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ODE TO GARRICK,

UPON THE TALK OF THE TOWN.

"But Merope, we own, is fine,
Eumenes charms in every line;
How prettily he vapours!
So gay his dress, so young his look,

When I said I would die a batchelor, I did not One would have sworn 'twas Mr. Cook, think I should live till I were married.

Much Ado about Nothing.

No, no; the left-hand box, in blue;
There! don't you see her?" See her! Who?"
Nay, hang me if I tell.

There's Garrick in the music-box!
Watch but his eyes; see there" O pox!
"Your servant, ma'moiselle !"

But tell me, David, is it true?
Lord help us! what will some folks do?
How will they curse this stranger!
What! fairly taken in for life!
A sober, serious, wedded wife!
O fie upon you, Ranger!

The clergy too have join'd the chat;
"A papist !-Has he thought of that?
Or means he to convert her?"
Troth, boy, unless your zeal be stout,
The nymph may turn your faith about,
By arguments experter.

The ladies, pale and out of breath,
Wild as the witches in Macbeth,

Ask if the "deed be done?"
O, David! listen to my lay!
I'll prophesy the things they'll say;
For tongues, you know, will run.

"And pray, what other news d' ye hear?
Marry'd!-But don't you think, my dear,
He's growing out of fashion?
People may fancy what they will,
But Quin 's the only actor still,

To touch the tender passion.

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Or Mathews, cutting capers."

Thus, David, will the ladies flout,
And councils hold at every rout,
To alter all your plays:
Yates shall be Benedick next year,
Macklin be Richard, Taswell Lear,
And Kitty Clive be Bayes.

Two parts they readily allow

Are yours; but not one more, they vow;
And thus they close their spite:
You will be sir John Brute, they say,
A very sir John Brute all day,
And Fribble all the night.

But tell me, fair-ones, is it so?
"You all did love him once '," we know;
What then provokes your gall?
Forbear to rail-I'll tell you why;
Quarrels may come, or madam die,
And then there's hope for all.

And now a word or two remains, Sweet Davy, and I close my strains: Think well ere you engage; Vapours and ague-fits may come, And matrimonial claims at home, Unnerve you for the stage.

But if you find your spirits right,
Your mind at ease, your body tight,
Take her; you can't do better:
A pox upon the tattling town!
The fops that join to cry her down

Would give their ears to get her.

Then if her heart be good and kind, (And sure that face bespeaks a mind As soft as woman's can be) You'll grow as constant as a dove, And taste the purer sweets of love, Unvisited by Ranby 2.

ENVY AND FORTUNE:

A TALE.

TO MRS. GARRICK.

SAYS Envy to Fortune, "Soft, soft, madam Flirt!
Not so fast with your wheel, you 'll be down in the
dirt!
[creature,
Well, and how does your David? Indeed, my dear
You've shown him a wonderful deal of good-nature;
His bags are so full, and such praises his due,
That the like was ne'er known-and all owing to you:
But why won't you make him quite happy for life,
And to all you have done add the gift of a wife?"
Says Fortune, and smil'd, "Madam Envy, God
save ye!

But why always sneering at me and poor Davy?

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'Mighty civil indeed!"—" Come, a truce," says my lady,

"A truce with complaints, and perhaps I may aid ye. I'll show you a girl that-Here, Martin! go fell— But she's gone to undress; by-and-by is as well is-!"I'll show you a sight that you'll fancy uncommon, Wit, beauty, and goodness, all met in a woman; A heart to no folly or mischief inclin'd,

I own that sometimes, in contempt of all rules, I lavish my favours on blockheads and fools; 'But the case is quite different here, I aver it, For David ne'er knew me, till brought me by Merit. And yet to convince you-nay, madam, no hissesGood manners at least-such behaviour as this (For mention but Merit, and Envy flies out With a hiss and a yell that would silence a rout. But Fortune went on)-" To convince you, I say, That I honour your scheme, I'll about it to day; (The man shall be marry'd, so pray now be easy, \ And Garrick for once shall do something to please ye."

