O Sir! fays he, what! han't ye 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, faid I, where can it end? What madness has poffefs'd my friend? Four powder'd flaves, and those the tallest, Their ftomachs doubtlefs not the smallest! Can DAMON's revenue maintain In lace and food, fo large a train ? Thus does a falfe ambition rule us, HINT from VOITURE. L ET SOL his annual journeys run, And when the radiant task is done, Confefs, thro' all the globe, 'twou'd pose him, To match the charms that CELIA fhews him. And fhou'd he boast he once had feen To match-what CELIA never fhews him. INSCRIPTION. To the memory Of A. L. Efquire, Justice of the peace for this county: Who, in the whole courfe of his pilgrimage Thro' a trifling ridiculous world, Maintaining his proper dignity, Notwithstanding the fcoffs of ill-difpos'd perfons, And wits of the age, That ridicul'd his behaviour, Or cenfur'd his breeding; Following the dictates of nature, Defiring to ease the afflicted, Eager to fet the prisoners at liberty, Without Without having for his end The noise, or report fuch things generally cause (As he was feen to perform them of none) Of the party in distress; Himself refting easy, When he cou'd render that fo; Not griping, or pinching himself, Not coveting to keep in his poffeffion To all round about him: Making the most forrowful countenance In his presence; Always bestowing more than he was ask'd, But the most mature, and folemn deliberation; Of mind; With an inimitable gravity and economy Of face; Bidding loud defiance To politenefs and the fashion, Dar'd let a f-t. To To A FRIEND. AVE you ne'er feen, my gentle fquire, HA The humours of your kitchen fire? Says NED to SAL, "I lead a fpade, SAL thought, and thought, and mifs'd her aim, And NED, ne'er ftudying, won the game. Methinks, old friend, 'tis wond'rous true, That verse is but a game at loo. While many a bard, that shews fo clearly yore Thro' Thro' fragrant fcenes the trifler roves, Write verfes-to defy the scorners, SAL found her deep-laid fchemes were vain, Well, now who wins?-why, ftill the sameFor SAL has loft another game. "I've done; (fhe mutter'd) I was faying, It did not argufy my playing. Some folks will win, they cannot chuse, Give me an ace of trumps and fee, 'Tis all by luck that things are carry'd He'll fuffer for it when he's marry'd. 3 Thus |