With mine thy ferious aim unite,

And both fome proper guests invite ;
That not one minute's running fand
May find their pleasures at a ftand.
At this fevere and fad rebuke,

Enough to make a coxcomb puke;

Poor Cupid, blushing, fhrug'd and winc'd,
Not yet confenting, though convinc'd:
For 'tis your witling's greatest terror,
Ev'n when he feels, to own, his error.
Yet, with a look of arch grimace,
He took his penitential face :

Said, 'twas, perhaps, the furer play,

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To give your grave good fouls their way:
That, as true humour was grown fcarce,
He chose to see a fober farce;

For, of all cattle and all fowl,

Your folemn-looking afs and owl

Rais'd much more mirth, he durft aver it,
Than those jack-puddings, pug and parrot.

He faid, and eastward fpread his wing,
From London fome few friends to bring.
His brother too, with fober cheer,
For the fame end did weftward steer:
But firft, a penfive love forlorn,

Who three long weeping years has borne
His torch revers'd, and all around,

Where once it flam'd, with cyprefs bound,
Sent off, to call a neighbouring friend,
On whom the mournful train attend:

And bid him, this one day, at least,

For fuch a pair, at such a feast,
Strip off the fable veil, and wear
His once-gay look and happier air.

But Hymen, fpeeding forward ftill,
Obferv'd * a man on Richmond-hill,
Who now firft tries a country life;
Perhaps, to fit him for a wife.

But, though not much on this he reckon❜d,
The paffing god look'd in and beckon❜d:
He knows him rich in focial merit,
With independent tafte and fpirit;

Though he will laugh with men of whim,
For fear fuch men fhould laugh at him.

But lo, already on his way,

In due obfervance of the day,

A friend and favourite of the Nine,

but feldom cares to shine,

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Who can,

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And one fole virtue would arrive at

To keep his many virtues private.

Who tends, well pleas'd, yet as by ftealth,

Now feeds and rears, now starves and flaughters,

His vegetable fons and daughters.

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A. Mitchell, Efq. Minifter at the Court of Pruffia.

While these are on their way, behold! Dan Cupid, from his London-fold,

Firft feeks and fends his new Lord Warden
Of all the nymphs in Covent-Garden:

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Brave as the fword he wears in fight;
Sincere, and briefly in the right;
Whom never minister or king
Saw meanly cringing in their ring.
A fecond fee! of special note,

Plump Comus + in a colonel's coat;

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Whom we, this day, expect from far,
A jolly first-rate man of war;

On whom we boldly dare repofe.

To meet our friends, or meet our foes.
Or comes a brother in his ftead?
Strong-body'd too, and ftrong of head:
Who, in whatever path he goes,
Still looks right on before his nofe;
And holds it little less than treason,

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To baulk his ftomach or his reafon.

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True to his mistress and his meat,

He eats to love, and loves to eat.

The late General Skelton. He had just then purchased a Houfe in Henrietta-ftreet.

The late Col. Caroline Scott; who, though extremely corpulent, was uncommon'y active; and who, to much skill, spirit, and bravery, as an officer, joined the greatest gentleness of manners as a companion and friend. He died a facrifice to the public, in the service of the East-India Company, at Bengal, in the year 1755

Laft comes a virgin-pray admire her! Cupid himself attends, to squire her:

A welcome guest! we much had mift her;
For 'tis our Kitty, or his fifter.

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But, Cupid, let no knave or fool

Snap up this lamb, to fhear her wool;

No teague of that unblushing band,

Juft landed, or about to land;

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Thieves from the womb, and train'd at nurse,

To steal an heiress or a purse.

No fcraping, faving, faucy cit,

Sworn foe of breeding, worth, and wit;

No half-form'd infect of a Peer,

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With neither land nor confcience clear;

Who if he can, 'tis all he can do,

Juft fpell the motto on his landau.

From all, from each of these defend her;
But thou and Hymen both befriend her,
With truth, tafte, honour, in a mate,
And much good sense, and some estate.
But now, fuppofe th' affembly met,

And round the table cordial fet;
While in fair order, to their wish,
Plain neatness fends up every dish,

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And Pleasure at the fide-board stands,

A nectar'd goblet in his hands,

To pour libations, in due measure,

As Reafon wills when join'd with Pleasure-
Let thefe white moments all be gay,

Without one cloud of dim allay:

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In every face let joy be feen,

As truth fincere, as hope ferene:

Let Friendship, Love, and Wit combine,
To flavour both the meat and wine,
With that rich relish to each sense,
Which they, and they alone, difpense;
Let Mufic too their mirth prolong,
With warbled air and festive song:
Then, when at eve, the star of love
Glows with foft radiance from above,
And each companionable guest
Withdraws, replenish'd, not opprest,
Let each, well-pleas'd, at parting fay-
My life be fuch a wedding-day!

EPIGRAM :

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WRITTEN AT TUNBRIDGE WELLS, M,DCC,LX.

W

HEN Churchill led his legions on,

Succefs ftill follow'd where he fhone.

And are those triumphs, with the dead,
All from his houfe, for ever fled?
Not fo by fofter furer arms,
They yet furvive in beauty's charms;
For, look on blooming Pembroke's face,
Even now he triumphs in his race.