A

Portrait, at my Lord's command,
Compleated by a curious hand:

For dabblers in the nice Vertu
His Lordship fet the piece to view,
Bidding their Connoiffeurships tell,
Whether the work was finish'd well.
Why-fays the loudeft, on my word,
"Tis not a Likeness, good my Lord;
Nor, to be plain, for speak I muft,
Can I pronounce one feature just.
Another effort ftreight was made,
Another portraiture essay'd;
The judges were again befought,
Each to deliver what he thought.
Worfe than the firft-the crítics bawl;
O what a mouth! how monftrous small!
Look at the cheeks-how lank and thin!
See, what a moft prepoft'rous chin!

After

After remonftrance made in vain,
I'll, fays the painter, once again,
(If my good Lord vouchfafes to fit)
Try for a more fuccessful hit:
If you'll to-morrow deign to call,
We'll have a piece to please you all.
To-morrow comes—a picture's plac'd
Before thofe fpurious fons of tafte
In their opinions all agree,
This is the vileft of the three.
"Know-to confute your envious pride,
(His Lordship from the canvas cry'd)
"Know-that it is my real face,
"Where you could no refemblance trace:
"I've try'd you by a lucky trick,
"And prov'd your GENIUS to the quick.
"Void of all judgement-justice-fense,
"Out-ye pretending varlets-hence."

The Connoiffeurs depart in hafte,
Defpis'd-detected-and difgrac'd,

A

Witch, that from her ebon chair,

Could hurl deftruction thro' the air,

Or, at her all commanding will,

Make the tumultuous ocean fill:
Once, by an incantation fell,

(As the recording Druids tell)

Pluck'd the round moon, whose radiant light

Silver'd the fober noon of night,
From the domain the held above,
Down to a dark, infernal grove.

Give me, the Goddefs cry'd, a caufe,
Why you disturb my facred laws?
Look at my train,-yon wand'ring hoft
See how the trembling ftars are loft!
Thro' the celeftial regions wide,
Why do they range without a guide!
Chaos, from our confufion, may
Hope for his old detefted fway.

I'm,

I'm, fays the Witch, feverely croft, Know that my fav'rite Squirrel's loft: Search for I'll have creation torn, If he's not found before the morn.

Soon as the impious charge was giv'nFrom the tremendous ftores of heaven, JOVE with a bolt-revengeful !-red! Struck the detefted monfter dead.

If there are flaves to pity blind, With power enough to plague mankind, That for their own nefarious ends, Tread upon Freedom and her Friends, Let 'em beware the WITCH's fate! When their prefumption's at the height, JOVE will his angry powers affume, And the curs'd mifcreants meet their doom.

REPUTATION:

- REPUTATION:

An ALLEGORY.

10 travel far as the wide world extends, Seeking for objects that deferv'd their care, Virtue fet forth, with two selected friends, Talent refin'd, and Reputation fair.

As they went on, in their intended round, Talent first spoke, "My gentle comrades, say, "Where each of you may probably be found, "Should Accident divide us on the way.

"If torn (fhe added) from my lov'd allies, "A friendly patronage I hope to find, "Where the fine arts from cultivation rife, "And the sweet mufe hath harmoniz'd man"kind."

Says Virtue, "Did Sincerity appear, "Or meek-ey'd Charity among the great; "Could I find courtiers from corruption clear, "'Tis among these I'd seek for my retreat.

"Could