O Sir! fays he, what! han't ye feen 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 ?
I know his land-each inch o' ground-
'Tis not a mile to walk it round-
If DAMON's whole eftate can bear
To keep his lad, and one-horse chair,
I own 'tis paft my comprehenfion."
Yes, Sir, but DAMON has a penfion-
Thus does a falfe ambition rule us,
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flick'ring knaves,
He grows himfelf the worft of flaves.

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 boaft he once had seen
As just a form, as bright a mien,
Yet must it still for ever pofe him,

To match-what CELIA never fhews him.

INSCRIPTION.

To the memory

Of A. L. Efquire,

Juftice 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 prifoners at liberty,

Without

Without having for his end

The noife, or report fuch things generally cause In the world,

(As he was feen to perform them of none) But the fole relief and happiness,

Of the party in distress;

Himself refting easy,

When he cou'd render that so;

Not griping, or pinching himself,
To hoard up fuperfluities;

Not coveting to keep in his poffeffion
What gives more difquietude, than pleasure;
But charitably diffusing it

To all round about him:

Making the most forrowful countenance
To smile,

In his presence;

Always bestowing more than he was afk'd,
Always imparting before he was defir'd;
Not proceeding in this manner,
Upon every trivial fuggeftion,

But the most mature, and folemn deliberation;
With an incredible prefence, and undauntedness

Of mind;

With an inimitable gravity and economy

Of face;

Bidding loud defiance

To politeness and the fashion,

Dar'd let a ft.

То

To A FRIEND.

AVE you

ne'er feen, my gentle squire,

H The humours of

your kitchen fire?

Says NED to SAL, "I lead a fpade,
Why don't ye play?-the girl's afraid-
Play fomething-any thing-but play-
'Tis but to pass the time away-
Phoo-how fhe ftands-biting her nails→
As tho' fhe play'd for half her vails-
Sorting her cards, hagling and picking-
We play for nothing, do us, chicken?----
That card will do 'blood never doubt it,
It's not worth while to think about it."

SAL thought, and thought, and miss'd her aim, And NED, ne'er fludying, won the game. Methinks, old friend, 'tis wond'rous true, That verfe is but a game at loo.

While many a bard, that fhews fo clearly
He writes for his amufement merely,
Is known to study, fret, and toil;
And play for nothing, all the while :
Or praise at most; for wreaths of
Ne'er fignify'd a farthing more:
'Till having vainly toil'd to gain it,
He fees your flying pen obtain it.

yore

Thro'

Thro' fragrant fcenes the trifler roves,
And hallow'd haunts that PHOEBUS loves;
Where with strange heats his bofom glows,
And myftic flames the God bestows.
You now none other flame require,
Than a good blazing parlour fire;
Write verfes-to defy the fcorners,
In fhit-houses and chimney-corners.

SAL found her deep-laid fchemes were vain,
The cards are cut-come deal again-
No good comes on it when one lingers-
I'll play the cards come next my fingers-
Fortune cou'd never let NED loo her,
When she had left it wholly to her.

Well, now who wins?-why, ftill the fameFor 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 chufe,
But think or not think-some must lofe

I may have won a game or fo-
But then it was an age ago-
It ne'er will be my lot again-
I won it of a baby then-

Give me an ace of trumps and fee,

Our NED will beat me with a three.

'Tis all by luck that things are carry'd-

He'll fuffer for it when he's marry'd.

Thus