So saying, she rattled her wheel out of sight, While Envy walk'd after, and grinn'd with delight. It seems 'twas a trick that she long had been brewing,

To marry poor David, and so be his ruin:

For Slander had told her the creature lov'd pelf,
And car'd not a fig for a soul but himself;
From thence she was sure, had the Devil a daughter,
He'd snap at the girl, so 'twas Fortune that brought
her:

And then should her temper be sullen or haughty,
Her flesh too be frail, and incline to be naughty,
"Twould fret the poor fellow so out of his reason,
That Barry and Quin would set fashions next season.
But Fortune, who saw what the Fury design'd,
Resolv'd to get David a wife to his mind:
Yet afraid of herself in a matter so nice,
She visited Prudence, and begg'd her advice.
The nymph shook her head when the business she❘
knew,

And said that her female acquaintance were few;
That excepting miss R......-O, yes, there was one,
A friend of that lady's, she visited none;

But the first was too great, and the last was too good,

And as for the rest, she might get whom she could.
Away hurried Fortune, perplex'd and half mad,
But her promise was pass'd, and a wife must be had:
She travers'd the town from one corner to t'other,
Now knocking at one door and them at another.
The girls curtsy'd low as she look'd in their faces,
And bridled and primm'd with abundance of graces;
But this was coquettish, and that was a prude,
One stupid and dull, t' other noisy and rude;
A third was affected, quite careless a fourth,
With prate without meaning, and pride without

worth;

A fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh were such

As either knew nothing or something too much—
In short as they pass'd, she to all had objections;
The gay wanted thought, the good-humour'd affec-
tions,

The prudent were ugly, the sensible dirty,
And all of them flirts, from fifteen up to thirty.

When Fortune saw this she began to look silly, Yet still she went on till she reach'd Piccadilly; But vex'd and fatigu'd, and the night growing late, She rested her wheel within Burlington gate. My lady rose up, as she saw her come in, "Oho, madam Genius! pray where have you been?" (For her ladyship thought, from so serious an air, 'Twas Genius come home, for it seems she liv'd there.) But Fortune, not minding her ladyship's blunder, And wiping her forehead, cry'd, "Well may you wonder

To see me thus flurry'd;"-then told her the case, And sigh'd till her ladyship laugh'd in her face.

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the room;

A blush at the stranger still heighten'd her bloom;
So humble her looks were, so mild was her air,
That Fortune, astonish'd, sat mute in her chair.
My lady rose up, and with countenance bland,
"This is Fortune, my dear," and presented her hand:
The goddess embrac'd her, and call'd her her own,
And, compliments over, her errand made known.

But how the sweet girl colour'd, flutter'd, and trembled,

How oft she said no, and how ill she dissembled ;
Or how little David rejoic'd at the news,
And swore, from all others, 'twas her he would choose;
What methods he try'd, and what arts to prevail;
All these, were they told, would but burthen my
tale-

In short, all affairs were so happily carry'd,
That hardly six weeks pass'd away till they marry'd.

But Envy grew sick when the story she heard, Violette was the girl that of all she most fear'd; She knew her good-humour, her beauty and sweet

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But now (and they speak it with sorrow and tears)
Since your honour has sat at the helm of affairs,
No party will join them, no faction invite
To heed what they say, or to read what they write;
Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord are fled,
And Slander scarce ventures to lift up her head—
In short, public business is so carry'd on,
That their country is sav'd, and the patriots undone.
To perplex them still more, and sure famine to
bring,

(Now satire has lost both its truth and its sting) If, in spite of their natures, they bungle at praise, Your honour regards not, and nobody pays.

YOUR petitioners therefore most humbly intreat (As the times will allow, and your honour thinks meet)

That measures be chang'd, and some cause of complaint

Be immediately furnish'd, to end their restraint;
Their credit thereby, and their trade to retrieve,
That again they may rail, and the nation believe.
Or else (if your wisdom shall deem it all one)
Now the parliament 's rising, and business is done,
That your honour would please, at this dangerous
crisis,

To take to your bosom a few private vices,
By which your petitioners haply might thrive,
And keep both themselves and Contention alive.
In compassion, good sir, give them something to
say,

And your honour's petitioners ever shall pray.

