THE MODERN

SAINT.

HER time with equal prudence Silvia fhares,

First writes a billet-doux, then says her prayers; Her mass and toilet; vefpers and the play; Thus God and Ashtaroth divide the day : Conftant fhe keeps her Ember-week and Lent, At Eafter calls all Ifrael to her tent: Loose without bawd, and pious without zeal, She ftill repeats the fins fhe would conceal. Envy herself from Silvia's life muft grant, An artful woman makes a Modern Saint.

THE PARALLEL.

PRO

ROMETHEUS, forming Mr. Day, Carv'd fomething like a man in clay. The mortal's work might well miscarry ;

HE, that does Heaven and earth control,

Alone has power to form a foul,
His hand is evident in Harry.

Since one is but a moving clod,
T' other the lively form of God;

Squire Wallis, you will scarce be able,
all poetry but fable.

To prove

OU, Madam, may with fafety go,
Decrees of destiny to know;

For at your

birth kind planets reign'd,

And certain happiness ordain'd:
Such charms as yours áre only given
To chofen favourites of Heaven.
But, fuch is my uncertain state,
'Tis dangerous to try my fate;
For I would only know from art,
The future motions of your heart,
And what predeftinated doom
Attends my love for years to come;
No fecrets elfe, that mortals learn,
My cares deferve, or life concern:
But this will fo important be,

I dread to fearch the dark decree ;
For, while the fmalleft hope remains,
Faint joys are mingled with my pains;
Vain distant views my fancy please,
And give fome intermitting ease:
But, should the ftars too plainly fhow
That you have doom'd my endless woe,
No human force, or art, could bear
The torment of my wild defpair.

This fecret then I dare not know,
And other truths are ufelefs now.
What matters, if unbleft in love,
How long or fhort my life will prove?

To gratify what low defire,

Should I with needlefs hafte enquire,
How great, how wealthy, I fhall be?
Oh! what is wealth or power to me!
If I am happy, or undone,

It muft proceed from you alone.

A GREEK EPIGRAM imitated.

WE

HEN hungry wolves had trespass'd on the fold, And the robb'd fhepherd his fad story told; "Call in Alcides," faid a crafty prieft;

"Give him one half, and he 'll fecure the reft.”
No! faid the fhepherd, if the Fates decree,
By ravaging my flock, to ruin me;
To their commands I willingly refign,
Power is their character, and patience mine;
Though, troth! to me there feems but little odds,
Who prove the greatest robbers, wolves or gods!

To a FRIEND on his NUPTIALS.

WHEN Jove lay bleft in his Alemæna's charms,

Three nights, in one, he preft her in his arms;

The fun lay fet, and conscious Nature strove
To fhade her God, and to prolong his love.
From that aufpicious night Alcides came,
What lefs could rise from Jove, and fuch a Dame ?
May this aufpicious night with that compare,
Nor lefs the joys, nor lefs the rifing heir;
He ftrong as Jove, fhe like Alcmæna fair!

R 3

THE

THE WANDERING PILGRIM

Humbly addreffed to Sir THO. FRANKLAND, Bart. Poft-Mafter, and Pay-Master-General to Queen ANNE.

WILL Piggot muft to Coxwould † go,

To live, alas! in want,

Unlefs Sir Thomas fay, No, no;

Th' allowance is too fcant.

The gracious Knight full well does weet,,
Ten farthings ne'er will do

To keep a man each day in meat,
Some bread to meat is due.

A Rechabite poor Will muft live,
And drink of Adam's ale,
Pure element no life can give,
Or mortal foul regale.

Spare diet, and fpring-water clear,

Physicians hold are good;

Who diets thus, need never fear

A fever in the blood.

Who eat and quaff the best,

They feldom miss to bake and brew,

Or lin to break their faft.

This merry petition was written to obtain the

porter's place for Will Piggot.

Twelve miles north, beyond the city of York.

Could

Could Yorkshire-tyke but do the fame,
Then he like them might thrive;
But Fortune, Fortune, cruel Dame!
To ftarve thou doft him drive.

In Will's old Master's plenteous days,
His memory e'er be blest!

What need of fpeaking in his praise ?
His goodness stands confest.

At his fam'd gate ftood Charity,
In lovely fweet array ;
Ceres and Hofpitality

Dwelt there both night and day.
But, to conclude, and be concife,
Truth muft Will's voucher be:
Truth never yet went in disguise,
For naked ftill is fhe.

There is but one, but one alone,
Can fet the Pilgrim free,

And make him ceafe to pine and moan;
O Frankland! it is Thee.

Oh! fave him from a dreary way,

To Coxwould he must hye, Bereft of thee, he wends aftray,.

At Coxwould he muft die.

Oh let him in thy hall but ftand,

And wear a porter's gown,

Duteous to what thou may'ft command,

Thus William's wishes crown.