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A letter when I am inditing,
Then might you see a painted ring Comes Cupid and gives me a jog,
Of dames that stond by Nelly; And I fill all the paper with writing
She like the pride of all the spring, Of nothing but sweet Molly Mog.
And they, like Fleurs de Palais. If I would not give up the three Graces,
In Marli's gardens, and St. Clou, I wish I were hang'd like a dog,
I saw this charming Nelly, And at court all the drawing-room saces,
Where shameless nymphs, expos'd to view, For a glance of my sweet Molly Mog.
Stand naked in each allée : Those faces want nature and spirit,
But Venus had a brazen face And seem as cut out of a log :
Both at Versailles and Meudon, Juno, Venus, and Pallas's merit,
Or else she had refign'd her place,
And left the stone she stood on.
Were Nelly's figure mounted there,
'Twould put down all th' Italian : Have hearts not more true or more loyal
Lord! how those foreigners would stare ! Than mine to my sweet Molly Mog.
But I thould turn Pygmalion : Were Virgil alive with his Phyllis,
For, spite of lips, and eyes, and mien,
Me nothing can delight so, And writing another eclogue ;
As does that part that lies between
Her ieft toe and her right toe.
A BALLAD ON QUADRILLE.
When as corruption hence did go, To be sure the's a bit for the Vicar.
And left the nation free; And so I shall lose Molly Mog.
When Ay said ay, and No said no,
Without or place or see ;
Then Satan, thinking things went ill,
Sent forth his fpirit called Quadrille. Or all the girls that e'er were seen,
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c. There's none so fine as Nelly, For charming face, and Mape, and mien,
Kings, queens, and knaves, made up his pack,
And four fair suits he wore;
All blotch'd and spotted o'er;
And every house, go where you will,
Is haunted by this imp Quadrille, &c.
Sure cards he has for every thing, For when as Nelly came to France
Which well court cards they name, (Invited by her cousins), Across the Tuilleries each glance
And, statesman-like, calls in the king, Kill'd Frenchmen by whole dozens.
To help out a bad game; The king, as he at dinner fat,
But, if the parties manage ill, Did becken to his hullar,
The king is forc'd to lofe Codille, &c. And bid him bring his tabby cat,
When two and two were met of old, For charming Nell to buss her.
Though they ne'er meant to marry, The ladies were with rage provok’d,
They were in Cupid's books enroll'd, To see her so respected;
And callid a Partie Quarrée ; The men look'd arch, as Nelly strok'd,
But now, meet when and where you will, And puss her tail erected.
A Partie Quarréc is Quadrille, &c. But not a man did look employ,
The commoner, and knight, and peer, Except on pretty Nelly;
Men of all ranks and fame, Then said the Duke de Villeroy,
Leave to their wives the only care " Ah! qu'elle est bien jolie !"
To propagate their name; But who's that great philosopher,
And well that duty they fulfil, That carefully looks at her?
When the good husband's at Quadrille, &c. By his concern it should appear,
When patients lie in piteous case, The fair one is his daughter.
In comes th' apothecary; Ma foy! (quoth then a courtier fly)
And to the doctor cries, Alas! He on his child does leer too :
Non debes Quadrillare : I wish he has no mind to try
The patient dies without a pill : What some papa's will here do.
For why? the doctor's at Quadrille, &c. The courtiers all, with one accord,
Should France and Spain again grow loud, Broke oue in Nelly's praises,
The Muscavite grow louder; Admir'd her rose, and lys fans farde,
Britain, to curb her neighbours proud, (Which are your termes Françoises),
Would want both ball and powder a VOL. VIII.
Muft want both sword and gun to kill :
My heart would be fcot-free from eares, For why? che general's at Quadrille, &c.
And lighter than a feather. The king of late drew forth his sword
As fine as fivepence is her mien, (Thank God 'twas not in wrath),
No drum was ever cighter; And made, of many a 'squire and lord,
Her glance is as the razor keen, An unwash'd Knight of Bath :
And not the sun is brighter. What are their feats of arms and skill?
As soft as pap her kisses are, They're but nire parties at Quadrille, &c.
Methinks I taste them yet; A party late at Cambray met,
Brown as a berry is her hair, Which drew all Europe's eyes;
Her eyes as black as jet : 'Twas call'd in Port-Boy and Gazette
As smooth as, glass, as white as curde, The Quadruple Allies;
Her pretty hand invites; But somebody took something ill,
Sharp as a needle are her words; So broke this party at Quadrille, &c.