THE

However to make matters short,
And not to trespass on the court,
The lady was discover'd soon,
And thus it was. One afternoon,
The ninth of July last, or near it,
(As to the day, he could not swear it)
In company at Mrs. P.'s,

Where folks say any thing they please;
Deau L. and lady Mary by,
And Fanny waiting on Miss Y.
(He own'd he was inclin'd to think
Both were a little in their drink)
The pris'ner ask'd, and call'd him cousin,
How many kisses made a dozen?
That being, as he own'd, in liquor,
The question made his blood run quicker,
And, sense and reason in eclipse,
He vow'd he 'd score them on her lips.
That rising up to keep his word,
He got as far as kiss the third,
And would have counted t' other nine,
And so all present did opine,
But that he felt a sudden dizziness,
That quite undid him for the business:
His speech, he said, began to falter,
His eyes to stare, his mouth to water,
His breast to thump without cessation,
And all within one conflagration.

"Bless me!" says Fanny, "what's the matter?" And lady Mary look'd hard at her,

And stamp'd, and wish'd the pris'ner further,
And cry'd out, "Part them, or there's murther!"
That still he held the pris'ter fast,

And would have stood it to the last;
But struggling to go through the rest,
He felt a pain across his breast,

A sort of sudden twinge, he said,

TRIAL OF SARAH ALIAS SLIM SAL, That seem'd almost to strike him dead,

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FOR PRIVATELY STEALING.

THE prisoner was at large indicted,

For that by thirst of gain excited,
One day in July last, at tea,

And in the house of Mrs. P.
From the left breast of E. M. gent.
With base felonious intent,

Did then and there a heart with strings,
Rest, quiet, peace, and other things,
Steal, rob, and plunder; and all them
The chattels of the said E. M.

The prosecutor swore, last May
(The month he knew, but not the day)
He left his friends in town, and went
Upon a visit down in Kent:

That staying there a month or two,
He spent his time as others do,

In riding, walking, fishing, swimming;
But being much inclin'd to women,

And young and wild, and no great reasoner,
He got acquainted with the prisoner.
He own'd, 'twas rumour'd in those parts
That she'd a trick of stealing hearts,
And from fifteen to twenty-two,
Had made the devil and all to do:
But Mr. W. the vicar,

(And no man brews you better liquor)
Spoke of her thefts as tricks of youth,
The frolics of a girl forsooth:
Things now were on another score,
He said; for she was twenty-four.

And after that such cruel smarting,
He thought the soul and body parting.
That then he let the pris'ner go,
And stagger'd off a step or so;
And thinking that his heart was ill,
He begg'd of miss Y.'s maid to feel.
That Fanny stept before the rest,
And laid her hand upon his breast;
But, mercy on us! what a stare
The creature gave! No heart was there;
Souse went her fingers in the hole,
Whence heart, and strings, and all were stole.
That Fanny turn'd, and told the prisoner,
She was a thief, and so she 'd christen her
And that it was a burning shame,

And brought the house an evil name;
And if she did not put the heart in,

The man would pine and die for certain.
The pris'ner then was in her airs,

And bid her mind her own affairs;
And told his reverence, and the rest of 'em,
She was as honest as the best of 'em.
That lady Mary and dean L.
Rose up and said, "Twas mighty well,"
But that, in general terms they said it,
A heart was gone, and some one had it:
Words would not do, for search they must,
And search they would, and her the first.
That then the pris'ner dropp'd her anger,
And said, she hop'd they would not hang her;
That all she did was meant in jest,
And there the heart was, and the rest.

That then the dean cry'd out, "O fie!"
And sent in haste for justice I.

Who, though he knew her friends and pity'd her,
Call'd her hard names, and so committed her.

The parties present swore the same;
And Fanny said, the pris'ner's name
Had frighten'd all the country round;
And glad she was the bill was found.
She knew a man, who knew another,
Who knew the very party's brother,
Who lost his heart by mere surprise,
One morning looking at her eyes;
And others had been known to squeak,
Who only chanc'd to hear her speak:
For she had words of such a sort,
That though she knew no reason for it,
Would make a man of sense run mad,
And rifle him of all he had;

And that she'd rob the whole community,
If ever she had opportunity.

