varus hates a thing that's base;
On the Statue of Niobe. From the Greek. I own, indeed, he's got a knack Of Alatt'ring people to their face,
To stone the gods have changed her, but in But scorns to do't behind their back.
The sculptor's art has made her breathe again. Under a Picture of Mr. Poyntz. LYTTELTON. Such is thy form, O Poyntz! but who shall
To a young Gentleman. find A hand or colors to express thy mind?
Nature has done her part: do thou but A mind unmov'd by ev'ry vulgar fear;
Learning and sense let decency refine. [thine; In a false world, that dares to be sincere:
For vain applause transgress not virtue's rules ; Wise without art, without ambition great ;
A witty sinner is the worst of fools.
Ulysses' Dog. Pope.
When wise Ulysses, from his native coast Can pity frailties it could never feel;
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost, That, when misfortune sued, ne'er sought to
Arriv'd at last, poor, old, disguised, alone,
To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown: know What sect, what party, whether friend or foe :
Changed as he was with age, and toils, and cares, That, fix'd on equal virtue's temp'rate laws,
Furrowed his rev'rend face, and white his hairs, Despises calumny, and shuns applause :
In his own palace forced to ask his bread, Thai to his own perfections singly blind,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed, Would for another think this praise design'd.
Forgot of all his own domestic crew;
Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay,
Like an old servant now cashier'd he lay; When from her bosom Arria pull'd the blade. | And, though e'en then expiring on the plain, Thus to her lord the tender heroine said :
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man, The wound I gave myself with ease I bear,
| And longing to behold his ancient lord again. Alas! I die by that which kills my dear.
Him when he saw-he rose, and crawld to
'Twas all he could, and fawn'd, and kiss'd his The Commons' Petition to King Charles the feet, , Second.
Rochester. Seiz'd with dumb joy: then falling by his side, In all humility we crave
Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died. Our sovereign may be our slave; · And humbly beg that he may be
To King Charles I. on his Navy. WallER. Betray'd by us most loyally : And if he please once to lay down
Should nature's self invade the world again, His sceptre, dignity, and crown,
And o'er the centre spread the liquid main, We'll make him for the time to come, Thy pow'r were safe, and her destructive hand The greatest prince in Christendom.
Would butenlarge the bounds of thy command:
Thy dreadful Aeet would style ther. lord of all, The King's Answer. .
And rise in triumph o'er the drowned ball. CHARLZS, at this time having no need, Thanks you as much as if you did.
On Mrs. Barbiere's first Appearance on the The Worm-Doctor. J. Relph.
Stage. Vagus, advanced on high, proclaims his skill, No pleasure now from Nicolini's tongue, By cakes of wondrous force the worms to kill; In vain he strives to move us with his song : A scornful ear the wiser sort impart,
On a fair Syren we have fix'd our choice, Aad laugh at Vagus's pretended art.
And wait with longing ears for barbiere's voice: But well can Vagus what he boasts perform, | When, lo! the nymph by bashful awe betray'd, For man (as Job hath told us) is a worm. | Her falt'ring tongue denies her looks its aid;