Her wit, like pepper, bites : And now God save this noble realm,
Brisk as a body-louse she trips, And God save eke Hanover;
Clean as a penny dreft ; And God save those who hold the helm,
Sweet as a rose her breath and lips, When as the king goes over ;
Round as the globe her breast. But let the king go where he will,
Full as an egg was I with glee ; His fubje&s must play at Quadrille,
And happy as a king, Quadrille, Onadrille, &c.
Good Lord! how all men envy'd me!
She lov'd like any thing.
But, false as hell! The, like the wind,
Chang'd, as her sex must do ;
Though seeming as the turtle kind,
And like the gospel crue. Or like a March-harc mad.
If I and Molly could agree, Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;
Let who would take Peru! I drink, yet can't forget her ;
Great as an emperor should I be, For, though as drunk as David's low,
And richer than a Jew. I love her still the better.
Till you grow tender as a chick, Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
I'm dull as any poft ; If Molly were bat kind;
Let us, like burs, together flick, Cool as a cucumber could see
And warm as any toalt. The reft of womankind.
You'll know me truer than a dye; Like a fuck pig I gaping ftare,
And wish me better sped; And eye her o'er and o'er;
Flat as a founder when I lie, Lean as a rake with fighs and care,'
And as a herring dead. Sleek as a mouse before.
Sure as a gun, she'll drop a tear, Plump as a partridge was I known,
And figh, perhaps, and with, And soft as ülk my skin,
When I am rotten as a pear, My cheeks as fat as butter grown;
And mute as any fish.
BEING A NEW BALLAD,
Showing bow MR. JONATHAN Wild's Tbroad reai Hard is her heart as flint or stone,
cut from Ear to Ear with a Penknife, by Ma. She laughs to see me pale;
Blake, alias BLUESKIN, tbe bold Higbweyaning And merry as a grig is grown,
as be flood at bis Trial in the Old-Bailey, 1725. And brisk as bottled ale.
To the Tune of—“ The Cut-purse."
Ye gallants of Newgate, whose fingers are nice, Hearts, sound as auy bell or roach,
In diving in pockets, or cogging of dice; Are smit and ligh like me.
Ye sharpers so sich, who can buy off the noore;
Ye honester poor rogues, who die in your fhocs ; Ay me! as thick as hops or hail,
Attend and draw near, The fine men crowd about her;
Good news you thall hear,
(ear; But soon as dead as a door nail
How Jonathan's throat was cut from ear to Shall I be, if without her.
How Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at Straight as my leg her shape appears"
ease, were we juin'd together :
And every man round me may rob if he please.
When to the Old-Bailey this Blueskin was led, Knaves of old, to hide guilt by their cunning in He held up his hand, his indictment was read,
[Gons ; Loud rattled his chains, near him Jonathan food, Calld briberies grants, and plain robberies penFor full forty pounds was the price of his blood. Physicians and lawyers (who take their degrees Then, hopeless of life,
To be learned rogues) call'd their pilfering fees : He drew his penknife,
Since this happy day, And made a fad widow of Jonathan's wife, Now every man may But forty pounds paid her, her grief shall appease, Rob (as safe as in office) upon the highway. And every man round me may rob if he please. For Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, Some say there are courtiers of highest renown,
And every man round me may rob if he please. Who fteal the king's gold, and leave him but a Some cheat in the customs, fome rob the excise, crown;
(men, But he who robs both is esteemed most wise. Some say there are peers, and some parliamenca Church-wardens, too prudent to hazard the halter, Who meet once a year, to rob courtiers again : As yet only vençure to steal from the alcar : Let them all take their swing,
But now to get gold, To pillage the king,
They may be more bold,
[cold. And get a blue ribbon instead of a string.. And rob on the highway, lince Jonathan's Now Bluetkin's harp penknife hath set you ac ease, For Blueskin's sharp penknife hath set you at ease, And every man round me may rob if he please. And every man round me may rob if he please.
No trumpet's clangour makes his heroine start,
And tears the soldier from her bleeding heart. Designed for the Pastoral Tragedy of Dione.
