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To serve them in a higher sphere;
And drop their virtue, to get there.—
As Lucian tells us, in his faihion,
How souls put off each earthly passion,
Ere on Elysium's flow'ry strand,
Old Charon suffer'd 'em to land;
So ere we meet a court's caresses,
No doubt our souls must change their dresses
And souls there be, who, bound that way,
Attire themselves ten times a day.
If then 'tis rank which all men covet,
And saints alike and sinners love it;
If place, for which our courtiers throng
So thick, that few can get along;
For which such servile toils are seen,
Who's happier than a king ?—a queen,
Howe'er men aim at elevation,
'Tis properly a female passion:
Women, and beaux, beyond all measure
Are charm'd with rank's extatic pleasure.
Sir, if your drift I rightly scan,
You'd hint a beau were not a man j
Say, women then are fond of places;
I wave all disputable cases.
A man perhaps would something linger,
Were his lov'd rank to cost—a finger;
Or were an ear or toe the price on't,
He might delib'rate once or twice on't;
Perhaps ask Gataker's advice on't.
And many, as their frame grows old,
Wou'd hardly purchase it with gold.
But women wish precedence ever;
'Tis their whole life's supreme endeavour;
It fires their youth with jealous rage,
And strongly animates their age.
Perhaps they would not fell out-right,
Or maim a limb—that was in sight;
Yet, on worse terms, they sometimes chuse it;
Nor, ev'n in punishments, refuse it.
Preeminence in pain, you cry!
All fierce and pregnant with reply.
But lend your patience, and your ear,
An argument shall make it clear.
But hold, an argument may fail,
Beside my title says, a tale.
Where Avon rolls her winding stream,
Avon, the Muse's fav'rite theme!
Avon, that fills the farmer's purses,
And decks with flow'rs both farms, and verses,
She visits many a fertile vale——
Such was the scene of this my tale.
For 'tis in Ev'sham's vale, or near it,
That folks with laughter tell, and hear it.
The soil with annual plenty blest
Was by young Cor V Don pofiest.
His youth alone I lay before ye,
As most material to my story:
For strength and vigour too, he had 'em, And 'twere not much amiss, to add 'em.
Thrice. happy lout! whose wide domain Now green with grass, now gilt with grain, In russet robes of clover deep, Or thinly veil'd, and white with sheep; Now fragrant with the bean's perfume, Now purpled with the pulse's bloom, Might well with bright allusion store me; —But happier bards have been before me!
Amongst the various year's increase, The stripling own'd a field of pease; Which, when at night he ceas'd his labours, Were haunted by some female neighbours. Each morn discover'd to his sight The shameful havoc of the night; Traces of this they left behind 'em, But no instructions where to find 'em. The devil's works are plain and evil, But few or none have seen the devil. Old Noll, indeed, if we may credit The words of Echard, who has said it, Contriv'd with Satan how to fool us i And bargain'd face to face to rule us; But then old Noll was one in ten, And sought him more then other men,' Our shepherd too, with like attention, May meet the female fiends we mention.
He rose one morn at break of day,
And near the field in ambush lay:
"When lo! a brace of girls appears,
The third, a matron much in years.
Smiling, amidst the pease, the sinners
Sate down to cull their future dinners;
And, caring little who might own 'em,
Made free as tho' themselves had sown 'em.
'Tis worth a sage's observation
How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had fore'd the swain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid 1"
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banisiYd anger out o' door;
And claim'd the debt withheld before.
If anger bid our youth revile,
Love form'd his features to a smile:
And knowing well 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a smiling face,
He in few words express'd his mind—
And none would deem them much unkind.
The am'rous youth, for their osfence,
Demanded instant recompence:
That recompence from each, .which shame
Forbids a bashful muse to name.
Yet, more this sentence to discover,
'Tis what Bett * * grants her lover,