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love,

Up to her godly garret after seven,

LOVET. There starve and pray, for that's the way to heaven. Tell, tell your griefs ; attentive will I stay,

Some squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; | Though time is precious, and I want some tea. Whose game is whist, whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a gun, presents you birds,

CARDELIA. Then gives a smacking buss, and cries, No words! Behold this equipage, by Mathers wrought, Or with his hound comes hallooing from the stable; With fifty guineas (a great pen'orth) bought. Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table; See on the tooth-pick, Mars and Cupid strive ; Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse, And both the struggling figures seem alive. And loves you best of all things--but his horse. Upon the bottom shines the queen's bright face;

In some fair evening, on your elbow laid, A myrtle foliage round the thimble-case,
You dream of triumphs in the rural shade ; Jove, Jove himself, does on the scissors shine;
In pensive thought recall the fancied scene, The metal, and the workmanship, divine !
See coronations rise on every green;

SMILINDA.
Before you pass the imaginary sights
Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter'd knights,

This snuff-box;-once the pledge of SHARPER'S While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;

When rival beauties for the present strove ; Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies. Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,

At Corticelli's he the raffle won ; And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls !

Then first his passion was in public shown :

Hazardia blush'd, and turn'd her head aside, So when your slave, at some dear idle time, (Not plagued with head-aches, or the wantof rhyme)

A rivals envy (all in vain) to hide. Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,

This snuff-box-on the hinge see brilliants shine : And while he seems to study, thinks of you ;

This snuff-box will I stake; the prize is mine. Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes,

CARDELIA. Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,

Alas ! far lesser losses than I bear, GAY pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,

Have made a soldier sigh, a lover swear. Streets, chairs, and coxcombs rush upon my sight;

And oh! what makes the disappointment hard, Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow,

'Twas my own lord that drew the fatal card. Look sour, and hum a tune, as you may now. In complaisance, I took the queen he gave ;

Though my own secret wish was for the knave.

The knave won Sonica, which I had chose ;
THE BASSET-TABLE,

And the next pull, my Septleva I lose.
AN ECLOGUE.

SMILINDA.
CARDELIA. SMILINDA.

But ah ! what aggravates the killing smart,

The cruel thought, that stabs me to the heart; CARDELIA. The basset-table spread, the tallier come ;

This cursed OMBRELIA, this undoing fair, Why stays Smilinda in the dressing-room?

By whose vile arts this heavy grief I bear; Rise, pensive nymph, the tallier waits for you !

She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears,

She owes to me the very charms she wears. SMILINDA.

An awkward thing, when first she came to town ; Ah, madam, since my SHARPER is untrue, Her shape unfashion'd, and her face unknown : I joyless make my once adored Alpeu.

She was my friend; I taught her first to spread I saw him stand behind OMBRELIA's chair,

Upon her sallow cheeks enlivening red: And whisper with that soft, deluding air,

I introduced her to the park and plays; And those feign'd sighs which cheat the listening fair. And by my interests, Cozens made her stays. CARDELIA.

Ungrateful wretch, with mimic airs grown pert, Is this the cause of your romantic strains ? She dares to steal my fav’rite lover's heart. A mightier grief my heavy heart sustains. As you by love, so I by fortune cross'd ;

CARDELIA. One, one bad deal, three Septlevas have lost.

Wretch that I was, how often have I swore,

When Winnall tallied, I would punt no more?
SMILINDA.

I knew the bite, yet to my ruin run ;
Is that the grief, which you compare with mine? | And see the folly which I cannot shun.
With ease, the smiles of fortune I resign:
Would all my gold in one bad deal were gone !

SMILINDA.
Were lovely SHARPER mine, and mine alone.

How many maids have SHARPER'S vows deceived ? CARDELIA.

How many cursed the moment they believed !

