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When warm'd with dinner's toil, in pearly rills,
Adown her goodly cheek the fweat distills.
Oh! how I long, how ardently desire,
To view thofe rofy fingers strike the lyre!
For late, when bees to change their climes began,
How did I fee them thrum the frying-pan!

With her! I fhould not envy George his queen, Though fhe in royal grandeur deck'd be seen : Whilft rags, just sever'd from my fair-one's gown, In ruffet pomp and greafy pride hang down.

Ah! now it does my drooping heart rejoice,
When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice!
How would that voice exceed the village bell;
Would that but fing, "I like thee paffing well!"

When from the heart the bade the pointers go,
How foft! how cafy did her accents flow!
"Get out, the cry'd, when strangers come to fup,
One ne'er can raise those fnoring devils up."

Then, full of wrath, fhe kick'd each lazy brute, Alas! I envy'd even that falute:

'Twas fure misplac'd,-Shock faid, or feem'd to say, He had as lief, I had the kick, as they.

If the the mystic bellows take in hand,
Who like the fair can that machine command?
O may'st thou ne'er by Eolus be seen,
For he wou'd fure demand thee for his queen.



But should the flame this rougher aid refuse,
And only gentler med'cines be of use;

With full-blown cheeks fhe ends the doubtful ftrife,
Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life.

Such arts as thefe, exalt the drooping fire,
But in my breast a fiercer flame inspire:
I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er;
And fwell thy cheeks, and pout thy lips, no more!

With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen,
When this proud damfel has more humble been,
When with nice airs fhe hoist the pan-cake round,
And dropt it, haplefs fair! upon the ground.

Look, with what charming grace! what winning tricks!
The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks!

So bright fhe makes the candlesticks fhe handles,

Oft have I faid,

there were no need of candles.

But thou my fair! who never wouldst approve,
Or hear the tender story of my love;

Or mind, how burns my raging breast,-
-a button-
Perhaps art dreaming of-a breast of mutton.

Thus faid, and wept the fad desponding swain,
Revealing to the fable walls his pain :

But nymphs are free with those they should deny;
To thofe, they love, more exquifitely coy!

Now chirping crickets raife their tinkling voice,
The lambent flames in languid streams arise,
And smoke in azure folds evaporates and dies.

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The RAPE of the TRA P.

A BALLA D, 1737.

WAS in a land of learning,

The mufes favourite city,

Such pranks of late

Were play'd by a rat,

As-tempt one to be witty.

All in a college study,

Where books were in great plenty;

This rat would devour

More fenfe in an hour,

Than I cou'd write-in twenty.

Corporeal food, 'tis granted,

Serves vermin lefs refin'd, Sir;

But this, a rat of taste,

All other rats furpafs'd;

And he prey'd on the food of the mind, Sir;

His breakfast, half the morning,

He conftantly attended;

And when the bell rung

For evening fong,

His dinner fcarce was ended!

He fpar'd not ev'n heroics,

On which we poets pride us;


And wou'd make no more

Of King Arthur's*, by the fcore,-
Than all the world befide does.

In books of geo-graphy,

He made the maps to flutter:

A river or a fea

Was to him a dish of tea;

And a kingdom, bread and butter.

But if fome mawkish potion

Might chance to over-dofe him,

To check its rage,

He took a page

Of logic-to compofe him

A trap, in haste and anger,

Was bought, you need not doubt on't ;And, fuch was the gin,

Where a lion once got in,

He could not, I think, get out on't.

With cheese, not books, 'twas baited,
The fact I'll not belye it-

Since none-I'll tell you that-
Whether fcholar or rat.

Mind books, when he has other diet.

But more of trap and bait, Sir,

Why should I fing, or either?

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Since the rat, who knew the flight,
Came in the dead of night,

And dragg'd them away together:
Both trap and bait were vanish'd,
Through a fracture in the flooring;
Which, though so trim

It now may feem,

Had then a dozen or more in.

Then anfwer this, ye fages!

Nor deem a man to wrong ye,
Had the rat which thus did feize on
The trap, lefs claim to reafon,
Than many a fcull among ye?
Dan Prior's mice, I own it,
Were vermin of condition;
But this rat who merely learn'd
What rats alone concern'd,
Was the greater politician.

That England's topfy-turvy,

Is clear from thefe mifhaps, Sir;
Since traps we may determine,
Will no longer take our vermin,
But vermin* take our traps, Sir.

Let fophs, by rats infested,

Then truft in cats to catch 'em;


* Written at the time of the Spanish depredations.

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