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Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber, could see
The rest of womankind.

Like a stuck pig I gaping stare,

And eye her o'er and o'er ;
Lean as a rake with sighs and care,
Sleek as a mouse before.

Plump as a partridge was I known,
And soft as silk my skin,

My cheeks as fat as butter grown ;
But as a groat now thin!

1, melancholy as a cat,

Am kept awake to weep;
But she, insensible of that,
Sound as a top can sleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or stone,
She laughs to see me pale;
And merry as a grig is grown,
And brisk as bottled-ale.

The god of Love, at her approach,
Is busy as a bee;

Hearts, sound as any bell or roach,
Are smit and sigh like me.

Ay me! as thick as hops or hail,
The fine men crowd about her;
But soon as dead as a door-nail

Shall I be, if without her.

Straight as my leg her shape appears; O were we join'd together!

My heart would be scot free from cares,
And lighter than a feather.

As fine as five pence is her mien,
No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen,
And not the Sun is brighter.
As soft as pap her kisses are,
Methinks I taste them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair,

Her eyes as black as jet :

As smooth as glass, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites ;

Sharp as a needle are her words;
Her wit, like pepper, bites:
Brisk as a body-louse she trips,
Clean as a penny drest;

Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,
Round as a globe her breast.
Full as an egg was I with glee;
And happy as a king

Good Lord! how all men envy'd me!
She lov'd like any thing.

But, false as Hell! she, like the wind,
Chang'd, as her sex must do ;
Though seeming as the turtle kind,
And like the gospel true.

If I and Molly could agree,

Let who would take Peru!
Great as an emperor should I be,
And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick,
I'm dull as any post;
Let us, like burs, together stick,
And warm as any toast.

You'll know me truer than a dye,

And wish me better sped; Flat as a flounder when 1 lie,

And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun, she'll drop a tear,
And sigh, perhaps, and wish,
When I am rotten as a pear,
And mute as any fish.



To the tune of―The Cut-purse.

YE gallants of Newgate, whose fingers are nice,
In diving in pockets, or cogging of dice;
Ye sharpers so rich, who can buy off the noose;
Ye honester poor rogues, who die in your shoes;
Attend and draw near,

Good news ye shall hear,

How Jonathan's throat was cut from ear to ear; How Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And every man round me may rob, if he please. When to the Old-Bailey this Blueskin was led, He held up his hand, his indictment was read, Loud rattled his chains, near him Jonathan stood, For full forty pounds was the price of his blood. Then, hopeless of life,

He drew his penknife,

And made a sad widow of Jonathan's wife. But forty pounds paid her, her grief shall appease, And every inan round me may rob, if he please.

Some say there are courtiers of highest renown, Who steal the king's gold, and leave him but a [men,


Some say there are peers, and some parliament

Who meet once a year, to rob courtiers again: Let them all take their swing,

To pillage the king,

And get a blue ribbon instead of a string.
Now Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease,
And every man round me may rob, if he please.
Knaves of old, to hide guilt by their cunning in-

Call'd briberies grants, and plain robberies pensions;
Physicians and lawyers (who take their degrees
To be learned rogues) call'd their pilfering, fecs:
Since this happy day,

Now every man may

Rob (as safe as in office) upon the highway. For Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And every man round me may rob, if he please. Some cheat in the customs, some rob the excise, But he who robs both is esteemed most wise. Churchwardens, too prudent to hazard the halter, As yet only venture to steal from the altar: But now to get gold,

They may be more bold,

And rob on the highway, since Jonathan's cold. For Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And every man round me may rob, if he please.