Yet his known falsehoods could no warning prove: A lover lost, is but a common care : And prudent nymphs against that change prepare:

Ah! what is warning to a maid in love ? The KNAVEOF Clubs thrice lost! Oh! who could guess

CARDELIA. This fatal stroke, this unforeseen distress?

But of what marble must that breast be form'd, SMILINDA.

To gaze on Basset, and remain unwarm'd ? See BETTY LOVET! very à-propos,

When kings,queens, knaves, are set in decent rank; She all the cares of love and play does know : Exposed in glorious heaps the tempting bank, Dear BETTY shall the important point decide ; Guineas, half-guineas, all the shining train ; BETTY, who oft the pain of each has tried ; The winner's pleasure, and the loser's pain : Impartial, she shall say who suffers most,

In bright confusion open rouleaus lie, By cards' ill usage, or by lovers lost.

| They strike the soul, and glitter in the eye.

Fired by the sight, all reason I disdain ;

OCCASIONED BY SOME VERSES OF HIS My passions rise, and will not bear the rein.

GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. Look upon Basset, you who reason boast, And see if reason must not there be lost.

Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, SMILINDA.

And thou shalt live, for BUCKINGHAM commends. What more than marblemust that heart compose, Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, Can hearken coldly to my SHARPER'S vows? Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail : Then, when he trembles ! when his blushes rise! This more than pays whole years of thankless pain, When awful love seems melting in his eyes!

Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain. With eager beats his Mechlin cravat moves : SHEFFIELD approves, consenting Phoebus bends, He loves, I whisper to myself, He loves !

And I and Malice from this hour are friends. Such unfeign'd passion in his looks appears, I lose all memory of my former fears; My panting heart confesses all his charms, I yield at once, and sink into his arms:

A PROLOGUE Think of that moment, you who prudence boast;

| TO A PLAY FOR MR. DENNIS'S BENEFIT IN 1733, WHEN HE For such a moment, prudence well were lost.

WAS OLD, BLIND, AND IN GREAT DISTRESS, A LITTLE CARDELIA.

BEFORE HIS DEATH, At the Groom- Porter's, batter'd bullies play, Some DUKES at Mary-bone bowl time away. As when that hero, who in each campaign, But who the bowl or rattling dice compares Had braved the Goth, and many a Vandal slain, To Basset's heavenly joys and pleasing cares ? Lay fortune-struck, a spectacle of woe! SMILINDA.

Wept by each friend, forgiven by every foe; Soft SIMPLICETTA doats upon a beau;

Was there a generous, a reflecting mind, PRUDINA likes a man, and laughs at show.

But pitied BELISARIUS old and blind ? Their several graces in my SHARPER meet;

Was there a chief but melted at the sight? Strong as the footman, as the master sweet.

A common soldier, but who clubb'd his mite?

Such, such emotions should in Britons rise,
LOVET.

When press'd by want and weakness Dennis lies; Cease your contention, which has been too long;

Dennis, who long had warr'd with modern Huns, I grow impatient, and the tea's too strong.

Their quibbles routed, and defied their puns; Attend, and yield to what I now decide;

A desperate bulwark, sturdy, firm and fierce, The equipage shall grace SMILINDA's side ;

Against the Gothic sons of frozen verse: The snuff-box to CARDELIA I decree,

How changed from him who made the boxes groan, Now leave complaining, and begin your tea.

And shook the stage with thunders all his own!
Stood up to dash each vain PRETENDER's hope,

Maul the French tyrant, or pull down the Pope!
VERBATIM FROM BOILEAU.

If there's a Briton then, true bred and born,

Who holds dragoons and wooden shoes in scorn; Un jour dit un auteur, etc.

If there's a critic of distinguish'd rage ; Once (says an author, where I need not say)

If there's a senior, who contemns this age; Two travellers found an oyster in their way';

Let him to-night his just assistance lend,

And be the critic's, Briton's, old man's friend.
Both fierce, both hungry; the dispute grew strong;
While scale in hand dame Justice pass'd along.
Before her each with clamour pleads the laws,
Explain'd the matter, and would win the cause.

