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Grubftreet Journal, N° 80.
To Mr. POPE on his being perfonally abus'd:
HY wit in vain th'
The polish'd metal breaks the ferpent's jaws.
Pain'd and inrag'd it on thy perfon flies;
But ftrait drops of, and feebly hiffing dies.
Impartial heav'n, which ne'er thought fit to join
A beauteous form to fuch bright wit as thine;
Careless to grace the frail corporeal part,
Has on thy foul exerted double art.
Grubfreet Journal, N° 81.
O C An EPIGRAM, A.
UGH PETERS fenfe, voice, language, action, mein And front, are all in H-----y heard, or seen : Which plainly proves this learn'd CLARE-MARKET rorer OF ANCENT ELOCUTION THE RESTORER. Drond zucy Edot.
Grubtreet Journal, N° 82.
N durance vile while pious WooLSTON lies, And death waits near to clofe learn'd TINDAL's eyes; The prieft's hard fortune, and the layman's fate, Seem to prefage religion's ruin'd ftate.
But thou, O BOWMAN! wilt the lofs fupply
Of both; and whilft thou liv'ft, fhe cannot dye.
To thy due ftation_may'st thou rife much quicker,
And cease to lie of DEWSBURY the vicar.
Grubftreet Journal, N° 83.
The EPISTLE of ROBIN the Butler, to KITTY the Cook's Daughter.
Y dear KITTY,
You're fo pretty,
In the kitching,
Or when ftitching;
When you're clearing;
And fo neat,
When you wait,
At the tea,
So brifk, fo gay.
All your beauties,
In your duties,
Do fo take me,
That they make me
Send this greeting
To my fweeting,
'Till our meeting:
Will have pitty
On the pain
With a fciver
From love's quiver
I am fpitted,
At CUPID's fire.
By which I fry;
And your lips,
Sweet as fips
Of your whips;
And your breast,
White as pafte,
Juft a budding,
Sweet and fwelling;
And your wafte
Upon its head,
Turn'd upfide down
By country clown.
Muft I pafs
All that lies
Made more provoking
By your cooking?
But leaft my deary
Should grow weary,
Or think me rude},
I muft conclude.
Then hafte to make
Our wedding cake.
For know, my love,
you fhould prove
Unkind or cruel,
Nor broth nor gruel,
Can from the grave
Preferve your flave.
NDER the mask of some fictitious name, Of ULRICK, OSBORNE, or of WALSINGHAM, A great variety of authors write,
And give their few kind readers ftrange delight.
Thefe no diftinction make: but I more curious
Can ftill difcern the genuine from the fpurious.
When fome bright piece with double luftre fhines,
As if a P --'s hand had touch'd the lines
While the true writer, fome fam'd rhetorician,
Thinks himfelf hid, confummate politician,
A TACITUS: without a nomenclator,
I know his ftarck'd, affected, quain translator."
Grubftreet Journal, N° 84.
In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas,
EAR HOLBORN-BARS, that difmal place, Which leads to shame and foul disgrace; TOTYBOURN TREE, that grim triangle, Where little rogues fo often dangle;
There ftands a little INN of COURT,
Where crowds of wife-acres resort.
To plunge into the rav'nous maw
Of that fell monster call'd the law.
Within this INN there is a HALL,
*Where noisy L-Y--RS us'd to bawl,
Difpute and lye, as fome folks think,
But oftner much to eat and drink,
Does lift its shatter'd head, fo humble,
As if 'twou'd ev'ry moment tumble.
Of this the mufe a change fhall tell::
APOLLO grant fhe do it well.
Fam'd OVID, if you please to look,
Has not one fuch in all his book;
Tho' once he told us of a yeoman,
(If I mistake not) nam'd PHILEMON;
Whom faints from heav'n, to play their farce on,
Did metamorphofe to a parfon;
And as he lov'd religion well.
Into a church transform'd his cell.
Strange is that tale: but fomething stranger
Is this I tell, the fudden change here:
And yet 'tis truer; therefore better,
As well in matter, as in metre.
This HALL, at first for law defign'd,
To gofpel now with age inclin'd,
(A place, which once fome play'd the knave in,
They now pretend their fouls to fave in,)
Transform'd to church without a steeple,
Hopes by the pray'rs of chriftian people,
In its late years it may attone
For ills, which here in youth were done,
*The fociety us'd to difpute here concerning matters of law, and in term time to dine in commons.
It is not call'd by the members of the fociety a chappel, but a church, which we feldom fee without a steeple,
Thus fome old rake, by age and poxes
Forc'd to give o'er amours and doxies,
Turns faint t' escape old fatan's clutches,
And hopes to get to heav'n on crutches,
But to proceed by juft degrees:
The board, where clients paid their fees,
On which were fhar'd 'great fums of wealth,
As robbers share their gain for stealth,
A pulpit grew.Its love of gain
May it not thus transform'd retain ;
Nor the learn'd priest refuse to preach
Unless the cash is in his reach.
The table too, as I'm a finner,
On which we dish'd up many a dinner,
Converted now to desk appears,
And fills no longer mouths, but ears.
For there the clerk to difmal note
With STERNHOLD's rhimes extends his throat;
Which all their teeth on edge do fet,
And to their stomachs give a wet.
Howe'er this fong of godly fort,
Tho' 'tis not very fweet, is fhort.
The defk of roaft-meat fmells fo ftrong,
It makes the clerk for dinner long,
And call a fingle ftaff in hafte,
That what he smells he foon may taste.
Within this HALL each corner hole,
Where many a merry, mellow foul
For private purposes withdrew,
Is now converted to a pew:
In which, preferv'd by former ftains,
The fame narcotic pow'r remains.
And as with meat and wine opprest
Some here oft lay compos'd to reit:
So now with pray'rs and fermons, more,
To fafter fleep compofed, fnore.