THERE was a time (O were those days renew'd!)
Ere tyrant-laws had woman's will subdued ;
Then Nature rul'd; and Love, devoid of art,
Spoke the consenting language of the heart.
Love uncontroll'd! insipid, poor delight!
"Tis the restraint that whets our appetite.
Behold the beasts, who range the forests free;
Ehold the birds, who fly from tree to tree;
In their amours see Nature's power appear!
And do they love? Yes-one month in the year.
Were these the pleasures of the golden reign?
And did free Nature thus instruct the swain?
I envy not, ye nymphs, vour amorous bowers:
Such harmless swains!-I'm e'en content with ours.
But yet there's something in these sylvan scenes,
That tells our faucy what the lover means.
Name but the mossy bank, and moon-light grove,
Is there a heart that does not beat with love?

To night we treat you with such country-fare:
Then, for your lover's sake, our author spare.
He draws no Hemskirk boors, or home-bred clowns,
But the soft shepherds of Arcadia's downs

When Paris on the three his judgment pass'd; I hope you'll own, the shepherd show'd his taste: And Jove, all know, was a good judge of beauty, Who made the nymph Calisto break her duty; Then was the country-nymph no awkward thing. See what strange revolutions Time can bring !

Yet still methinks an author's fate I dread, Were it not safer beaten paths to tread Of Tragedy, than o'er wide heaths to stray, And, seeking strange adventures, lose his way? No trumpet's clangor makes his heroine start, And tears the soldier from her bleeding heart. He, foolish bard! nor pomp nor show regards. Without the witness of a hundred guards His lovers sigh their vows.—If sleep should take ye, He has no battle, no loud drum, to wake ye. What, no such shifts?—there's danger in't, 'tis true; Yet spare him, as he gives you something new.



WHETHER amid the gloom of night I stray,
Or my glad eyes enjoy revolving day,
Still Nature's various face informs my sense,
Of an all-wise, all-powerful Providence.


When the gay Sun first breaks the shades of And strikes the distant eastern hills with light, Colour returns, the plains their livery wear, And a bright verdure clothes the smiling year; The blooming flowers with opening beauties glow, And grazing flocks their milky fleeces show; The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arise, And a pure azure arches o'er the skies. But, when the gloomy reign of Night returns, Stript of her fading pride all Nature mourns: The trees no more their wonted verdure boast, But weep in dewy tears their beauty lost: No distant landscapes draw our curious eyes; Wrapt in Night's robe the whole creation lies.

Yet still, e'en now, while darkness clothes the land.
We view the traces of th' Almighty hand;
Millions of stars in Heaven's wide vault appear,
And with new glories hangs the boundless sphere:
The silver Moon her western couch forsakes,
And o'er the skies her nightly circle makes;
Her solid globe beats back the sunny rays,
And to the world her borrow'd light repays.

Whether those stars, that twinkling lustre send,
Are suns, and rolling worlds those suns attend,
Man may conjecture, and new schemes declare
Yet all his systems but conjectures are.
But this we know, that Heaven's eternal King,
Who bade this universe from nothing spring,
Can at his word bid numerous worlds appear,
And rising worlds th' all-powerful word shall hear.
When to the western main the Sun descends,
To other lands a rising day he lends;
The spreading dawn another shepherd spies,
The wakeful flocks from their warm folds arise;
Refresh'd, the peasant seeks his early toil,
And bids the plough correct the fallow soil.
While we in sleep's embraces waste the night,
The climes oppos'd enjoy meridian light:
And when those lands the busy Sun forsakes,
With us again the rosy morning wakes;
In lazy sleep the night rolls swift away,
And neither clime laments his absent ray.

When the pure soul is from the body flown, No more shall Night's alternate reign be known: The Sun no more shall rolling light bestow, But from th' Almighty streams of glory flow. Oh, may some nobler thought my soul employ, Than empty, transient, sublunary joy! The stars shall drop, the Sun shall lose his flame; But thou, O God, for ever shine the same.