MACER:
Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful right,
Takes, opens, swallows it, before their sight.

A CHARACTER.
The cause of strife removed so rarely well,
There take (says Justice), take ye each a shell. When simple Macer, now of high renown,
We thrive at Westminster on fools like you:

First sought a poet's fortune in the town, 'Twas a fat oyster-Live in peace-Adieu. 'Twas all the ambition his high soul could feel,

To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele.

Some ends of verse his betters might afford, ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION

And gave the harmless fellow a good word.

Set up with these, he ventured on the town,
OF MRS. HOW.

And with a borrow'd play, outdid poor Crown.

There he stopp'd short, nor since has writ a tittle, What is PRUDERY?

But has the wit to make the most of little: 'Tis a beldam,

Like stunted hide-bound trees, that just have got Seen with wit and beauty seldom.

Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot. 'Tis a fear that starts at shadows;

Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends, 'Tis (no, 'tisn't) like Miss Meadows.

Not of the wits his foes, but fools his friends. 'Tis a virgin hard of feature,

So some coarse country wench, almost decay'd, Old, and void of all good-nature;

Trudges to town, and first turns chambermaid ; Lean and fretful, would seem wise;

Awkward and supple, each devoir to pay; Yet plays the fool before she dies.

She flatters her good lady twice a day; 'Tis an ugly envious shrew,

Thought wondrous honest, though of mean degree, That rails at dear Lepell and you.

And strangely liked for her simplicity:

II.

In a translated suit, then tries the town,
With borrow'd pins, and patches not her own :
But just endured the winter she began,
And in four months a batter'd harridan.
Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk,
To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.

Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,

Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, See my weary days consuming,

All beneath yon flowery rocks.

III.

TO MR. JOHN MOORE,

Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping,

Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth : Him the boar, in silence creeping, Gored with unrelenting tooth.

iv. Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers ;

Fair Discretion, string the lyre ; Soothe my ever-waking slumbers ;

Bright Apollo, lend thy choir.

AUTHOR OF THE CELEBRATED WORM-POWDER.

Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors,

Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors,
Watering soft Elysian plains.

VI.
Mournful cypress, verdant willow

Gilding my Aurelia's brows, Morpheus hovering o'er my pillow,

Hear me pay my dying vows.

VII.

How much, egregious Moore, are we

Deceived by shows and forms! Whate'er we think, whate'er we see,

All humankind are worms.
Man is a very worm by birth,

Vile, reptile, weak, and vain !
A while he crawls upon the earth,

Then shrinks to earth again.
That woman is a worm, we find

E'er since our grandame's evil ;
She first conversed with her own kind,

That ancient worm, the devil.
The learn'd themselves we book-worms name,

The blockhead is a slow-worm ;
The nymph whose tail is all on flame,

Is aptly term’d a glow-worm.
The fops are painted butterflies,

That flutter for a day;
First from a worm they take their rise,

And in a worm decay.
The flatterer an earwig grows :

Thus worms suit all conditions ;
Misers are muck-worms, silk-worms beaus,

And death-watches physicians.
That statesmen have the worm, is seen

By all their winding play ;
Their conscience is a worm within,

That gnaws them night and day.
Ah Moore ! thy skill were well employ’d,

And greater gain would rise,
If thou couldst make the courtier void

The worm that never dies !
O learned friend of Abchurch-lane,

Who sett'st our entrails free!
Vain is thy art, thy powder vain,

Since worms shall eat even thee.
Our fate thou only canst adjourn

Some few short years, no more!
Even Button's wits to worms shall turn,

Who maggots were before.

Melancholy smooth Meander,

Swiftly purling in a round, On thy margin lovers wander, With thy flowery chaplets crown'd.

vrt. Thus when Philomela, drooping,

Softly seeks her silent mate, See the bird of Juno stooping;

Melody resigns to fate.

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, awed by rumour,

Not grave through pride, or gay through 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.

