Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste and creams
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens:
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And e'en the captain quit the field.

Poor madam now condemn'd to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone.

Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old;
With modesty her cheeks are died,
Humility displaces pride;

For tawdry finery is seen
A person ever neatly clean:

No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature ev'ry day:
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,

Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

THE GIFT.

TO

IRIS,

IN

BOW-STREET, covenT-GARDEN.

SAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,

Dear mercenary beauty,

What annual off'ring shall I make

Expressive of my duty.

My heart, a victim to thine eyes,

Should I at once deliver,

Say, would the angry fair one prize
The gift who slights the giver?

H

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,
My rivals give-and let 'em,
If gems, or gold, impart a joy,
I'll give them-when I get 'em.

I'll give-but not the full-blown rose, Or rose-bud more in fashion;

Such short-liv'd off'rings but disclose

A transitory passion.

I'll give thee something yet unpaid,

Not less sincere than civil:

I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid, I'll give thee-to the devil.

LOGICIANS REFUTED,

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.

Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius,

By ratiocinations specious,

Have strove to prove with great precision,

With definition and division,

Homo est ratione preditum;

But for my soul I cannot credit 'em.

And must in spite of them maintain

That man and all his ways are vain;
And that this boasted lord of nature,
Is both a weak and erring creature.
That instinct is a surer guide

Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;

And that brute beasts are far before 'em,

Deus est anima brutorum.

Who ever knew an honest brute

At law his neighbour prosecute;

Bring action for assault and battery,

Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,

No politics disturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport,

Nor know who's in or out at court;

They never to the levee go

To treat as dearest friend a foe;

They never importune his grace,

Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob;
Fraught with invective they ne'er go
To folks at Pater-noster-row:

No judges, fidlers, dancing masters,
No pickpockets, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupedes;
No single brute his fellows leads;