He, foolish bard! nor pomp nor how regards. THERE was a time (O were those days renew'd!) Without the witness of a hundred guards Bre týrant-laws had woman's will subdued; His lovers sigh their vows. If deep should take ye, Then nature rulid; and love, devoid of art,
He has no battle, no loud drum to wake ye. Spoke the consenting language of the heart. What, no such fhifts ? there's danger in't, 'ris true; Love uncontrould insipid, poor delight! Yet spare him, as he gives you something new. 'Tis the restraint that whets our appetite. Bebold the beasts who range the forests free;
A CONTEMPLATION ON NIGHT. Behold the birds who fly from tree to tree; lo their amours see nature's power appear ! WHETHER amid the gloom of night I fray, And do they love? Yes-one month in the year. Or my glad cyes enjoy revolving day, Were there the pleasures of the golden reign? Still nacure's various face informs my sense, And did free nature thus instruct the swain? Of an all-wise, all-powerful Providence. I envy dot, je nymphs, your amorous bowers : When the gay sun first breaks the shades of night, Such harmless (wains !—I'm ev'n content with and strikes the distant eastern hills with light, ours.
Colour returns, the plains their livery wear, But yet there's something in these sylvan scenes, And a bright verdure clothes the smiling year; That tells our fancy what thë lover means. The blooming Aowers with opening beauties glow, Name but the mosly bank, and moon-light grove, And grazing flocks their milky fleeces show; Is there a heart that does not beat with love? The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arise,
To-night we treat you with such country fare: And a pure azure arches o'er the skies. Then for your lover's sake our author (pare. But when the gloomy reign of night returns, He draws no Hemikirk boors, or home-bred Stripe of her fading pride all nature mourns : clowns,
The trees no more their wonted verdure boaft, But the soft Thepherds of Arcadia's downs. But weep in dewy tears their beauty loft :
When Paris on the three his judgment pale'd; No diftant landscapes draw our curious eyes;
, ev'n now, while darkness clothes the land,
Yet still neethinks an author's fate I dread, The silver moon her western couch forfakes, Were it not safer beaten paths to tread
And o'er the skies her nightly circle makes ; Of tragedy; than o'er wide heaths to ttray, Her solid globe beats back the funny rays, And sccking Itrange adventures lose his way? And to the world her borrow'd light repaye
Whether those stars, that twinkling lustre fend, Are suns, and rolling worlds those luns attend,
EPIGRAMMATICAL EXPOSTULATION. Man may conje&ture, and new schemes declare; Yet all his systems but conjectures are.
From Mohock and from Hawkubite, But this we know, that heaven's eternal King,
Good Lord deliver me! Who bade this universe from nothing spring,
Who wander through the streets by night,
They Nash our sons with bloody knives,
And on our daughters fall; The spreading dawn another shepherd spies,
And if they ravish not our wives, The wakeful flocks from their warm folds arise ;
We have good luck withal. Refresh'd, the peasant seeks his early toil,
Coaches and chairs they overturn,
Nay carts most easily :
Good Lord deliver me!
EPITAPH OF BYE-WORDS.
Here lies a round woman, who thought mighty
odd When the pure foul is from the body flown, No more shall night's alternate reign be known:
Every word the e'er heard in this church about 'The sun no more shall rolling light bestow,
To convince her of God, the good dean did enBut from th’Almighty streams of glory flow.
deavour, Oh, may some nobler thought my foul cmploy,
But still in her heart she held nature more clever. Than empty, transient, sublunary joy!
Though he talk'd much of virtue, her head always
Upon something or other, she found better fun.
Imagin’d to live in the clouds was but comical.
In this world fhe despis'd every soul she met here,
MY OWN EPITAPH.
For the Opera of Mutius Scavola t. 'Th' immortal loul shares but a part of thee! Wuo here blames words, or verses, songs, or For thou were present when our life began,
fingers, When the warm duft shot up in breathing man. Like Mucius Scævola will burn his fingers.
Ah! what is life? with ills encompass'd round,
“ Nulla placere diu, nec vivere carmina poffunt, Thick all that treasure thou must leave behind; Thy heir with smiles shall view thy blazon'd
u Quæ scribuntur aquæ potoribus.” herse,
Or happiness terrestrial, and the source (muse; And all thy hoards with lavish hand disperse. Whence human pleasures flow, ring, heavenly Should certain fate th' impending blow delay, Of sparkling juices, of th' enlivening grape, Thy mirth will ficken, and thy bloom decay ; Whofe quickening taste adds vigour to the soul, Then foeble age will all thy nerves disarm, Whose soverein power revives decaying nature, No more thy blood its narrow channels warm. And thaws the frozen blood of hoary age, Who then would wish to stretch this narrow A kindly warmth diffusing ;-youthful fires span,
Gild his dim eyes, and paint with ruddy hue To suffer life beyond the date of man?