ERE the foundations of the world were laid,
Ere kindling light th' Almighty word obey'd,
Thou wert; and when the subterraneous flaine
Shall burst its prison, and devour this frame,
From angry Heaven when the keen lightning ffles,
When fervent heat dissolves the melting skies,
Thou still shalt be; still as thou wert before,
And know no change, when time shall be no more."
O endless thought! divine Eternity
Th' immortal soul shares but a part of thee;
For thou wert present when our life began,
When the warm dust shot up in breathing man.

Ah! what is life? with ills encompass'd round,
Amidst our hopes, Fate strikes the sudden wound:
To day the statesman of new honour dreams,
To morrow Death destroys his airy schemes;
Is mouldy treasure in thy chest confin'd?
Think, all that treasure thou must leave behind;
Thy heir with smiles shall view thy blazon'd hearse,
And all thy hoards with lavish hand disperse.
Should certain Fate th' impending blow delay,
Thy mirth will sicken, and thy bloom decay;
Then feeble age will all thy nerves disarm,
No more thy blood its narrow channels warm.
Who then would wish to stretch this narrow span,
To suffer life beyond the date of man?

The virtuous sol pursues a nobler aim, And life regards but as a flecting dreamn:

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His wrinkled visage, ghastly wan before:
Cordial restorative to mortal man,
With copious hand by bounteous gods bestow'd!
Bacchus divine, aid my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar:
Inspir'd, sublime, on Pegasean wing,
By thee upborne, I draw Miltonic air.

When fumy vapours clog our loaded brows
With furrow'd frowns; when stupid, downcast eyes,
Th' external symptoms of remorse within,
Express our grief; or when in sullen dumps,
With head incumbent on expanded palm,
Moping we sit, in silent sorrow drown'd:
Whether inveigling Hymen has trepann'd
Th' unwary youth, and tied the Gordian knot
Of jangling wedlock not to be dissolv'd;
Worry'd all day by loud Xantippe's din,
Who fails not to exalt him to the stars,
And fix him there among the branched crew
(Taurus and Aries, and Capricorn,
The greatest monsters of the Zodiac):
Or for the loss of anxious worldly pelf,

Or Cælia's scornful slights, and cold disdain,
Which check'd his amorous flame with coy repulse;
The worst events that mortals can befall:
By cares depress'd, in pensive hyppish mood,
With slowest pace the tedious minutes roll,
Thy charming sight, but much more charming gust,
New life incites, and warms our chilly blood.
Straight with pert looks, we raise our drooping fronts,
And pour in crystal pure, thy purer juice ;—
With cheerful countenance and steady hand
Raise it lip-high, then fix the spacious rim
To the expecting mouth ;-with grateful taste,
The ebbing wine glides swiftly o'er the tongue;
The circling blood with quicker motion flies:
Such is thy powerful influence, thou straight
Dispell'st those clouds, that, louring dark, eclips'd
The whilom glories of the gladsome face ;—
While dimpled cheeks, and sparkling, rolling eyes,
Thy cheering virtues and thy worth proclaim.
So mists and exhalations that arise

From hills or steamy lake, dusky or grey,
Prevail; till Phoebus sheds Titanian rays,

And paints their fleecy skirts with shining gold:
Unable to resist, the foggy damps,

That veil'd the surface of the verdant fields,
At the god's penetrating beams disperse;
The Earth again in former beauty smiles;
In gaudiest livery drest, all gay and clear.

When disappointed Strephon meets repulse,
Scoff'd at, despis'd, in melancholic mood,
Joyless he wastes in sighs the lazy hours;
Till, reinfore'd by thy most potent aid,

He storms the breach, and wins the beauteous fort
To pay thee honage, and receive thy blessing,
The British seaman quits his native shore,
And ventures through the trackless, deep abyss,
Plowing the ocean, while the upheav'd oak,
"With beaked prow, rides tilting o'er the waves;"
Shock'd by tempestuous jarring winds, she rolls
In dangers imminent, till she arrives [sence.
At those blest climes thou favour'st with thy pre-
Whether at Lusitania's sultry coast,
Or lofty Teneriff, Palma, Ferro,
Provence, or at the Celtiberian shores;
With gazing pleasure and astonishment
At Paradise (seat of our ancient sire)
He thinks himself arriv'd; the purple grapes,
In largest clusters pendant, grace the vines

Iraumerous; in fields grotesque and wild
They with implicit curls the oak entwine,
And load with fruit divine his spreading boughs;
Sight most delicious! not an irksome thought,
Or of left native isle, or absent friends,
Or dearest wife, or tender sucking babe,
His kindly-treacherous memory now presents;
The jovial god has left no room for cares.