The pris'ner now first silence broke,
And curtsy'd round her as she spoke.
She own'd, she said, it much incens'd her,
To hear such matters sworn against her,
But that she hop'd to keep her temper,
And prove herself eadem semper.
That what the prosecutor swore

Was some part true, and some part more:
She own'd she had been often seen with him,

And laugh'd and chatted on the green with him;
The fellow seem'd to have humanity,
And told her tales that sooth'd her vanity,
Pretending that he lov'd her vastly,
And that all women else look'd ghastly.
But then she hop'd the court would think
She never was inclin'd to drink,

Or suffer hands like his to daub her, or
Encourage men to kiss and slobber her;
She'd have folks know she did not love it,
Or if she did, she was above it.

But this, she said, was sworn of course,
To prove her giddy, and then worse;
As she whose conduct was thought lævis,
Might very well be reckon'd thievish.
She hop'd, she said, the court's discerning
Would pay some honour to her learning,
For every day from four to past six,
She went up stairs, and read the classics.
Thus having clear'd herself of levity,

The rest, she said, would come with brevity.
And first, it injur'd not her honour
To own the heart was found upon her;
For she could prove, and did aver,
The paltry thing belong'd to her:

The fact was thus. This prince of knaves
Was once the humblest of her slaves,
And often had confess'd the dart
Her eyes had lodg'd within his heart:
That she, as 'twas her constant fashion,
Made great diversion of his passion;
Which set his blood in such a ferment,
As seem'd to threaten his interment :
That then she was afraid of losing him,
And so desisted from abusing him ;
And often came and felt his pulse,
And bid him write to doctor Hulse.
The prosecutor thank'd her kindly,
And sigh'd, and said she look'd divinely;
But told her that his heart was bursting,
And doctors he had little trust in ;

He therefore begg'd her to accept it,
And hop'd 'twould mend if once she kept it.
That having no aversion to it,

She said, with all her soul, she 'd do it;
But then she begg'd him to remember,
If he should need it in December,

(For winter months would make folks shiver, Who wanted either heart or liver)

It never could return; and added,
"Twas her's for life, if once she had it.

The prosecutor said, Amen,

And that he wish'd it not again;

And took it from his breast and gave her,
And bow'd, and thank'd her for the favour;
But begg'd the thing might not be spoke of,
As heartless men were made a joke of.
That next day, whisp'ring him about it,
And asking how he felt without it,
He sigh'd, and cry'd, Alack! alack!
And begg'd, and pray'd to have it back;
Or that she 'd give him her's instead on 't:
But she conceiv'd there was no need on 't ;
And said, and bid him make no pother,
He should have neither one nor t' other.
That then he rav'd and storm'd like fury,
And said, that one was his de jure,
And rather than he 'd leave pursuing her,
He'd swear a robbery, and ruin her.
That this was truth she did aver,
Whatever hap betided her.

Only that Mrs. P. she said,

Miss Y. and her deluded maid,

And lady Mary, and his reverence,

Were folks to whom she paid some deference; And that she verily believ'd

They were not perjur'd, but deceiv'd.

Then doctor D. begg'd leave to speak,
And sigh'd as if his heart would break.
He said, that he was-madam's surgeon,
Or rather, as in Greek, chirurgeon,
From cheir, manus, ergon, opus,
(As scope is from the Latin scopus.)
That he, he said, had known the prisoner
From the first sun that ever rose on her;
And griev'd he was to see her there;
But took upon himself to swear,
There was not to be found in nature
A sweeter or a better creature;

And if the king (God bless him) knew her,
He'd leave St. James's to get to her :
But then, as to the fact in question,
He knew no more on 't than Hephæstion;
It might be false, and might be true;
And this, he said, was all he knew.

