'Tis all by luck that things are carry'dHe'll fuffer for it, when he 's marry'd."

Thus Sal, with tears in either eye;
While victor Ned fat tittering by.

Thus I, long envying your fuccess,
And bent to write and ftudy lefs,
Sate down, and fcribbled in a trice,
Just what you fee-and you despise.

You, who can frame a tuneful fong,
And hum it as you ride along;
And, trotting on the king's high-way,
Snatch from the hedge a fprig of bay;
Accept this verfe, howe'er it flows,
your friend in profe.

From one that is

What is this wreath, fo green! so fair!
Which many wifh, and few must wear?
Which fome men's indolence can gain,
And fome men's vigils ne'er obtain ?
For what muft Sal or poet fue,
Ere they engage with Ned or you?
For luck in verfe, for luck at loo?

Ah no! 'tis genius gives you fame,
And Ned, through skill, fecures the game.

N 3

The POET and the DUN. 1741.

"These are meffengers

"That feelingly perfuade me what I am." SHAKESP.

C

NOMES a dun in the morning and raps at my door

"I made bold to call-'tis a twelvemonth and moreI'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, Sir,— But Job would be paid, Sir, had Job been a mercer." My friend have but patience-"Ay these are your ways.” I have got but one shilling to serve me two daysBut Sir-pr'ythee take it, and tell your attorney, If I han't paid your bill, I have paid for your journey.

Well, now thou art gone, let me govern my paffion, And calmly confider-confider? vexation! What whore that must paint, and must put on falfe locks, And counterfeit joy in the pangs of the pox! What beggar's wife's nephew,now ftarv'd,and now beaten, Who, wanting to eat, fears himself fhall be eaten ! What porter, what turnfpit, can deem his cafe hard! Or what dun boast of patience that thinks of a bard! Well, I'll leave this poor trade, for no trade can be poorer, Turn fhoe-boy, or courtier, or pimp, or procurer; Get love, and respect, and good living, aud pelf, And dun fome poor dog of a poet myself. One's credit, however, of courfe will grow better; Here enters the footman, and brings me a letter. "Dear Sir? I receiv'd your obliging epistle, Your fame is fecure-bid the crities go whistle.

I read

I read over with wonder the poem you fent me;
And I muft fpeak your praises, no foul shall prevent me.
The audience, believe me, cry'd out every line

Was ftrong, was affecting, was juft, was divine;
All pregnant, as gold is, with worth, weight, and beauty,
And to hide fuch a genius was-far from your duty.
I foresee that the court will be hugely delighted:
Sir Richard, for much a lefs genius, was knighted.
Adieu, my good friend, and for high life prepare ye;
I could fay much more, but you're modeft, I fpare ye."
Quite fir'd with the flattery, I call for my paper,

And waste that, and health, and my time, and my taper:
I fcribble till morn, when, with wrath no small store,
Comes my old friend the mercer, and raps at my door.
"Ah! friend, 'tis but idle to make fuch a pother,
Fate, fate has ordain'd us, to plague one another."

T

Written at an Inn at HENLEY.

O thee, fair freedom! I retire

From flattery, cards, and dice, and din; Nor art thou found in mansions higher

Than the low cott, or humble inn.

'Tis here with boundless power I reign;

And every health which I begin, Converts dull port to bright champaigne ; Such freedom crowns it, at an inn.

I fly from pomp, I fly from plate!
I fly from falehood's fpecious grin!
Freedom I love, and form I hate,

And chufe my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my fordid ore,

Which lacqueys elfe might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store ;
It buys me freedom at an inn.
Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round,
Where'er his ftages may have been,
May figh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.

W

A SIMILE.

HAT village but has fometime feen
The clumfy fhape, the frightful mein,
Tremendous claws, and fhagged hair,
Of that grim brute yclept a bear?
He from his dam, the learn'd agree,
Receiv'd the curious form you fee;
Who, with her plaftic tongue alone,
Produc'd a vifage-like her own--
And thus they hint, in myftic fashion,
The powerful force of education*
Perhaps yon crowd of fwains is viewing
F'en now, the strange exploits of Bruin;

Of a fond matron's education.

Who

Who plays his antics, roars aloud;
The wonder of a gaping crowd!

So have I known an aukward lad,
Whose birth has made a parish glad,
Forbid, for fear of fenfe, to roam,
And taught by kind mamma at home;
Who gives him many a well-try'd rule,
With ways
and means to play the fool.
In sense the same, in ftature higher,
He fhines, ere long, a rural fquire,
Pours forth unwitty jokes, and fwears,
And bawls, and drinks, but chiefly ftares:
His tenants of fuperior sense

Carouze, and laugh, at his expence ;
And deem the pastime I 'm relating,
To be as pleasant, as bear-baiting.

The CHARMS of PRECEDENCE.

A TAL E.

IR, will you please to walk before?"

SIR,

-No, pray Sir-you are next the door.

-" Upon mine honour, I'll not ftir-"
Sir, I'm at home, confider, Sir-
"Excufe me, Sir, I'll not go firft."

Well, if I must be rude, I muft-
But yet I wish I could evade it-
'Tis ftrangely clownish, be perfuaded-

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