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Imitated in the Manner of Dr. SWIFT.
IS true, my Lord, I gave my word,
And W* and H** both in Town!
Uinque dies tibi pollicitus me rure futurum,
"The dog-days are no more the cafe." 'Tis true, but Winter comes apace: Then fouthward let your Bard retire, Hold out fome Months 'twixt Sun and Fire, And you fhall fee the firft warm Weather, Me and the Butterflies together.
My Lord, your Favours well I know; 'Tis with Diftinction you bestow; And not to every one that comes, Juft as a Scotfman does his Plums. "Pray take them, Sir-Enough's a Feast: "Eat fome, and pocket up the reft"What rob your Boys? thofe pretty rogues! "No, Sir, you'll leave them to the Hogs." Thus Fools with Compliments befiege ye, Contriving never to oblige ye.
Scatter your favours on a Fop,
Ingratitude's the certain crop;
Quod fi bruma nives Albanis illinet agris ;