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 Person 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 phyficians?

Rather than lofe his whole eítate,

He that but little wife is, Full gladly pays four parts

To taxes and excifes.

in eight

For loft ships 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-seeing future woe,
Chofe to attend a monkey here,
Before an ape below.

COLE MIRA.

A Culinary ECLOGUE.

Nec tantum Veneris, quantum ftudiofa culine.

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 inspire, 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 cafe,
And purr around, and gently lick his face :

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

Cou'd I (he cry'd) exprefs, how bright a grace Adorns thy morning hands, and well-wash'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 feeing, not admire,
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands out-fhine the fire, and redder thirgs;
Her eyes are blacker than the pot she 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 diftills.

Oh! how I long, how ardently desire,

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

fhe in royal grandeur deck'd be seen :
ft rags, just fever'd from my fair-one's gown,
ffet pomp, and greafy pride hang down.

h! how it does my drooping heart rejoice, en in the hall I hear thy mellow voice! v wou'd that voice exceed the village-bell; 'dft thou but fing, "I like thee paffing well!"

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

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

was fure misplac'd,-SHOCK faid, or feem'd to fay, e had as lief, I had the kick, as they.

If she the mystic bellows take in hand,
ho like the fair can that machine command?
may'st thou ne'er by EoLus be feen,

or he wou'd fure demand thee for his queen.

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

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

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

I burn! I burn! O! give thy puffing o'er,
And fwell thy cheeks, and poút 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 said,-there were no need of candles.

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

Or mind, how burns my raging breast,—a button— Perhaps art dreaming of a breast of mutton.

Thus faid, and wept the fad desponding swain, Revealing to the fable walls his pain:

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

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

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