SILVIA had wit, had fpirits too;

To hear the one, the other view,
Sufpended held the scales:

Her wit, her youth too claim'd its share,
Let none the preference declare,

But turn up-heads or tails.

STANZAS to the Memory of an agreeable LADY, buried in Marriage to a Perfon undeferving her.

"T

WAS always held, and ever will,
By fage mankind, difcreeter

T'anticipate a leffer ill,

Than undergo a greater.

When mortals dread diseases, pain,

And languishing conditions
Who do'n't the leffer ills fuftain
Of phyfic-and physicians?

Rather than lofe his whole eftate,
He that but little wife is,

Full gladly pays four parts in eight
To taxes and excifes.

Our

Our merchants Spain has near undone
For loft fhips not requiting:

This bears our noble k—to fhun
The lofs of blood-in fighting!

With num❜rous ills, in fingle life,
The bachelor's attended:

Such to avoid, he takes a wife-
And much the cafe is mended!

Poor GRATIA, in her twentieth year,
Fore-feeing future woe,
Chofe to attend a monkey here,

Before an ape below,

COLE MIRA.

A Culinary ECLOGUE.

Nec tantum Veneris, quantum ftudiofa culine.

N

Ight's fable clouds had half the globe o'erspread,

And filence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed: When love, which gentle fleep can ne'er infpire, Had feated DAMON by the kitchen fire.

Penfive he lay, extended on the ground;

The little lares kept their vigils round;

The

The fawning cats compaffionate his case,
And purr around, and gently lick his face :

To all his 'plaints the fleeping curs reply,
And with hoarse snorings imitate a figh.
Such gloomy scenes with lovers' minds agree,
And folitude to them is beft fociety.

Cou'd I (he cry'd) express, how bright a grace Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wafh'd face Thou wou'dft, COLEMIRA, grant what I implore, And yield me love, or wash thy face no more.

Ah! who can fee, and seeing, not admire,
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands out-fhine the fire, and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pot
fhe brings.

But fure no chamber-damfel can compare,

When in meridian luftre fhines my fair,

When warm'd with dinner's toil, in pearly rills,
Adown her goodly cheek the sweat distills,

Oh! how I long, how ardently defire,

To view those rofy fingers ftrike the lyre!
For late, when bees to change their climes began,
How did I fee 'em thrum the frying-pan!

With

With her! I fhou'd not envy G

his queen,

Tho' fhe in royal grandeur deck'd be seen:
Whilft rags, juft fever'd from my fair-one's gown,
In ruffet pomp, and greasy pride hang down.

Ah! how it does my drooping heart rejoice, When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice! How wou'd that voice exceed the village-bell; Wou'dit thou but fing, "I like thee paffing well!"

When from the hearth fhe bade the pointers go, How foft! how eafy did her accents flow! "Get out, fhe cry'd, when ftrangers come to fup, "One ne'er can raise thofe fnoring devils up.

Then, full of wrath, she kick'd each lazy brute, Alas! I envy'd even that falute :

'Twas fure misplac'd,-SHOCK said, or seem'd to say, He had as lief, I had the kick, as they.

If the the mystic bellows take in hand,
Who like the fair can that machine command?
O may'ft thou ne'er by EoLus be seen,
For he wou'd fure demand thee for his queen.

But shou'd the flame this rougher aid refuse, And only gentler med'cines be of use;

With full-blown cheeks fhe ends the doubtful strife, Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life.

Such arts, as these, exalt the drooping fire,
But in my breaft a fiercer flame infpire :

I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er,
And fwell thy cheeks, and pout thy lips no more!

With all her haughty looks, the time I've seen; When this proud damfel has more humble been, When with nice airs fhe hoift the pan-cake round, And dropt it, hapless fair! upon the ground.

Look, with what charming grace! what winning tricks! The artful charmer rubs the candlesticks! So bright she makes the candlesticks she handles, Oft have I faid,-there were no need of candles.

But thou, my fair! who never wou'dft approve, Or hear, the tender ftory of my love;

Or mind, how burns my raging breaft,-a buttonPerhaps art dreaming of a breast of mutton.

Thus faid, and wept the fad defponding fwain,
Revealing to the fable walls his pain :

But nymphs are free with those they shou'd deny ;
To thofe, they love, more exquifitely coy!

Now chirping crickets raise their tinkling voice,
The lambent flames in languid ftreams arise,
And smoke in azure folds evaporates and dies.

The