FLIRT and PHIL;

A Decifion for the LADIES.

A Wit, by learning well refin'd,

A beau, but of the rural kind,

TO SILVIA made pretences;
They both profefs'd an equal love :
Yet hop'd, by different means, to move
Her judgment, or her fenfes.

Young sprightly FLIRT, of blooming mien,
Watch'd the best minutes to be seen ;

Went-when his glass advis'd him :
While meagre PHIL of books enquir'd;
A wight, for wit and parts admir'd;

And witty ladies priz'd him.

! SILVIA had wit, had fpirits too;
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 lesser ill,

Than undergo a greater.

When mortals dread diseases, pain,
And languishing conditions ;
Who do'n't the leffer ills fuftain
Of phyfic-and physicians?

Rather than lofe his whole eftate,
He that but little wife is,
Full gladly pays four parts in eight

To taxes and excifes.

Our merchants Spain has near undone

For loft fhips not requiting:

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-feeing future woe,
Chose to attend a monkey here,
Before an ape below.

***:

COLE

********

MIRA.

A Culinary ECLOGUE.

Nec tantum Veneris, quantum ftudiofa culinæ.

'Ight's fable clouds had half the globe o'erspread,

And filence reign'd, and folks were gone to bed : When love, which gentle sleep 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 fawning cats compaffionate his cafe, And purr around, and gently lick his face :

To all his 'plaints the fleeping curs reply,
And with hoarse snorings imitate a figh.
Such gloomy scenes with lovers' minds agree,
And folitude to them is best society.
N 3

Cou'd

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 things
Her eyes are blacker than the pots 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 fweat diftills.

Oh! how I long, how ardently defire,
To view those rofy fingers strike the lyre!
For late, when bees to change their climes began,
How did I fee 'em thrum the frying-pan!

With her! I fhou'd not envy Ghis queen,
Tho' fhe in royal grandeur deck'd be feen:
Whilft rags, just sever'd from my fair-one's gown,
In ruffet pomp, and greasy pride hang down.

Ah! how it does my drooping heart rejoice, When in the hall I hear thy mellow voice! How wou'd that voice exceed the village-bell; Wou'dft thou but fing, "Llike thee paffing well!"

When

When from the hearth fhe bade the pointers go,
How foft! how eafy did her accents flow!

Get out, the cry'd, when ffrangers come to fup,
One ne'er can raife thofe fnoring devils up."

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

'Twas fure mifplac'd,-SHOCK faid, or feem'd to fay, He had as lief, I had the kick, as they.

If the the myftic bellow's take in hand,
Who like the fair can that machine command
O may'st thou ne'er by EoLus be seen,
For he wou'd fure demand thee for his queen.

But fhou'd the flame this rougher aid refuse,
And only gentler med'eines be of use;
With full-blown cheeks the ends the doubtful ftrife,
Foments the infant flame, and puffs it into life.

Such arts, as thefe, 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 pout thy lips no more!

With all her haughty looks, the time I've feen; When this proud damfel has more humble been, When with nice airs fhe hoift the pan-cake round, And dropt it, haplefs fair! upon the ground.