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V

Nor bite your lip, nor furl your brow,
If FLORIMEL, your equal now,

Shou'd, one day, gain precedence of ye?
First ferv'd-tho' in a dish of coffee?
Plac'd first, altho' where you are found,
You gain the eyes of all around?

Nam'd first, tho' not with half the fame,
That waits my charming CELIA's name?
Hard fortune! barely to inspire
Our fix'd esteem, and fond defire!
Barely, where'er you go, to prove
The fource of univerfal love!-
Yet be content, observing this,
Honour's the offspring of caprice:
And worth, howe'er you have purfu'd it,
Has now no pow'r-but to exclude it.
You'll find your general reputation

A kind of fupplemental station,

Poor SWIFT, with all his worth, cou'd ne'er,

He tells us, hope to rise a peer;

So, to fupply it, wrote for fame:

And well the wit fecur'd his aim.
A common patriot has a drift,
Not quite fo innocent as SWIFT:

In BRITAIN'S cause he rants, he labours;
“He's honeft, faith”--have patience, neighbours!
For patriots may fometimes deceive,

May beg their friend's reluctant leave,

Τα

To serve them in a higher sphere;
And drop their virtue, to get there.—
AS LUCIAN tells us, in his fafhion,
How fouls put off each earthly paffion,
Ere on ELYSIUM's flow'ry ftrand,
Old CHARON fuffer'd 'em to land;

So ere we meet a court's careffes,

No doubt our fouls must change their dreffes :
And fouls there be, who, bound that way,
Attire themselves ten times a day.

If then 'tis rank which all men covet,
And faints alike and finners love it ;
If place, for which our courtiers throng
So thick, that few can get along;
For which fuch fervile toils are seen,
Who's happier than a king?a queen,
Howe'er men aim at elevation,

'Tis properly a female paffion :
Women, and beaux, beyond all measure
Are charm'd with rank's extatic pleasure.
Sir, if your drift I rightly fcan,
You'd hint a beau were not a man:
Say, women then are fond of places;
I wave all disputable cafes.

A man perhaps would something linger,
Were his lov'd rank to coft-a finger;
Or were an ear or toe the price on't,
He might delib'rate once or twice on't;
Perhaps afk GATAKER's advice on't.

}

And

And many, as their frame grows old,
Wou'd hardly purchase it with gold.

But women wish precedence ever;
'Tis their whole life's fupreme 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 fight;

Yet, on worse terms, they fometimes chuse it ;
Nor, ev'n in punishments, refufe 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,
Befide my title fays, a tale.

Where Avon rolls her winding stream,

AVON, the Mufe's fav'rite theme!

Avon, that fills the farmer's purses,

And decks with flow'rs both farms, and verfes,

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 foil with annual plenty bleft

Was by young CORYDON poffeft.
His youth alone I lay before ye,
As moft material to my story:

For

For ftrength and vigour too, he had 'em,
And 'twere not much amifs, to add 'em.

Thrice happy lout! whofe wide domain
Now green with grafs, now gilt with grain,
In ruffet robes of clover deep,

Or thinly veil'd, and white with fheep;
Now fragrant with the bean's perfume,
Now purpled with the pulfe'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 peafe;
Which, when at night he ceas'd his labours,
Were haunted by fome female neighbours.
Each morn difcover'd to his fight
The shameful havoc of the night;
Traces of this they left behind 'em,
But no inftructions where to find 'em.
The devil's works are plain and evil,
But few or none have feen the devil,
Old NOLL, indeed, if we may credit
The words of ECHARD, who has faid it,
Contriv'd with SATAN how to fool us;
And bargain'd face to face to rule us;
But then old NOLL was one in ten,
And fought him more then other men.
Our fhepherd too, with like attention,
May meet the female fiends we mention.

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He rofe 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 finners
Sate down to cull their future dinners;
And, caring little who might own 'em,
Made free as tho' themselves had fown 'em.
'Tis worth a fage's obfervation

How love can make a jest of passion.
Anger had forc'd the fwain from bed,
His early dues to love unpaid!
And love, a god that keeps a pother,
And will be paid one time or other,
Now banish'd anger out o' door;

And claim'd the debt withheld before.
anger bid our youth revile,

If

Love form'd his features to a smile:

And knowing well 'twas all grimace,
To threaten with a fmiling face,

He in few words exprefs'd his mind

And none would deem them much unkind.
The am'rous youth, for their offence,
Demanded inftant recompence:

That recompence from each, which shame
Forbids a bafhful muse to name.

Yet, more this sentence to discover,

'Tis what BETT **

grants her lover,

When

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