Celestial liquor! thou that didst inspire
Maro and Flaccus, and the Grecian bard,
With lofty numbers, and heroic strains
Unparallel'd; with eloquence profound,
And arguments convictive, didst enforce
Fam'd Tully, and Demosthenes renown'd:
Ennius, first fam'd in Latin song, in vain
Drew Heliconian streams, ungrateful whet
To jaded Muse, and oft, with vain attempt,
Heroic acts, in flagging numbers dull,
With pains essay'd; but, abject still and low,
His unrecruited Muse could never reach
The mighty theme, till, from the purple fount
Of bright Lenæan fire, her barren drought
He quench'd and with inspiring nectarous juice
Her drooping spirits cheer'd;-aloft she towers,
Borne on stiff pennons, and of war's alarms,
And trophies won, in loftiest numbers sings.
"Tis thou the hero's breast to martial acts,
And resolution bold, and ardour brave,
Excit'st thou check'st inglorious, lolling ease,
And sluggish minds with generous fires inflam'st.
O thou that first my quicken'd soul didst warm,
Still with thy aid assist me, that thy praise,
Thy universal sway o'er all the world,
In everlasting numbers, like the theme,
I may record, and sing thy matchless worth.
Had the Oxonian bard thy praise rehears'd,
His Muse had yet retain'd her wonted height;
Such as of late o'er Blenheim's field she soar'd
Aerial now in Ariconian bogs

She lies inglorious floundering, like her theme Languid and faint, and on damp wing, immerg'd In acid juice, in vain attempts to rise.

With what sublimest joy from noisy town,

- At rural seat, Lucretelus retir'd:
Flaccus, untainted by perplexing cares,
Where the white poplar, and the lofty pine,
Join neighbouring boughs, sweet hospitable shade
Creating, from Phœbean rays secure,

A cool retreat, with few well-chosen friends,
· On flowery mead recumbent, spent the hours
En mirth innocuous, and alternate verse!
With roses interwoven, poplar wreaths
Their temples bind, dress of sylvestrian gods!
Choicest nectarean juice crown'd largest bowls,
And overlook'd the brim, alluring sight,
=*Of fragrant scent, attractive, taste divine!
Whether from Formian grape depress'd, Falern,
Or Setin, Massic, Gauran, or Sabine,
Lesbian or Cœcuban, the cheering bowl


· Mov'd briskly round, and spurr'd their heighten'd To sing Mæcenas' praise, their patron kind. But we not as our pristine sires repair ["umbrageous grot or vale; but, when the Sun aintly from western skies his rays oblique Darts sloping, and to Thetis' watery lap Lastens in prone career, with friends seleet wiftly we hie to Devil', young or old, ocund and boon, where at the entrance stands

1 The Devil-tavern, Temple-bar, frequented by is friends.

A stripling, who with scrapes and humil cringe
Greets us in winning speech, and accent bland;
With lightest bound, and safe, unerring step,
He skips before, and nimbly climbs the stairs:
Melampus thus, panting with lolling tongue,
And wagging tail, gambols, and frisks before
His sequent lord, from pensive walk return'd,
Whether in shady wood, or pasture green,
And waits his coming at the well-known gate.-
Nigh to the stairs' ascent, in regal port,
Sits a majestic dame, whose looks denounce
Command and sovereignty; with haughty air,
And studied mien, in semicircular throne
Enclos'd, she deals around her dread commands;
Behind her (dazzling sight!) in order rang'd,
Pile above pile, crystalline vessels shine;
Attendant slaves with eager strides advance,
And, after homage paid, bawl out aloud
Words unintelligible, noise confus'd:

She knows the jargon sounds, and straight describes,
In characters mysterious, words obscure;
More legible are algebraic signs,

Or mystic figures by magicians drawn,
When they invoke th' infernal spirits aid,

Drive hence the rude and barbarous dissonance
Of savage Thracians, and Croatian boors;
The loud Centaurian broils with Lapithe
Sound harsh and grating to Lenæan god;
Chase brutal feuds of Belgian skippers hence
(Amid their cups, whose innate temper's shown),
In clumsy fist wielding scymmetrian knife,
Who slash each other's eyes and blubber'd face,
Profaning Bacchanalian, solemn rites:
Music's harmonious numbers better suit
His festivals, from instruments or voice,
Or Gasperini's hand the trembling string
Should touch; or from the dulcet Tuscan dames,
Or warbling Toft's far more melodious tongue,
Sweet symphonies should flow, the Delian god
For airy Bacchus is associate meet.

The stairs ascent now gain'd, our guide unbars The door of spacious room, and creeking chairs (To ear offensive) round the table sets. We sit, when thus his florid speech begins: "Name, sirs, the wine that most invites your taste, Champaign, or Burgundy, or Florence pure, Or Hock antique, or Lisbon new or old, Bourdeaux, or neat French wine, or Alicant.” For Bourdeaux we with voice unanimous Declare (such sympathy's in boon compeers). He quits the room alert, but soon returns ; One hand capacious glistering vessels bears Resplendent; t' other, with a grasp secure, A bottle (mighty charge!) upstaid, full-fraught With goodly wine. He, with extended hand Rais'd high, pours forth his sanguine frothy juice, O'erspread with bubbles, dissipated soon: We straight to arms repair, experienc'd chiefs; Now glasses clash with glasses (charming sound!) And glorious Anna's health, the first, the best, Crowns the full glass;-at her inspiring name, The sprightly wine results, and seems to smile; With hearty zeal, and wish unanimous, Her health we drink, and in her health our own. A pause ensues; and now with grateful chatW' improve the interval; and joyous mirth Engages our rais'd souls, pat repartee,

Or witty joke, our airy senses moves

To pleasant laughter; straight the echoing room With universal peals and shouts resounds.

The royal Dane, blest consort of the queen,
Next crowns the ruby'd nectar, all whose bliss
In Anna's plac'd:—with sympathetic flame,
And mutual endearments, all her joys,
Like the kind turtle's pure untainted love,
Centre in him, who shares the grateful hearts
Of loyal subjects with his sovereign queen ;
For, by his prudent care, united shores
Were sav'd from hostile fleets invasion dire.
The hero Marlborough next, whose vast exploits
Fame's clarion sounds; fresh laurels, triumphs new,
We wish, like those he won at Hochstet's field.

Next Devonshire illustrious, who from race
Of noblest patriots sprang, whose worthy soul
Is with each fair and virtuous gift adorn'd,
That shone in his most worthy ancestors:
For then distinct in separate breasts were seen
Virtues distinct, but all in him unite.