His wrinkled visage, ghaftly wan before : The virtuous soul pursues a nobler aim,
Cordial restorative to mortal man, And life regards but as a fleeting dream :
With copious hand by bountcous gods bestow'd ! She longs to wake, and wishes to get free, To launch from earth into eternity.
Annexed, in 1712, to Gay's " Wonderful Prre For while the boundless theme extends our thought, pbery," a bumorous treatise on the Meboks. Ten thousand thousand rolling years are nought. † An opera by Mr. Rolli, performed in 1721.
Bacchus divine, and my adventurous song, At Paradise (feat of our ancient fire) That with no middle flight intends to soar. He thinks himself arriv'd; the purple grapes, Inspir’d, fublime, on Pegasean wing,
In largest clusters pendant, grace the vines By thee upborne, I draw Miltonic air.
Innumerous ; in fields grotesque and wild Wheo fumy vapours clog our loaded brows They with implicit curls the oak entwine, With furrow'd frowns; when stupid, downcaft eyes, And load with fruit divine his spreading boughs; Th' external symptoms of remorse within, Sight most delicious! not an irksome thoughe, Express our grief; or when in fullen dumps, Or of left native ille, or absent friends, With head incumbent on expanded palm,
Or dearest wife, or tender sucking babe, Moping we fit, in silent forrow drown'd:
His kindly-treacherous memory now presents; Whether inveigling Hymen has trepann'd The jovial god has left no room for cares, Th' unwary youth, and tied the Gordian knot Celestial liquor! thou that didit inspire Of jangling wedlock not to be dissolvid;
Maro and Flaccus, and the Grecian bard, Worry'd all day by loud Xantippe's din,
With lofty numbers, and heroic strains Who fails not to exalt him to the tars,
Unparallel'd; with eloquence profound, And fix him there among the branched crew And arguments convictive, didst enforce (Taurus, and Aries, and Capricorn,
Fam'a Tully, and Demosthenes renown'd: The greatest monsters of the zodiac):
Ennius, first fam'd in Latin song, in vain
Drew Heliconian streams, ungrateful whet
With pains essay'd; but, abject still and low,
Borne on stiff pennons, and of war's alarms, And pour in crystal pure, thy purer juice; And trophies won, in loftiest numbers sings. With cheerful countenance and steady hand 'Tis thou the hero's breast to martial acts, Raise it lip high, then fix the spacious rim And resolution bold, and ardour brave, To the expecting mouth;—with grateful taste, Excit'it : thou check'st inglorious, lolling ease, The ebbing wine glides swiftly o'er the tongue ; And fuggish minds with generous fires inflam'sto The circling blood with quicker motion flies : O thou, that first my quicken'd soul didst warm, Such is thy powerful influence, thou straight Still with thy aid assist me, that thy praise, Difpell’n those clouds, that, louring dark, eclips'd | Thy universal (way o'er all the world, The whilom glories of the gladsome face ; In everlasting numbers, like the theme, While dimpled cheeks, and sparkling, rolling eyes, I may record, and fing thy matchless worth. Thy cheering virtues and thy worth proclaim. Had the Oxonian bard thy praise rehearsid, So mists and exhalations, that arise
His muse had yet retain'd her wonted height; From bills or steamy lake, dusky or gray,
Such as of late o'er Blenheim's field the foar'd Prevail; till Phæbus sheds Titanian rays,
Aërial : now in Ariconian bogs And paints their fleecy skirts with shining gold: She lies inglorious floundering, like her theme Unable to resilt, the foggy damps,
Languid and faint, and on damp wing, immerg'd That veil'd the surface of the verdant fields, In acid juice, in vain attempts to rise. At the god's penetrating beams disperse ;
With what sublimest joy from noisy town, The earth again in former beauty smiles,
At rural seat, Lucretelus recir'd:
When disappointed Strephon meets repulse, Where the white poplar, and the lofty pine,
Creating, from Phæbean rays secure, Till, reinforc'd by thy most potent aid,
A cool retreat, with few well-chosen friends, He storms the breach, and wins the beauteous fort. On flowery mead recumbent, spent the hours
To pay thee homage, and receive thy blefling, In mirth innocuous, and alternate verse! :
With roses interwoven, poplar wreaths
With beaked prow, rides tileing o'er the waves;" | And overlook'd the brim, alluring light,
Lesbian, or Cæcuban, the cheering bowl
Mov'd briskly round, and spurr'd their heighten'd Provence, or at the Celtiberian shores;
wit L'ith gazing pleasure and allonishment
To ling Macenas' praise, their patron kind.