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 must proceed from you alone.

A GREEK EPIGRAM imitated.

WH

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

"Give him one half, and he 'll fecure the reft.”
No! faid the shepherd, 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 Alemana's charms,

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

The fun lay fet, and confcious Nature strove
To shade her God, and to prolong his love.
From that aufpicious night Alcides came,
What lefs could rise from Jove, and such a Dame ?
May this aufpicious night with that compare,
Nor less the joys, nor less 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,

Unless Sir Thomas fay, No, no;

Th' allowance is too scant.

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 must live,
And drink of Adam's ale,
Pure element no life can give,
Or mortal foul regale.

Spare diet, and fpring-water clear,

Phyficians hold are good;
Who diets thus, need never fear
A fever in the blood.

But pafs The Æfculapian crew,

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.

I

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 bleft!

What need of speaking in his praise ?
His goodness stands confeft.

At his fam'd gate stood Charity,
In lovely sweet array ;
Ceres and Hospitality

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 stand,

And wear a porter's gown,

Duteous to what thou may'ft command,

Thus William's wishes crown.

VENUS'S ADVICE TO THE MUSES.

Ts Adorm my altars, and revere my name.

HUS to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame;

"My Son fhall else affume his potent darts, "Twang goes the bow, my girls; have at your hearts!" The Mufes anfwer'd, "Venus, we deride "The Vagrant's malice, and his Mother's pride; “Send him to Nymphs who fleep on Ida's shade, "To the loose dance, and wanton masquerade; "Our thoughts are fettled, and intent our look, "On the inftructive verfe, and moral book ; "On Female idlenefs his power relies;

"But, when he finds us ftudying hard, he flies.”

CUPID TURNED PLOUGHMAN. From MoscHUS.

H'

IS lamp, his bow, and quiver, laid afide,
A ruftic wallet o'er his fhoulders ty'd;
Sly Cupid, always on new mifchief bent,
To the rich field and furrow'd tillage went;
Like any Ploughman toil'd the little God,
His tune he whistled, and his wheat he fow'd;
Then fat and laugh'd, and to the skies above
Raifing his eye, he thus infulted Jove :
Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms restrain,
And, as I bid you, let it shine or rain.

Elfe

Elfe you again beneath my yoke fhall bow,
Feel the fharp goad, and draw the fervile plow;
What once Europa was, Nannette is now.

PONTIUS AND

}

PONTIA.

PONTIUS (who loves, you know a joke,

Much better than he loves his life)

Chanc'd t 'other morning to provoke
The patience of a well-bred Wife.

Talking of

you, faid he, my dear,
Two of the greatest wits in town,
One afk'd, if that high furze of hair
Was, bona fide, all your own.

Her own! moft certain, t 'other faid;

For Nan, who knows the thing, will tell ye,
The hair was bought, the money paid,

And the receipt was fign'd Ducailly..

Pontia (that civil prudent fhe,

Who values wit much less than sense,
And never darts a repartee,

But purely in her own defence)

Reply'd, these friends of yours, my dear,
Are given extremely much to fatire !
But pr'ythee, Husband, let one hear
Sometimes lefs wit, and more good-nature,

Now I have one unlucky thought,

That would have fpoil'd your friend's conceit; Some hair I have, I'm fure, unbought :

Pray bring your Brother Wits to fee't.