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Fir'd by the fight, all Reason I difdain;

My Paffions rife, and will not bear the rein.
Look upon Basset, you who Reason boast;

And fee if Reason must not there be loft.




What more than marble muft that heart com


Can hearken coldly to my SHARPER'S Vows?
Then, when he trembles! when his Blushes rife!
When awful Love feems melting in his Eyes! 90
With eager
beats his Mechlin Cravat moves:
He Loves,---I whisper to myself, He Loves!
Such unfeign'd Paffion in his Looks appears,
I lofe all Mem'ry of my former Fears;
My panting heart confeffes all his charms,
I yield at once, and fink into his arms:
Think of that moment, you who Prudence boast ;
For fuch a moment, Prudence well were loft.


At the Groom-Porter's, batter'd Bullies play, Some DUKES at Mary-Bone bowl Time away. But who the Bowl, or rattl'ing Dice compares To Baffet's heav'nly Joys, and pleafing Cares?


Soft SIMPLICETTA doats upon
upon a Beau ;
PRUDINA likes a Man, and laughs at Show.
Their several graces in my SHARPER meet;
Strong as the Footman, as the Master sweet.


Ceafe your contention, which has been too long; I grow impatient, and the Tea's too ftrong. Attend, and yield to what I now decide; The Equipage fhall grace SMILINDA's Side: 110 The Snuff-Box to CARDELIA I decree, Now leave complaining, and begin your Tea.

Verbatim from BOILEAU.

Un Jour dit un Auteur, etc.

NCE (fays an Author, where I need not fay) an Two Trav❜lers found an Oyster in their way; Both fierce, both hungry; the dispute grew ftrong, While Scale in hand Dame Justice paft along. Before her each with clamour pleads the Laws, Explain'd the matter and would win the cause. Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful Right, Takes, opens, fwallows it, before their fight. The cause of ftrife remov'd fo rarely well, There take (fays Justice) take ye each a Shell. We thrive at Westminster on Fools like 'Twas a fat Oyster---Live in peace---Adieu.



ANSWER to the following Question of Mrs. Howe.



'Tis a Beldam,

Seen with Wit and Beauty feldom.
'Tis a fear that starts at fhadows.
'Tis, (no, 'tisn't) like Mifs Meadows.
'Tis a Virgin hard of Feature,
Old, and void of all good-nature;
Lean and fretful; would feem wife
Yet plays the fool before the dies.
'Tis an ugly envious Shrew,
That rails at dear Lepell and You.

Occafioned by fome Verses of his Grace the Duke of BUCK



USE, 'tis enough: at length thy labour

And thou fhalt live, for Buckingham commends.
Let Crowds of Critics now my verse affail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain,
Time, health, and fortune are not lost in vain.
Sheffield approves, confenting Phoebus bends,

And I and Malice from this hour are friends.

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