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Say, women then are fond of places;
I wave all difputable cafes.

A man perhaps would fomething linger,
Were his lov'd rank to coft-a finger;
Or were an ear or toe the price on 't,
He might deliberate once or twice on 't;
Perhaps afk Gataker's advice on 't.
And many, as their frame grows old,
Would hardly purchafe it with gold.
But women with precedence ever;
'Tis their whole life's fupreme endeavour ;
It fires their youth with jealous rage,
And ftrongly animates their age.
Perhaps they would not fell out-right,
Or maim a limb-that was in fight;
Yet on worse terms they fometimes chufe it;
Nor ev'n in punishments refuse it.

Pre-eminence in pain, you cry!
All fierce and pregnant with reply.
But lend your patience, and your car,
An argument fhall make it clear.
But hold, an argument may fail,

Befide my title fays, a tale.

Where Avon rolls her winding ftream,

Avon, the Mufes' favourite theme!

Avon, that fills the farmers' purfes,

And decks with flowers both farms and verses,
She vifits many a fertile vale-


Such was the fcene of this




For 'tis in Evesham's vale, or near it,

That folks with laughter tell and hear it.
The foil with annual plenty bleft
Was by young Corydon poffeft.
His youth alone I lay before ye,
As moft material to my story:

For ftrength and vigour too, he had them,
And 'twere not much amifs, to add them.

Thrice happy lout! whose wide domain
Now green with grafs, now gilt with grain,
In ruffet robes of clover deep,

Or thinly veil'd, and white with sheep;
Now fragrant with the bean's perfume,
Now purpled with the pulfe's bloom,
Might well with bright allufion store me;
-Bút happier bards have been before me!
Amongst the various year's increase,
The ftrippling own'd a field of peafe;
Which, when at night he ceas'd his labours,
Were haunted by fome female neighbours.
Each morn difcover'd to his fight
The fhameful havock of the night :
Traces of this they left behind them,
But no inftructions where to find them.
The Devil's works are plain and evil,
But few or none have seen the Devil.
Old Noll, indeed, if we may credit
The words of Echard, who has faid it,
Contriv'd with Satan how to fool us;
And bargain'd face to face to rule us;



But then old Noll was one in ten,
And fought him more than other men.
Our fhepherd too, with like attention,
May meet the female fiends we mention.
He rofe one morn at break of day,
And near the field in ambush lay :
When lo! a brace of girls appears,
The third, a matron much in years.
Smiling, amidst the peafe, the finners
Sate down to cull their future dinners;
And, caring little who might own them,
Made free as though themselves had fown them.

'Tis worth a fage's obfervation
How love can make a jeft of paffion.
Anger had forc'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid!
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out of door;
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
bid our youth revile,

If anger

Love form'd his features to a fmile:

And knowing well 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a fmiling face,

He in few words exprefs'd his mind-
And none would deem them much unkind.
The amorous youth, for their offence,
Demanded instant recompence :


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That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bafhful Mufe to name.

Yet, more this fentence to discover,
'Twas what Bet ** grants her lover,
When he, to make the ftrumpet willing,
Has spent his fortune-to a fhilling.
Each stood a while, as 'twere fufpended,
And loth to do, what-each intended.
At length, with foft pathetic fighs,
The matron, bent with age, replies
'Tis vain to ftrive—justice, I know,

And our ill ftars, will have it fo

But let my tears your wrath affuage,

And shew fome deference for age!
I from a diftant village came,

Am old, God knows, and fomething laine;
And if we yield, as yield we must,
Dispatch my crazy body first.

Our fhepherd, like the Phrygian swain,
When circled round on Ida's plain,
With goddeffes he ftood fufpended,
And Pallas's grave speech was ended,
Own'd what she ask'd might be his duty;
But paid the compliment to beauty.



ODE to be performed by Dr. BRETTLE, and a

The Inftrumental Part, a Viol d' Amour.


AIR by the DOCTOR.

WAKE! I fay, awake good people!
And be for once alive and gay;

Come let's be merry; ftir the tipple;

How can you fleep,

Whilft I do play? how can you fleep, &c.


Pardon, O pardon, great musician!
On drowsy fouls fome pity take!
For wondrous hard is our condition,
To drink thy beer,
Thy ftrains to hear;

To drink,

To hear,

And keep awake!


Hear but this ftrain-'twas made by Handel,
A wight of skill, and judgment deep!
Zoonters they're gone-Sal, bring a candle--
No, here is one, and he 's afleep.


Dr. How could they go

Whilst I do play?
Sal. How could they go!

How should they stay?

Soft mufic.

warlike mufic.

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