'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; Thus I, long envying your fuccess, You, who can frame a tuneful fong, From one that is What is this wreath, fo green! so fair! Ah no! 'tis genius gives you fame, 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; Was ftrong, was affecting, was juft, was divine; And waste that, and health, and my time, and my taper: 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! And chufe my lodgings at an inn. Which lacqueys elfe might hope to win; W A SIMILE. HAT village but has fometime feen Of a fond matron's education. Who Who plays his antics, roars aloud; So have I known an aukward lad, Carouze, and laugh, at his expence ; 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-" Well, if I must be rude, I muft- Go |