The judge proceeded to the charge,
And gave the evidence at large,
But often cast a sheep's eye at her,
And strove to mitigate the matter,
Pretending facts were not so clear,
And mercy ought to interfere.

The jury then withdrew a moment,
As if on weighty points to comment;
And, right or wrong, resolv'd to save her,
They gave a verdict in her favour.

But why or wherefore things were so,
It matters not for us to know:
The culprit by escape grown bold,
Pilfers alike from young and old,
The country all around her teazes,
And robs or murders whom she pleases.

FABLES FOR THE LADIES.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

THE following Fables were written at intervals, when I found myself in humour, and disengaged from matters of greater moment. As they are the writings of an idle hour, so they are intended for the reading of those, whose only business is amusement. My hopes of profit, or applause, are not immoderate; nor have I printed through necessity, or request of friends. I have leave from her royal highness to address her, and I claim the fair for my readers. My fears are lighter than my expectations; I wrote to please myself, and I publish to please others; and this so universally, that I have not wished for correctness to rob the critic of his censure, or my friend of the laugh.

My intimates are few, and I am not solicitous to increase them. I have learnt, that where the writer would please, the man should be unknown. An author is the reverse of all other objects, and magnifies by dis.ance, but diminishes by approach. His private attachments must give place to public favour; for no man can forgive his friend the illnatured attempt of being thought wiser than himself.

To avoid therefore the misfortunes that may attend me from any accidental success, I think it necessary to inform those who know me, that I have been assisted in the following papers by the author of Gustavus Vasa 1. Let the crime of

pleasing be his, whose talents as a writer, and whose virtues as a man, have rendered him a living affront to the whole circle of his acquaintance.

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With friendly hand I hold the glass
To all, promiscuous as they pass;
Should Folly there her likeness view,
I fret not that the mirror 's true;
If the fantastic form offend,
I made it not, but would amend.

Virtue, in every clime and age,
Spurns at the folly-soothing page,
While satire, that offends the ear
Of Vice and Passion, pleases her.

Premising this, your anger spare,
And claim the fable you who dare.

THE birds in place, by factions press'd,
To Jupiter their pray'rs address'd;
By specious lies the state was vex'd,
Their counsels libellers perplex'd;
They begg'd (to stop seditious tongues)
gracious hearing of their wrongs.
Jove grants their suit. The Eagle sate,
Decider of the grand debate.

The Pye, to trust and pow'r preferr'd,
Demands permission to be heard.
Says he, "Prolixity of phrase
You know I hate. This libel says,
Are hir'd to silence Wisdom's voice,
'Some birds there are, who, prone to noise,
And skill'd to chatter out the hour,
Rise by their emptiness to pow'r.'
That this is aim'd direct at me,
No doubt, you'll readily agree;
Yet well this sage assembly knows,
By parts to government I rose;
My prudent counsels prop the state;
Magpies were never known to prate.'

In virtue's sufferings bore a part.
The Kite rose up. "His honest heart
That there were birds of prey he knew;
So far the libeller said true;
"Voracious, bold, to rapine prone,
Who knew no int'rest but their own;
Who hovering o'er the farmer's yard,
Nor pigeon, chick, nor duckling spar'd.'
This might be true, but if apply'd
To him, in troth, the sland'rer ly'd.
Since ign'rance then might be misled,
Such things, he thought, were best unsaid."
The Crow was vex'd. As yester-morn
He flew across the new-sown corn,
A screaming boy was set for pay,
He knew, to drive the crows away;
Scandal had found out him in turn,
And buzz'd abroad, that crows love corn
The Owl arose, with solemn face,
And thus harangu'd upon the case.
"That magpies prate, it may be true,
A kite may be voracious too,

Crows sometimes deal in new-sown pease;
He libels not, who strikes at these ;
The slander 's here- But there are birds,
Whose wisdom lies in looks, not words;
Blund'rers, who level in the dark,
And always shoot beside the mark.'
He names not me; but these are hints,
Which manifests at whom he squints;
To question if he meant an owl."
I were indeed that blund'ring fowl,

"Ye wretches, hence!" the Eagle cries, ""Tis conscience, conscience that applies;

P

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