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Headlong he falls, and on the rugged stone
Distorts his neck, and cracks the collar-bone.
O venturous youth, thy thirst of game allay :
May'ft thou furvive the perils of this day!
He fhall furvive; and in late years be sent
To fnore away Debates in Parliament.

The time fhall come, when his more folid fenfe
With nod'important fhall the laws dispense;
A Juftice with grave Juftices thall fit;
He praise their wifdom, they admire his wit.
No greyhound fhall attend the tenant's pace,
No rufty gun the farmer's chimney grace;
Salmons fhall leave their covers void of fear,
Nor dread the thievish net or triple spear;
Poachers fhall tremble at his awful name,
Whom vengeance now o'ertakes for murder'd game.
Affift me, Bacchus, and ye drunken powers,
To fing his friendships and his midnight hours!
Why doft thou glory in thy ftrength of beer,
Firm-cork'd and mellow'd till the twentieth year;
Brew'd or when Phoebus warms the fleecy fign,
Or when his languid rays in Scorpio fhine?
Think on the mischiefs which from hence have fprung!
It arms with curfes dire the wrathful tongue;
Foul fcandal to the lying lip affords,

And prompts the memory with injurious words.
O where is wifdom when by this o'erpower'd ?
The ftate is cenfur'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 fee him in his hall appear,
Where the long table floats in clammy beer,
'Midft mugs and glaffes fhatter'd o'er the floor,
Dead drunk, his fervile crew fupinely fnore;
Triumphant, o'er the proftrate brutes he ftands,
The mighty bumper trembles in his hands;
Boldly he drinks, and, like his glorious Sires,
In copious gulps of potent ale expires.

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TOW twenty fprings had cloath'd the park with green,
Since Lydia knew the bloffom of fifteen ;

No lovers now her morning hours molest,
And catch her at her toilette half-undreft;
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 ! fhe 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 fmiles when grinning Pug gallants her fan;
When Poll repeats, the founds deceive her ear
(For founds like his once told her Damon's care);
With these alone her tedious mornings pafs;
Or, at the dumb devotion of her glass,

She fmooths her brow, and frizzles forth her hairs,
And fancies youthful drefs gives youthful airs;
With crimson wool fhe fixes every grace,
That not a blush can difcompose her face.
Reclin'd upon her arm, the penfive fate,
And curs'd th' inconftancy of youth too late.

O Youth!

O Youth! O fpring of life! for ever loft!
No more my name fhall reign the favourite toaft;
On glass no more the diamond grave my name,
And rhymes mifpelt record a lover's flame :
Nor fhall fide-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, haplefs nymph! fuch conquefts are no more;
For Chloe's now what Lydia was before!

'Tis true,, this Chloe boafts the peach's bloom.
But does her nearer whisper breathe perfume?
I own, her taper fhape is form'd to please.
Yet if you faw her unconfin'd by stays!
She doubly to fifteen may make pretence;
Alike we read it in her face and fenfe.
Her reputation! but that never yet
Could check the freedoms of a young coquette.
Why will ye then, vain fops, her eyes believe?
Her eyes cah, like your perjur'd tongues, deceive.
What fhall I do? how fpend the hateful day?
At chapel fhall 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 fober train would own despair;
Nor am I yet fo old; nor is my glance
yet fixt wholly to devotion's trance.
Straight then I'll drefs, and take my wonted
Through every Indian fhop through all the Change;



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Where the tall jar erects his coftly pride,
With antick fhapes in china's azure dy'd ;
There carelefs lies the rich brocade unroll'd;
Here fhines a cabinet with burnifh'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 ;
'Twas there he first convers'd with Chloe's eyes.
Hence fprung th' ill-fated cause of all my smart;
To me the toy he gave, to her his heart.
But foon 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 prefent, frailer is thy love.

O happy Poll, in wiry prifon pent;

Thou ne'er haft known what love or rivals meant ;
And Pug with pleasure can his fetters bear,

Who ne'er believ'd the vows that lovers fwear!
How am I curft (unhappy and forlorn)

With perjury, with love, and rival's fcorn!
Falle are the loofe coquette's inveigling airs,
Falfe is the pompous grief of youthful heirs,
Falfe is the cringing courtier's plighted word,
False are the dice when gamesters stamp the board,
Falfe is the fprightly widow's public tear;
Yet thefe to Damon's oaths are all fincere.
Fly from perfidious man, the fex difdain
Let fervile Chloe wear the nuptial chain.
Damon is practis'd in the modifh life,
Can hate, and yet be civil to a wife.

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