A friend, who, weigh'd with yours, must prize

Domitian's idle paffion;

That wrought the death of teazing flies,

But ne'er their propagation.

Let Flavia's eyes more deeply warm,
Nor thus your hearts determine,
To flight dame nature's faireft form
And figh for nature's vermin.

And speak with some respect of beaux,
Nor more as triflers treat 'em :
'Tis better learn to fave one's cloaths,
Than cherish moths, that eat 'em.

The EXTENT of COOKERY.

W

66

Aliufque et idem.”

WHEN Tom to Cambridge firft was fent,
A plain brown bob he wore;

Read much, and look'd as though he meant

To be a fop no more.

See him to Lincoln's Inn repair,

His refolution flag;

He cherishes a length of hair,

And tucks it in a bag.

Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,

But gets into the house,

And foon a judge's rank rewards

His pliant votes and bows.

Adieu, ye bobs! ye bags, give place!

Full bottoms come instead!

Good Lord! to fee the various ways

Of dreffing-a calve's head!:

The PROGRESS of ADVICE.

A Common CASE.

"Suade, nam certum eft."

AYS Richard to Thomas (and feem'd half afraid)
I am thinking to marry thy miftrefs's maid:
Now, becaufe Mrs. Lucy to thee is well known,
I will do 't if thou bidft me, or let it alone.

Nay don't make a jeft on't; 'tis no jest to me;
For 'faith I'm in earnest, fo pr'ythee be free.

I have no fault to find with the girl fince I knew her,
But I'd have thy advice, ere I tye myself to her."

Said Thomas to Richard, " To fpeak my opinion.
There is not fuch a bitch in king George's dominion,
And I firmly believe, if thou knew'ft her as I do,
Thou wouldst chufe out a whipping-poft, first to be ty'd to.

She's peevish, fhe's thievifh, fhe's ugly, she's old,
And a liar, and a fool, and a flut, and a fcold."
Next day Richard haften'd to church and was wed,
And ere night had inform'd her what Thomas had faid.

A BAL

F

A BALLA D.

«Trahit fua quemque voluptas.”

ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young fquire,

To bring down a wife, whom the swains might admire : But, in spite of whatever the mortal could fay,

The goddess objected the length of the way!

To give up the opera, the park, and the ball,
For to view the ftag's horns in an old country-hall;
To have neither China nor India to fee!

Nor a laceman to plague in a morning-not fhe!

To forfake the dear play-houfe, Quin, Garrick, and Clive,
Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive;
To forego the full box for his lonefome abode,

O heavens the fhould faint, fhe fhould die on the road;
To forego the gay fashions and geftures of France,
And leave dear Auguste in the midst of the dance,
And Harlequin too!-'twas in vain to require it;
And the wonder'd how folks had the face to defire it.
She might yield to refign the sweet-fingers of Ruckholt,
Where the citizen-matron feduces her cuckold;

But Ranelagh foon would her footsteps recall,
And the music, the lamps, and the glare of Vauxhall.
To be fure fhe could breathe no where elfe but in town,
Thus fhe talk'd like a wit, and he 'lock'd like a clown;
But the while honeft Harry defpair'd to fuccecd,

A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

SLEN

し

1

SLENDER's Ghoft. Vide SHAKESPEAR.

B'

ENEATH a church-yard yew,

Decay'd and worn with age,

At dufk of eve methought I fpy'd

Poor Slender's ghoft, that whimpering cryed,
O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

Ye gentle bards! give ear!

Who talk of amorous rage,

Who fpoil the lily, rob the rofe,

Come learn of me to weep your woes:
O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

Why fhould fuch labour'd ftrains
Your formal Mufe engage?

I never dreamt of flame or dart,
That fir'd my breaft or pierc'd my heart,

But figh'd, O fweet Anne Page!

And you! whofe love-fick minds
No med'cine cap affuage!
Accufe the leech's art no more,
But learn of Slender to deplore;

O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

And ye! whofe fouls are held,

Like linnets in a cage!

Who talk of fetters, links, and chains,

Attend and imitate my ftrains!

O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

2

And

And you who boast or grieve,
What horrid wars we wage!

Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye;
Yet mean as I do, when I figh,

Hence

every fond conceit

Of shepherd or of fage;

'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way

Fortune! if my prayer of old Was ne'er folicitous for gold, With better grace thou may'st allow My fuppliant wish, that asks it now. Yet think not! goddess! I require it For the fame end your clowns defire it. In a well-made effectual string,

Fain would I fee Lividio fwing!

Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing,
But fuch a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O goddess! store of pelf,

And he will tye the knot himself.