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Headlong he falls, and on the rugged stone
Distorts his neck, and cracks the collar-bone.
O venturous youth, thy thirft of game allay:
May'st thou survive the perils of this day!
He shall survive ; and in late years be sent
To snore away Debates in Parliament.
The time Thall come, when his more folid fenfe
With nod'important shall clie laws dispense ;
A Justice with grave Justices thall fit;
He praise their wisdom, they admire his wit.
No greyhound thall attend the tenant's pace,
No rusty gun the farmer's chimney grace ;
Salmons shall leave their-covers void of fear,
Nor dread the thievith net or triple spear ;
Poachers shall tremble at his awful name,
Whom vengeance now o'ercakes for murder'd game.
Aflist me, Bacchus, and ye drunken powers, To fing his friendships and his midnight hours !
Why dost thou glory in thy streugth of beer,
Firm-cork'd and mellow'd till the twentieth year ;
Brew'd or when Phæbus 'warms the fleecy fign,
Or when his languid rays in Scorpio shine?
Think on the mischiefs which from hence have fprung!
It arms with curses dire the wrathful tongue ;
Foul scandal to the lying lip affords,
prompts the memory with injurious words.
O where is wisdom when by this o'erpower'd ?
The state is censur'd, and the maid deflower'd !
And wilt thou still, o Squire, brew ale so strong ?
Hear then the dictates of prophetic fong.
Methinks I see him in his hall
Where the long table floats in clammy beer,
'Midst mugs and glasses fhatter'd o'er the floor,
Dead drunk, his servile crew supinely snore ;
Triumphant, o'er the prostrate brutes he stands,
The mighty bumper trembles in his hands ;
Boldly he drinks, and, like his glorious Sires,
In copious gulps of potent ale expires.
L Y DI A.
OW twenty springs had cloath'd the park with green, ,
Since Lydia knew the blossom of fifteen;
No lovers now her morning hours molest,
And catch her at her toilette half-undrest;
The thundering knocker wakes the street no more,
No chairs, no coaches, croud her filent door ;
Her midnights once at cards and hazard fled,
Which now, alas ! she dreams away in bed.
Around her wait Shocks, monkeys, and mockaws,
To fill the place of fops and perjur'd beaux ;
In these she views the mimickry of man,
And smiles when grinning Pug gallants her fan ;
When Poll repeats, the sounds deceive her ear
(For sounds like his once told her Damon's care);
With these alone her tedious mornings pafs;
Or, at the dumb devotion of her glass,
She smooths her brow, and frizzles forth her hairs,
And fancies youthful dress gives youthful airs ;
With crimson wool she fixes every grace,
That not a blush can discompose her face.
Reclin'd upon her arm, the pensive sate,
And curs'd th’inconstancy of youth too late.
O Youth! O spring of life! for ever lost !
No more my name shall reign the favourite toast;
On glass no more the diamond grave my name,
And rhymes inispelt record a lover's flame :
Nor shall side-boxes watch my restless eyes,
And, as they catch the glance, in rows arise
With humble bows; nor white-lov'd beaux encroach
In crouds behind, to guard me to my coach.
Ah, hapless nymph! such conquests are no more ;
For Chloe's now what Lydia was before !
'Tis true, this Chloe boasts the peach's bloom.
But does her nearer whisper breathe perfume
I own, her taper Thape is form'd to please.
Yet if saw her unconfin’d by stavs !
She doubly to fifteen
Alike we read it in her face and sense.
Her reputation ! but that never yet
Could check the freedoms of a young coquette.
Why will ye then, vain fops, her believe?
eyes cah, like your perjur’d tongues, deceive.
What shall I do? how spend the hateful day?
At chapel shall I wear the morn away?
Who there frequents at these unmodish hours,
But ancient matrons with their frizzled towers,
And gray religious maids ? My presence there
Amid that sober train would own despair ;
Nor am I
so old ; nor is my glance As yet fixt wholly to devotion's trance.
Straight then I'll dress, and take my wonted range Through every Indian shop through all the Change ;
Where the tall jar erects his costly pride,
With antick shapes in china's azure dy'd ;
There careless lies the rich brocade unrolled;
Here shines a cabinet with burnish'd gold :
But then remembrance will my grief renew,
'Twas there the raffling dice false Damon threw;
The raffling dice to him decide the prize ;
sT was there he first convers’d with Chloe's eyes.
Hence fprung th’ ill-fated cause of all my friart;
To me the toy he gave, to her his heart.
But soon thy perjury in the gift was found,
The shiver'd china dropt upon the ground;
Sure omen that thy vows would faithless prove;
Frail was thy present, frailer is thy love.
O happy Poll, in wiry prison pent;
Thou ne'er hast known what love or rivals meant ;
And Pug with pleasure can his fetters bear,
Who ne'er believ'd the vows that lovers swear!
How am I curft (unhappy and forlorn)
With perjury, with love, and rival's fcorn!
False are the loose coquette's inveigling airs,
False is the pom pous grief of youthful heirs,
False is the cringing courtier's plighted word,
False are the dice when gamefters stamp the board,
False is the fprightly widow's public tear ;
Yer these to Damon's oaths are all sincere.
Fly from perfidious man, the fex disdain ;
Lec fervile Chloe wear the nuptial chain.
Damon is practis'd in the modifh life,
Can hare, and yet be civil to a wife.