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Approach. Great NATCRE studiously behold! | And Ireland, mother of sweet singers,
And eye the mine without a wish for gold.

Presents her harp still to his fingers.
Approach: but awful! Lo! the Ægerian grot, The feast, his towering genius marks
Where, nobly pensive, St. John sate and thought; | In yonder wild goose and the larks !

Where British sighs from dying WYNDHAM stole, | The mushrooms show his wit was sudden ! i And the bright flame was shot through MARCH And for his judgment, lo a pudden! MONT's soul.

Roast beef, though old, proclaims him stout,
Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,

And grace, although a bard, devout.
Who dare to love their country, and be poor. May Tom, whom Heaven sent down to raise

The price of prologues and of plays,
Be every birth-day more a winner,

Digest his thirty-thousandth dinner;
TO MR. GAY,

Walk to his grave without reproach,

And scorn a rascal in a coach. WHO CONGRATULATED HIM ON FINISHING HIS HOUSE

AND GARDENS.

ROXANA, OR THE DRAWING-ROOM.

AN ECLOGUE.

Ah, friend ! 'tis true—this truth you lovers know-
In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow,
In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes
Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens :
Joy lives not here, to happier seats it flies,

And only dwells where WORTLEY casts her eyes.
! What are the gay parterre, the checquer'd shade,

The morning bower, the evening colonnade,
But soft recesses of uneasy minds,
To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds!
So the struck deer in some sequester'd part
Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart,

He, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day, : Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away.

TO MRS. M. B.

ON HER BIRTH-DAY,

Ou be thou blest with all that Heaven can send,
Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend:
Not with those toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and vanities that tire.
With added years, if life bring nothing new,
But like a sieve let every blessing through,
Some joy still lost, as each vain year runs o’er,
And all we gain, some sad reflection more;
Is that a birth-day? 'tis alas! too clear,
'Tis but the funeral of the former year.

Let joy or ease, let affluence or content,
And the gay conscience of a life well spent,
Calm every thought, inspirit every grace,
Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear;
Till death unfelt that tender frame destroy,
In some soft dream, or ecstacy of joy,
Peaceful sleep out the sabbath of the tomb,
And wake to raptures in a life to come.

Roxana from the court returning late,
Sigh'd her soft sorrow at St. James's gate:
Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast;
Not her own chairmen with more weight opprest:
They curse the cruel weight they're doomed to bear;
She in more gentle sounds express'd her care.

Was it for this, that I these roses wear?
For this, new-set the jewels for my hair?
Ah princess! with what zeal have I pursued !
Almost forgot the duty of a prude."
This king, I never could attend too soon;
I miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon.
For thee, ah! what for thee did I resign?
My passions, pleasures, all that e'er was mine:
I've sacrificed both modesty and ease;
Left operas, and went to filthy plays:
Double-entendres shock'd my tender ear;
Yet even this, for thee, I choose to bear:
In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay,
And every joy of life before me lay;
By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd,
The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd:
Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe,
Censured my neighbours, and said daily prayer.
Alas, how changed! with this same sermon-mien,
The filthy What-d'ye-call it, I have seen.
Ah, royal princess! for whose sake I lost
The reputation, which so dear had cost;
I, who avoided every public place,
When bloom and beauty bid me show my face,
Now near thee, constant, I each night abide,
With never-failing duty by my side;
Myself and daughters standing in a row,
To all the foreigners a goodly show.
Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin,
And merchants' wives close by your side had been;
Had I not amply fillid the empty place,
And saved your highness from the dire disgrace:
Yet Cockatilla's artifice prevails,
When all my duty and my merit fails :
That Cockatilla, whose deluding airs
Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares;
So sunk her character, and lost her fame,
Scarce visited, before your highness came;
Yet for the bed-chamber 'tis she you choose,
Whilst zeal, and fame, and virtue you refuse.

1 This Eclogue is by some attributed to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.

TO MR. THOMAS SOUTHERN,

ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, 1742.