Prudent Godolphin, of the nation's weal
Frugal, but free and generous of his own,
Next crowns the bowl, with faithful Sunderland,
And Halifax, the Muses' darling son,

In whom conspicuous, with full lustre, shine
The surest judgment, and the brightest wit,
Himself Mæcenas and a Flaccus too—
And all the worthies of the British realm,
In order rang'd, succeed; such healths as tinge
The dulcet wine with a more charming gust.
Now each his mistress toasts, by whose bright eye
He's fir'd; Cosmelia fair, or Dulcibell',
Or Sylvia, comely black, with jetty eyes
Piercing; or airy Cælia, sprightly maid!-
Insensibly thus flow unnumber'd hours;
Glass succeeds glass, till the Dircean god
Shines in our eyes, and with his fulgent rays
Enlightens our glad looks with lovely dye;
All blithe and jolly, that, like Arthur's knights,
Of rotund table, fam'd in old records,
Now most we seem'd-such is the power of Wine.
Thus we the winged hours in harmless mirth
And joys unsully'd pass, till humid Night
Has half her race perform'd; now all abroad
Is hush'd and silent, nor the rumbling noise
Of coach or cart, or smoky link-boy's call,
Is heard but universal silence reigns:
When we in merry plight, airy and gay,
Surpris'd to find the hours so swiftly fly,
With hasty knock, or twang of pendant cord,
Alarm the drowsy youth from slumbering nod;
Startled he flies, and stumbles o'er the stairs
Erroneous and with busy knuckles plies
His yet clung eye-lids, and with staggering reel
Enters confus'd, and, muttering, asks our wills;
When we with liberal hand the score discharge,
And homeward each his course with steady step
Unerring steers, of cares and coin bereft.




Soox as Glumdalelitch miss'd her pleasing care, She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair.

In Faulkner's edition this poem is ascribed to Pope, and the Lilliputian Ode to Arbuthnot.

No British miss sincerer grief has known,
Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.
She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.
In peals of thunder now she roars, and now
She gently whimpers like a lowing cow:
Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears;
Her locks dishevell❜d, and her flood of tears,
Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain.
When from the thatch drips fast a shower of rain.
In vain she search'd each cranny of the house,
Each gaping chink impervious to a mouse.
"Was it for this," (she cry'd)" with daily care
Within thy reach I set the vinegar;

And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide,
While pepper water worms thy bait supply'd,
Where twin'd the silver eel around thy hook,
And all the little monsters of the brook?
Sure in that lake he dropt! my Grilly's drown'd!"—
She dragg'd the cruet, but no Grildrig found.


Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast: But little creatures enterprize the most. Trembling, I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw, Nay, mix with children as they play'd at taw, Nor fear'd the marbles, as they bounding fiew: Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you.

"Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth!
Who from a page can ever learn the truth?
Vers'd in court-tricks, that money-loving boy
To some lord's daughter sold the living toy;
Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play,
As children tear the wings of flies away.
From place to place o'er Brobdingnag I'll roam,
And never will return, or bring thee home.
But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind?
How then thy fairy footsteps can I find?
Dost thou bewilder'd wander all alone,
In the green thicket of a mossy stone;

Or, tumbled from the toadstool's slippery round,
Perhaps all maim'd, lie groveling on the ground?
Dost thou, emboso'd in the lovely rose,
Or sunk within the peach's down, repose?
Within the king cup if thy limbs are spread,
Or in the golden cowslip's velvet head:

O show me, Flora, 'midst those sweets, the flower Where sleeps my Grildrig in his fragrant bower! "But ah! I fear thy little fancy, roves

On little females, and on little loves;
Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse,
The baby playthings that adorn thy house,
Doors, windows, chimneys, and the spacious rooms
Equal in size to cells of honeycombs.
Hast thou for these now ventur'd from the shore,
Thy bark a bean-shell, and a straw thy oar?
Or in thy box now bounding on the main?
Shall I ne'er bear thyself and house again?
And shall I set thee on my hand no more,
To see thee leap the lines, and traverse o'er
My spacious palm? of stature scarce a span,
Mimic the actions of a real man?

No more behold thee turn my watch's key,
As seaman at a capstan anchors weigh?
How wast thou wont to walk with cautious tread,
A dish of tea, like milk-pail, on thy head!
How chase the mite that bore thy cheese away,
And keep the rolling maggot at a bay !"

She said; but broken accents stopt her voice, Soft as the speaking-trumpet's mellow noise.

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