4 "She's peevish, she's thievish, she 's ugly, she's old,
And a liar, and a fool, and a slut, and a scold."
Next day Richard hasten'd to church and was wed,
And ere night had inform'd her what Thomas had said.
O Fortune! if my prayer of old
Was ne'er solicitous for gold,
With better grace thou may'st allow
My suppliant wish, that asks it now:
Yet think not, Goddess! I require it
For the same end your clowns desire it.
In a well made effectual string
Fain would I see Lovidio swing;
Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing;
But such a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O Goddess! store of pelf,
And he will tie the knot himself.
THE PRICE OF AN EQUIPAGE.
Servum si potes, Ole, non habere,
Et regem potes, Ole, non habere.
I ask'd a friend, amidst the throng,
Whose coach it was that trail'd along?
"The gilded coach there-don't ye mind?
That with the footmen stuck behind."
"O Sir!" says he, "what! han't you seen it? 'Tis Damon's Coach, and Damon in it. 'Tis odd, methinks, you have forgot
Your friend, your neighbour, and-what not! Your old acquaintance Damon !"-" True; But faith his Equipage is new."
"Bless me," said I, "where can it end?
What madness has possess'd my friend?
Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest,
Their stomachs, doubtless, not the smallest!
Can Damon's revenue maintain,
In lace and food, so large a train?
I know his land-each inch of ground-
"Tis not a mile to walk it round--
If Damon's whole estate can bear
To keep his lad and one-horse chair,
I own 'tis past my comprehension."
"Yes, Sir; but Damon has a pension."
Thus does a false ambition rule us,
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flickering knaves,
He grows himself the worst of slaves.
To the memory of
A. L., Esquire,
Justice of the Peace for this county:
Who, in the whole course of his pilgrimage
Through a trifling ridiculous world,
Maintaining his proper dignity,
Notwithstanding the scoffs of ill-disposed persons,
And wits of the age
That ridiculed his behaviour,
Or censured his breeding;
Following the dictates of Nature,
Desiring to ease the afflicted,
Eager to set the prisoners at liberty,
Without having for his end
The noise or report such things generally cause
In the world,
(As he was seen to perform them of none)
But the sole relief and happiness
Of the party in distress;
Himself resting easy
When he could render that so;
Not griping or pinching himself
To hoard up superfluities;
Not coveting to keep in his possession
What gives more disquietude than pleasure;
But charitably diffusing it
To all round about him :
Making the most sorrowful countenance
To smile
Always bestowing more than he was asked,
Always imparting before he was desired;
Not proceeding in this manner
Upon every trivial suggestion,
But the most mature and solemn deliberation; With an incredible presence and undauntedness Of mind ;
With an inimitable gravity and economy
Bidding loud defiance
To politeness and the fashion,
1 Let Sol his annual journeys run,
And when the radiant task is done,
Confess, through all the globe, 'twould pose him, To match the charms that Celia shows him.
2 And should he boast he once had seen
As just a form, as bright a mien,
Yet must it still for ever pose him
To match-what Celia never shows him.
you ne'er seen, my gentle Squire!
The humours of your kitchen fire?
Says Ned to Sal, "I lead a spade;
Why don't ye play?—the girl's afraid—
Play something-anything-but play—
'Tis but to pass the time away—
Phoo-how she stands-biting her nails—
As though she play'd for half her vails-
Sorting her cards, haggling, and picking-
We play for nothing, do us, chicken?
That card will do 'blood never doubt it,
It's not worth while to think about it."
Sal thought, and thought, and miss'd her aim, And Ned ne'er studying won the game.
Methinks, old friend! 'tis wondrous true That verse is but a game at loo:
While many a bard, that shows so clearly
He writes for his amusement merely,
Is known to study, fret, and toil,
And play for nothing all the while,
Or praise at most; for wreaths of
Ne'er signified a farthing more!
Till having vainly toil'd to gain it,
He sees your flying pen obtain it.
Through fragrant scenes the trifler roves,
And hallow'd haunts that Phoebus loves :
Where with strange heats his bosom glows,
And mystic flames the god bestows.
You now none other flames require
Than a good blazing parlour fire;
Write verses to defy the scorners
In-houses and chimney-corners.
Sal found her deep-laid schemes were vain-
The cards were cut-come, deal again-
No good comes on it when one lingers—
I'll play the cards come next my fingers-
Fortune could never let Ned loo her,
When she had left it wholly to her.
Well, now who wins?-why, still the sameFor Sal has lost another game.
"I've done (she mutter'd); I was saying, It did not argufy my playing.
Some folks will win, they cannot choose;
But think or not think-some must lose.
may have won a game or so
But then it was an age ago
It ne'er will be my lot again
I won it of a baby then
Give me an ace of trumps, and see!
Our Ned will beat me with a three!
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