Tofs off your bumpers, raise a fong,
He ne'er fhall be forgotten;

His name fhall charm each list'ning throng,
When Wood is dead and rotten.

Let healths go round: cheer up, my boys,
And, whilst the spirit moves ye,

Devote the prefent time to joys

And mufic, as behoves ye.

Here, honeft Taplin, fpare no man,

Go, fetch us t'other bottle;

We'll dance like Phoebus, fing like Pan,

And drink like Ariftotle.

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* A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMEN.

In the Doric manner.

Shepherd, E Cho, I ween, will in the woods re

ply,

And quaintly answer questions: shall I

try?

Echo, Try. Shepherd, What must we do our paffion to ex

prefs?

Echo, Prefs. Shepherd, How fhall I please her who ne'er lov'd

before?

Shepherd, What moft moves women, when we

them addrefs?

Echo, Before.

Echo, A dress.

Echo, A door.

Shepherd, Say, what can keep her chafte, whom

I adore ?

Shepherd, If mufic foftens rocks, love tunes my

lyre.

Echo, Lyar.

Shepherd,

Shepherd, Then teach me, Echo, how fhall I

come by her?

her dear?

Echo, Buy her.

Echo, Her deer.

Shepherd, When bought, no queftion, I fhall be

Shepherd, But deer have horns; how must I keep

her under?

Echo, Keep her under. Shepherd, How fhall I hold her ne'er to part aEcho, A-fe under.

funder?

Shepherd, But what can glad me, when she's laid

on bier ?

Echo, Beer. Shepherd, What must I do, when woman will be

kind?

Echo, Be kind.

Shepherd, What must I do, when woman will be

cross?

Echo, Be cross.

Shepherd, Lord! what is she that can so turn and

wind?

Echo, Wind. Shepherd, If the be wind, what fills her when

fhe blows?

Echo, Blows. Shepherd, But if the bang again, still should I

bang her?

Echo, Bang ber. Shepherd, Is there no way to moderate her anger?

Echo, Hang her. Shepherd, Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers

tell,

What woman is, and how to guard her

well.

Echo, Guard her well.

EPILOGUE to a PLAY for the Benefit of the

WHO

7HO dares affirm this is no pious age, When charity begins to tread the stage?

When

5

When actors, who at beft are hardly favers,
Will give a night of benefit to weavers?
Stay, let me fee, how finely will it found!
Imprimis, from his Grace a hundred pound:
Peers, clergy, gentry, all are benefactors;
And then comes in the item of the actors:
Item, the actors freely give a day,———

The poet had no more who made the play.

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20

But whence this wondrous charity in play'rs? They learn'd it not at fermons, or at pray'rs. Under the rofe, fince here are none but friends, To own the truth, we have fome private ends: Since waiting women, like exacting jades, Hold up the prices of their old brocades, We'll drefs in manufactures made at home, Equip our kings and gen'rals at the Comb: + We'll rigg in Meath-firect Egypt's haughty queen; And Anthony fhall court her in rateen. In blue balloon fhall Hanniba! be clad, And Scipio trail an Irish purple plaid. In drugget drefs'd, of thirteen-pence a-yard, See Philip's fon amidst his Perfian guard; And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous rage, With fifty yards of crape fhall fweep the ftage. In fhort, our kings, and princeffes within Are all refolv'd the project to begin; And you, our fubjects, when you here refort, Muft imitate the fafhions of the court.

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30

Oh! could I fee this audience clad in stuff, Tho' money's scarce, we should have trade enough.

* Dr. William King, Archbishop of Dublin.

A ftreet in Dublin famous for woollen manufactures.

VOL. VIII.

S

But

35

But chints, brocades, and lace take all away,
And scarce a crown is left to fee a play.
Perhaps you wonder whence this friendship
fprings
Between the weavers, and us playhouse-kings.
But wit and weaving had the fame beginning;
Pallas first taught us poetry and fpinning.
And next obferve how this alliance fits,
For weavers now are just as poor as wits :
Their brother quill-men, workers for the stage,
For forry fluff can get a crown a page;
But weavers will be kinder to the play'rs,
And fell for twenty-pence a yard of theirs :
And, to your knowledge, there is often less in 45
The poet's wit, than in the player's dressing.

EPITAPH ON A MISER.

Beneath this verdant hillock lies,

Demar, the wealthy and the wife.
His heirs, that he might safely rest,
Have put his carcase in a cheft;
The very cheft, in which, they fay,
His other felf, his money, lay.
And, if his heirs continue kind
To that dear self he left behind,
I dare believe, that four in five
Will think his better half alive.

40

5

10

Το

To STELLA, who collected and tranfcribed his

POEMS.

Written in the year 1720.

AS, when a lofty pile is rais’d,

We never hear the workmen prais'd,
Who bring the lime, or place the stones;
But all admire Inigo Jones:

So if this pile of scatter'd rhymes
Should be approv'd in after times,
If it both pleases and endures,
The merit and the praise are yours.

Thou, Stella, wert no longer young,
When first for thee my harp I ftrung,
Without one word of Cupid's darts,
Of killing eyes, or bleeding hearts :
With friendship and esteem poffeft,
I ne'er admitted love a guest.

In all the habitudes of life,
The friend, the mistress, and the wife,
Variety we ftill purfue,

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10

15

In pleasure seek for something new;
Or elfe, comparing with the reft,
Take comfort, that our own is best;
The best we value by the worst,

(As tradefmen fhew their trafh at firft:)
But his pursuits are at an end,
Whom Stella chooses for a friend.

A poet ftarving in a garret,
Conning old topics like a parrot,

S. 2

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Invokes