To a LADY who prefented the Author with

a CHINA ORANGE.

PARIS, no more the favour boat conferr'd on thee by

Thou gav'it thy golden fruit, 'tis true, to the fair queen

of love :

But CHLOE, than the queen of love more gay, more fair, more free,

With a refiftless grace bestow'd her golden fruit on me.

L

An EPIGRA M..

UMINE ACON dextro caruit, LEONILLA finiftro
At potis eft forma, vincere uterque deos.

Blande puer, lumen pulchræ concede parenti ;
Siç tu cæcus AMOR, fic erit illa VENUS.
ACON and LEONILLA each one eye

Had loft; yet both in form with gods might vie :
To thy fair mother, boy, thine eye refign,
Then thou like CUPID, she'll like VENUS fhine.

A

In BURLESQUE..

CON and LEONILLA, ACON's mother,

Had but two eyes 'twixt both, he one, the t'other:

On dear mamma, kind boy, bestow thy one;

Then fhe'll have two good eyes, and thou'lt have none.

Grub

Grubftreet Journal, N° 71.

The CONTRAST between the late Duke of BUCKINGHAM, and the AUTHOR of the CONTRAST.

W

HEN nonfenfe triumph'd, witty VILLIERS rofe, The Friend of Senfe, and quell'd her numerous foes.

The juftice of his fatire all confefs'd:

While he burlefqu'd the worst, he fpar'd the best.
But now, with judgment, and with wit revers'd,
Our author damns the best, and spares the Worst.

Grubstreet Journal, No 72.

AVING receiv'd from Mr. J. W. an answer to his

Hfable, printed in our 69th journal, we thought proper

to print only part of it, omitting fixteen lines of intoduction. If the author (who, as we are told, is an old humourist, and a great stickler for the warden) defire to have the whole printed, we recommend him to the WEEKLY REGISTER of GRUBSTREET; who will probably do him that favour, as one, who in return, may be serviceable to him in his defign of burlesquing PHAEDRUS'S FABLES."

A FABLE, in anfwer to one by J. W.

NTO a spaniel fays a fow,

UNI

How can you fawn upon your master now,

When he gives you fo many blows,

And twinges you by the ears and nofe?

True,

True, fays the spaniel, I can't deny it,
But yet I am a gainer by it;
For tho' I am very often beat,
Yet against that I fet his bits of meat ::
Befides, in the house he lets melay :
So, I will never run away;

But love my mafter, as I ought to do:

And fo, fir, you the warden fhould do too.

A REPLICATION to the ANSWER.

Ο

LD TOUCHWOOD, by thy ev'ry feature,

I fee thou art the warden's creature.

'Tis he has hir'd thy hard-bound muse,
Such dull, lame metre to produce :
Inftead of me, old doating fool,
Thou turn'ft thy felf to ridicule.
Poor poet! for thy venal lays,
You merit birch instead of bays.
Howe're to do your essay justice,
Confid'ring likewife 'tis your firft piece;
I own your application's good;
Your fpaniel did, as fpaniels wou'd.
Such mungrel curs accept the meat,
Altho' you beat 'em with the fpit.
My dog, a true bred mastiff was,
On whom fuch ufage ne'er would pass :
His brave great spirit rather chofe
All these advantages to lose,
Than truckle to fuch tyranny;
So much a nobler dog was he.

You fay I fables write with eafe:
I'll turn yours for you, if you please.
One day, it being charming weather,
A fow and spaniel met together.
She curtfy'd low, he made a bow;
(Brutes had more breeding then than now)
And, after th'ufual honours made,
The fow thus to the spaniel said.

I'd

I fear you've had some cruel blows,
By that black patch upon your nose.
'Tis much you with this mafter live,
From whom fuch treatment you receive.
Gods! fhou'd he dare to beat me fo,
go from hence to JERICHO
Had you the spirit ofa hog,
You'd not be us'd fo like a dog.
Alas! reply'd the flavish creature,
I cannot help it, 'tis my nature:
To fetch and carry I'm content,
Because I'm never dunn'd for rent ;
Have a warm bed within his house,
Not in a pig-fty, like you fows.

If then, when drunk, he breaks my head,
I hang my tail, and sneak to bed :
For he is fuch a gen'rous master,
I'm fure to have, next day, a plaifter.
Thus, fir, you fee this groveling fow,
Had a much loftier foul than thou.

DEAR SIR,

TUESDAY, MAY II. 1731.

Am one of thofe VELETUDINARIANS,who am always

well. Over a bottle of good claret, I must confefs, I fometimes forget my diforder, and am as cheerful as the rest of the company; but the next day my diftemper returns.I have apply'd myself to very eminent phyficians; and all to no purpose. At laft an old bafket-woman of CLAREMARKET, who had heard of my misfortune, as she was following me with a load of provifion for my family, begg'd of me I would go to the GREAT DOCTOR near LINCOLN'sINN-FIELDS, who had done wonderful cures among the BUTCHERS, and many of her acquaintance in that neighbourhood; only by giving general directions by word of mouth, from his stage, for fo fmall a fee as one fhilling. Prevail'd on by the importunity of this good old woman,. I ventur'd among the gaping crow'd, gave my fee, and

liftened

liftened for a full hour: but went home quite tir'd with the DOCTOR's roaring noise; and instead of being the better for what was faid, retir'd to my chamber, eat no fupper, went to bed, and grew worse, and worse. Not long after, I heard of an eminent DocTOR,who fold a packet of medicines, with printed directions for the cure of the HYP; which my friends told me was my real cafe, and advis'd me to buy it. Accordingly, I purchas'd one this morning, open'd the packet, read the directions (not thinking the mountebank, with whom I had been before, had any hand in the compofition;) but by that time I had look'd them half over, by the loathfome stuff I concluded he must be concern'd. The fmell made me fo fick, I was refolv'd to take no more of the phyfick; and it gave me the following evacuation, which, I hope you will excufe, from

H

Your admirer, and bumble fervant,

ANTI-QUACK.

YP o, not Hyper-Critic, † DOCTOR RATCLIFF,
Since I thy potions took, I've liv'd a fad life :

Potions, which heavy, bitter, thick, and four;

Ranch like emetics, like cathartics fcou r.

Nor wig, nor tory ftomachs fuch endure,
As caufe diseases they pretend to cure:

Whatever name thou tak'ft, both fides bepox 'em,

And fwear they're all prepar'd by + DOCTOR BLOCKS-'EM.

+ Cant names used by the author of the HYP-DOCTOR.

Grub