Lawyers, poets, priests, physicians,
Noble, simple,-all conditions;
Worth-beneath a thread-bare cover,

Villainy, bedaub'd all over;

Women, black, red, fair, and grey,.
Prudes, and such as never pray;
Handsome, ugly, noisy, still,

Some that will not-some that will;
Many a beau without a shilling,
Many a widow-not unwilling:
Many a bargain, if you strike it,
This is London-how d'ye like it?

EPITAPH ON A TALKATIVE LADY. How apt are men to lie! how dare they say, When life is lost, all learning fleets away? Since this glad grave holds Chloe, fair and young; Who, where she is, first learn'd to hold her tongue.

ON SEEING AN OLD ABBEY WHITE

WASHED.

How awful once thy ancient face,

How spoilt by vain renewing; Of old, thy gravity was grace,-Now spruceness thy undoing.

Thou who wast once a reverend sage,

Alike in fact and shew,

Art now ridiculous in age,

And look'st a batter'd beau.

EXTEMPORE ON A KEY,

APPENDED TO THE BOSOM OF A VERY
BEAUTIFUL, YOUNG LADY.

How blest is thy lot, thou insensible Key,
How gladly I'd change situations with thee!
For to thee, like the Key of St. Peter, is given
To guard o'er the gateway-that leads into Heav'n!

CREATION AND DESTRUCTION.

How capricious were nature and art to poor Nel! She was painting her cheeks, at the time her nose fell.

TO MISTRESS MUTABLE.

HOWE'ER you may for beauty bear the bell,
Yet, ever to ring changes, sounds not well.

DRUNKEN GENEROSITY.

How generous, John, at night, when drunk! how

soon

Cool'd on the morrow!-do, John, drink ere noon.

BE MAGNANIMOUS!

How great thy might let none by mischief know,
But what thou canst by acts of kindness, show:
A pow'r to hurt is no such noble thing;

The toad can poison, and the serpent sting.

UPON A COMPANY OF BAD DANCERS TO
GOOD MUSIC.

How ill the motion with the music suits!
So Orpheus fiddled, and so danc'd the brutes.

TO MISS M. N.

TWELVE YEARS OLD.

How is that lovely little face

Contriv'd to give us pain and joy! Where ev'ry op'ning infant grace,

Tho' hardly form'd, can yet destroy.

Thou, like the plank the sailor views,
When wreck'd, far off upon the wave;
And, life just spent, in vain pursues
What only could the victim save.

For, ah! with all our vows and skill,
We must not touch thy virgin bed;
Tho' fair enough to please and kill,
Thou art not old enough to wed.

Ah! why did cruel heav'n contrive
Thy beauties only to be seen?
Which ne'er were meant for fifty-five

To touch and thou not quite thirteen.

Those charms, perhaps, I might possess,
I now, alas! in vain adore,
Could I but number twenty less,

And thou, fair maid, five summers more.

KNOWLEDGE AND PRETENCE. How is the world deceiv'd by noise and show! Alas! how diff'rent, to pretend and know! Like a poor highway brook, Pretence runs loud, Bustling, but shallow; dirty, weak, and proud: While, like some nobler stream, True Knowledge glides

Silently strong, and its deep bottom hides.

NATURE'S KINDNESS.

How kind has Nature unto Bluster been,
Who gave him dreadful looks and dauntless mien,
Gave tongue to swagger, eyes to strike dismay,
And, kinder still, gave legs to run away!

KEEP TO YOUR SEX.

"How long will I love, if you grant me this favour ?" Prithee, tie me not up to such rigid behaviour:

I'll love thee as long and as well as I can;
I expect thee a woman;-you'll find me a man.

JEALOUSY.

How much are they deceiv'd who vainly strive,
By jealous fears to keep our flames alive!

Love's like a torch, which, if secur'd from blasts,
Will faintlier burn; but then it longer lasts.
Expos'd to storms of jealousy and doubt,
The flame grows greater, but 'tis sooner out.

PHYLLIS'S AGE.

How old may Phyllis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task:

For she has really two ages.

Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays,
Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
All day let envy view her face;
And Phyllis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
At night, astronomers agree,
The ev'ning has the day bely'd;
And Phyllis is some forty-three.

A LOVER'S REFLECTION.

How shall I shake off cold despair,
And warm Amelia's breast?
Be bold.Alas! what lover dare,
Who trembles to be blest?

WRITE SATIRE!

How shall we please this age? if in a song
We put above six lines, they count it long:
If we contract it to an epigram,

As deep the dwarfish poetry they damn;
If we write plays, few see above an act,
And those lewd masks, or noisy fops distract.
Let us write satire then, and, at our ease,
Vex the ill-natur'd fools we cannot please.

ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE QUEEN. · How soon frail royalty is o'er!

That fame-deluded monarchs trust;
To-day their greatness we adore,
To-morrow trample on their dust!

How near oblivion to renown!

The end of glory to its bloom!
The altar, where she took her crown,
Close to the spot, that boasts her tomb!

Thus state and majesty are lost,

And death recruits its empty urns: Thus the vain pomp, the mighty boast, To silence, and the shade, returns.

ON.

A WASP SETTLING ON DELIA'S ARM. How sweetly careless Delia seems,

(Her innocence can fear no harm) While round th' envenom'd insect skims, Then settles on her snowy arm!

Ye flutt'ring beaux, and spiteful bards,
To you this moral truth I sing:-
Sense, join'd to virtue, disregards
Both Folly's buz, and Satire's sting.

PROMETHEUS ILL PAINTED.

How wretched does Prometheus' state appear,
Whilst he his second mis'ry suffers here!

Draw him no more, lest, as he tortur'd stands,
He blame great Jove's less than the painter's hands;
It would the vulture's cruelty out-go,

If once again his liver thus should grow.

Pity him, Jove, and his bold theft allow;

The flames he once stole from thee, grant him now.