Resigx'D to live, prepared to die,
With not one sin, but poetry,
This day Tom's fair account has run
(Without a blot) to eighty-one.
Kind Boyle, before his poet, lays
A table, with a cloth of bays;

Ah worthy choice; not one of all your train,
Which censures blast not, or dishonours stain.
I know the court, with all its treacherous wiles,
The false caresses, and undoing smiles.
Ah, princess ! learn’d in all the courtly arts,
To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts.

Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain,
She looks ambition, and she moves disdain.
Far other carriage graced her virgin life,
But charming G-y's lost in P-y's wife.
Not greater arrogance in him we find,
And this conjunction swells at least her mind:
O could the sire, renown'd in glass, produce
One faithful mirror for his daughter's use!
Wherein she might her haughty errors trace,
And by reflection learn to mend her face:
The wonted sweetness to her form restore,
Be what she was, and charm mankind once more !

TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU.

In beauty, or wit,

No mortal as yet
To question your empire has dared;

But men of discerning

Have thought that in learning, To yield to a lady was hard.

11. Impertinent schools,

With musty dull rules, Have reading to females denied ;

So papists refuse

The Bible to use,
Lest flocks should be wise as their guide.

A FAREWELL TO LONDON.

IN THE YEAR 1715.
DEAR, damn'd, distracting town, farewell !

Thy fools no more I'll tease:
This year in peace, ye critics, dwell,

Ye harlots, sleep at ease!

III.

'Twas a woman at first

(Indeed she was curst) In knowledge that tasted delight,

And sages agree

The laws should decree
To the first possessor the right.

iv.
Then bravely, fair dame,

Resume the old claim,
Which to your whole sex does belong;

And let men receive,

From a second bright Eve, The knowledge of right and of wrong.

v. But if the first Eve

Hard doom did receive, When only one apple had she,

What a punishment new

Shall be found out for you,
Who tasting, have robb’d the whole tree?

To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd

Till the third watchman's toll;
Let Jervase gratis paint, and Frowde

Save three-pence and his soul.
Farewell, Arbuthnot's raillery

On every learned sot;
And Garth, the best good Christian he,

Although he knows it not.
Lintot, farewell ! thy bard must go;

Farewell, unhappy Tonson!
Heaven gives thee for thy loss of Rowe,

Lean Philips, and fat Johnson.
Why should I stay? Both parties rage;

My vixen mistress squalls;
The wits in envious feuds engage:

And Homer (damn him !) calls.
The love of arts lies cold and dead

In Halifax's urn;
And not one muse of all he fed

Has yet the grace to mourn.
My friends, by turns, my friends confound,

Betray, and are betray'd :
Poor Y rs sold for fifty pounds,

And B- ll is a jade.
Why make I friendships with the great,

When I no favour seek?

EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES,
ON THE PICTURE OF LADY MARY W. MONTAGU BY KNELLER.

(From Dallaway's Life of Lady Mary.]

The playful smiles around the dimpled mouth,

Still idle, with a busy air, That happy air of majesty and truth;

Deep whimsies to contrive; So would I draw (but oh ! 'tis vain to try,

The gayest valetudinaire,
My narrow genius does the power deny)

Most thinking rake alive.
The equal lustre of the heavenly mind,
Where every grace with every virtue's join'd;

Solicitous for other ends,
Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe,

Though fond of dear repose ;

Careless or drowsy with my friends,
With greatness easy, and with wit sincere ;
With just description show the work divine,

And frolic with my foes.
And the whole princess in my work should shine. | Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell,

For sober, studious days!

And Burlington's delicious meal,
THE LOOKING-GLASS.

For salads, tarts, and pease!
ON MRS. PULTENEY.

Adieu to all but Gay alone,

Whose soul, sincere and free, WITH scornful mien, and various toss of air, Loves all mankind, but flatters none, Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair,

And so may starve with me.

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