And, if her brood of infects dies, 'Tis you protect their pregnant hour; Yet oh! howe'er your tow'ring view Hear, what a friend advises: A friend, who, weigh'd with yours, must prize DOMITIAN'S idle passion; That wrought the death of teazing flies, But ne'er their propagation. Let FLAVIA's eyes more deeply warm, And speak with some respect of beaux, The The EXTENT of COOKERY. Aliufque et idem. Hen Toм to CAMBRIDGE firft was fent, Read much, and look'd as tho' he meant To be a fop no more. See him to LINCOLN'S-INN repair, His refolution flag; He cherishes a length of hair, And tucks it in a bag. Nor COKE nor SALKELD he regards, But gets into the house, And soon a judge's rank rewards Adieu ye bobs! ye bags give place! Good L-d! to fee the various ways The PROGRESS of ADVICE. A Common CASE. Suade, nam certum eft. Ays RICHARD to THOMAS (and feem'd half afraid) "I am thinking to marry thy mistress's maid: Now, because Mrs. Lucy to thee is well known, I will do't if thou bid'ft me, or let it alone. Nay don't make a jeft on't; 'tis no jeft to me; Said THOMAS to RICHARD, "To speak my opinion, There is not fuch a bitch in King GEORGE's dominion, And I firmly believe, if thou knew'ft her as I do, Thou wou'dft chufe out a whipping poft, first to be ty'd to. She's peevish, fhe's thievish, fhe's ugly, fhe's old, And a lyar, and a fool, and a flut, and a scold." Next day RICHARD haften'd to church and was wed, And,ere night,had inform'd her what THOMAS had faid. A BAL A BAL L A D. Trabit fua quemque voluptas. Rom Lincoln to London rode forth our young squire, To bring down awife, whom the fwains might admire: But in spite of whatever the mortal cou'd say, The goddess objected the length of the way ! To give up the op'ra, the park, and the ball, Nor a lace-man to plague in a morning—not she! To forfake the dear play-house, Quin, Garrick, & Clive, To forget the gay fashions and geftures of France, And to leave dear Auguste in the midst of the dance, And Harlequin too!-'twas in vain to require it; And she wonder'd how folks had the face to defire it. She might yield to refign the fweet-fingers of Ruckholt, To be fure fhe cou'd breathe no where elfe than in town. SLENDER'S Ghoft. vid. SHAKESPEAR. B Eneath a church-yard yew, Decay'd and worn with age, Poor SLENDER's ghoft, that whimp'ring cry'd, Ye gentle bards! give ear! Who talk of amorous rage, Who fpoil the lilly, rob the rofe, Why fhou'd fuch labour'd strains I never dreamt of flame or dart, That fir'd my breast, or pierc'd my heart, And |