She might yield to refign the fweet-fingers of Ruckholt, Where the citizen-matron feduces her cuckold;

But Ranelagh foon wou'd her footsteps recall,

And the mufic, the lamps, and the glare of Vaux-hall.

To be fure fhe cou'd breathe no where else than in town. Thus fhe talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown; But the while honeft Harry defpair'd to fucceed,

A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

SLENDER'S Ghoft. vid. SHAKESPEAR.

B

Eneath a church-yard yew,

Decay'd and worn with age,

At dusk of eve methought I spy'd

Poor SLENDER'S ghoft, that whimp'ring cry'd,

O fweet O fweet ANNE PAGE!

That fir'd my breaft, or pierc'd my heart,

But figh'd, O fweet ANNE PAGE!

VOL. I.

And

She's peevish, fhe's thievifh, fhe's ugly, fhe's old,
And a lyar, and a fool, and a flut, and a fcold."
Next day RICHARD haften'd to church and was wed,
And ere night,had inform'd her what THOMAS had said.

A BALLA D.

Trahit fua quemque voluptas.

Rom Lincoln to London rode forth our young fquire, To bring down a wife, whom the fwains might admire: But in fpite 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,
For to view the ftag's horns in an old country-hall;
To have neither China nor India to fee!

Nor a lace-man to plague in a morning-not she!

To forfake the dear play-house, Quin, Garrick, and Clive,
Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive;
To forego the full box for his lonesome abode,
Oheav'ns! she shou'd faint, she shou'd dye on the road!

To forget the gay fashions and gestures of France, And to leave dear Augufte in the midst of the dance, And Harlequin too!-'twas in vain to require it; And the wonder'd how folks had the face to defire it.

She

She might yield to refign the fweet-fingers of Ruckholt, Where the citizen-matron feduces her cuckold;

But Ranelagh foon wou'd her footsteps recall,

And the mufic, the lamps, and the glare of Vaux-hall.

To be fure fhe cou'd breathe no where else than in town. Thus fhe talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown; But the while honeft Harry despair'd to fucceed,

A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

SLENDER'S Ghoft. vid. SHAKESPEAR.

B

Eneath a church-yard yew,

Decay'd and worn with age,
At dusk of eve methought I spy'd

Poor SLENDER'S ghoft, that whimp'ring cry'd,

O fweet O fweet ANNE PAGE!

Ye gentle bards! give ear!

Who talk of amorous rage,

Who fpoil the lilly, rob the rofe,

Come learn of me to weep your woes :

O fweet O fweet ANNE PAGE!

Why fhou'd fuch labour'd ftrains
Your formal muse engage?

I never dreamt of flame or dart,
That fir'd my breaft, or pierc'd my heart,

But figh'd, O fweet ANNE PAGE!
VOL. I.

And

And you! whofe love-fick minds
No medicine can affuage!

Accufe the leech's art no more,
But learn of SLENDER to deplore
O fweet O fweet ANNE PAGE!

And ye! whofe fouls are held,
Like linnets in a cage!

Who talk of fetters, links, and chains,
Attend, and imitate my strains!

O fweet O fweet ANNE PAGE!

And you who boaft or grieve,
What horrid wars ye wage!
Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye's
Yet mean as I do, when I figh

Ofweet O fweet ANNE PAGE!

Hence ev'ry fond conceit

Of fhepherd or of fage!

"Tis SLENDER's voice, 'tis SLENDER's way

Expreffes all you have to fay.

Ofweet O fweet ANNE PAGE!

The INVIDIOUS.

Fortune! if my pray'r of old Was ne'er follicitous for gold, With better grace thou may'ft allow My fuppliant wish, that afks it now.

MART.

Yet

Yet think not! goddefs! I require it
For the fame end your clowns defire it.

In a well-made effectual string,

Fain wou'd I fee LIVIDIO fwing!

Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing,
But fuch a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O goddefs! ftore of pelf,
And he will tye the knot, himself.

The PRICE of an EQUIPAGE

Servum fi potes, Ole, non habere
Et regem potes, Ole, non habere.

Afk'd a friend, amidst the throng,

I whole coach; was that trail d along

"The gilded coach there-don't ye mind?
That, with the footmen ftuck behind."

O Sir! fays he, what! han't ye seen it?
'Tis DAMON's coach, and DAMON in it.
'Tis odd methinks you have forgot

MART.

Your friend, your neighbour and what not!

Your old acquaintance DAMON!

But faith his equipage is new."

True;

"Blefs me, faid I, where can it end?
What madness has poffefs'd my friend?
Four powder'd flaves, and thofe the tallest,
Their ftomachs doubtlefs not the fmalleft!
Can DAMON's revenue maintain

In lace and food, fo large a train ?