Man is the fly that hums and fings,
And in the candle burns his wings:
A cruel lot! an hard decree !

CHLOE's a fire, and touchwood we.

Some greater pow'r in heav'n above,
O mitigate this fated love!

For who expects a total cure,
Long as the fun and moon endure?

The CITY MOUSE and COUNTRY MOUSE,

A FABLE. From HoR. lib. ii. fat. 6. ver. 79. ad ult,

N times of yore, an honeft country mouse

Kindly receiv'd, within his homely houfe,

A citizen, an ancient trufty friend,
Whom he before had often entertain'd.
Our country hoft, inur'd to taking pains,
Was frugal, close, attentive to his gains;
Yet not to hofpitable deeds averse;
At feafons fit he op'd his heart and purse.
In short he fet before his welcome gueft,
Of what his cells afford, the very beft;
Dry'd raisins, bacon-flices, oats and pease;
Dainties, that mice of quality might please,
Our cit, difdainful, eyes the various feaft,
Tho' frankly preft, fcarce condefcends to tafte.
Meantime the frugal farmer, spread on straw,
With chaff and tares appeas'd his craving maw,
Commending to his gueft each tid-bit choice;
Town-mice, he knew, luxurious were, and nice.
At length the cockney filence broke :-My friend,
Çan mice of fenfe and taste endure to spend,

Joyle's

Joylefs, the lab'ring day and lonely night?
Can craggy rocks, and forests rude delight?
Better it were to quit this rugged fcene,
To view the town polite and ways of men:
Come, be advis'd, on me your guide rely :-
Since every earth-born animal must die;
And not a mouse exempt, or small or great,
Shuns the fure ftroke of unrelenting fate;
Reafon fuggefts, live merry, whilft

you can,

Enjoy each moment of life's rapid span.

Can mouse refrain, when pleasure gilds the bait?
With joy the ruftick quits his calm retreat;
Intent on mirth, like man's, his thoughtless mind,
Grafping the prefent, to the future blind.

Now both with nimble steps hafte o'er the plain,
In hopes by night the city walls to gain.

Now more than half her courfe the night had fped,
Loud fnor'd the rake fupine, dead-drunk in bed;
The drowsy watchman, the night-walking punk,
Cold, disappointed, back to cellar flunk;
All flept, fave needy bard in garret high,
Doom'd by stern fate to starve or verfify;
When, lo! a lordly structure's ample gate
Invites our travellers to call and bait.

Here ftately beds, and carpets richly dy’d
With purple fhone; there difhes, laid afide,
In tempting plenty ftood, delicious store,
Remains of what was dreft the night before.
Now lolls the fwain, on purple carpet plac'd,
Whilft well-bred Townly with officious hafte
Scuttles, intent on hofpitable cares,
And foon a feaft magnificent prepares.
Glad at the change of lot, his jovial guest
Riots fecure, mirth crowns the fplendid feaft.
Mean-time, a rattling crash of grating bars
Both from their couches on a fudden scares :

Away

Away they scamper; to perplex them more,
Dogs with terrifick bark inceffat roar.

Hardly, at length, our fain, fecur'd in chink,
From inftant death escap'd, gains time to think :—
Are these, my city-friend, are these your joys,
Perpetual tumult, all-confounding noise?
Adieu! deluded moufe; fecure from harm,
I'll reft contented in my little farm;
No danger threatens there; in peace I'll eat
My flender pulse, and bless the calm retreat.

SONNET. On the PowER of MUSICK.

To GRANTICOLA. See number iv. page 129.

WE

ELL haft thou wrote, GRANTICOLA, I ween, And reafon'd justly on the force of found: Let thofe, devoid of taste, indulge their spleen,

Untuneful elves, where-ever they are found.

When Orpheus went to Pluto's regions drear,
In hopes to win Eurydice again,
His artful mufick charm'd the monarch's ear,
Nor could he long refift the foothing strain.

What strange emotions Alexander felt,

When great Timotheus ftruck the fpeaking lyre,
Well-fkill'd to raise the hero, or to melt,

To kindle martial heat, or fond defire!
Such magick is in harmony divine,
Our paffions to command, our fouls refine.

A.

A RE

A RECEIPT for the GOUT.

In a LETTER to a NOBLEMAN.

H GOUT! the plague of rich and great!
Thou cramping padlock of the feet!
Oh GoUT! thou puzzling knotty point!
You nick man's frame in every joint ;
You, like inquifitor of Spain,

Rack, burn, and torture limbs to pain.
Firft, miner like, you work below,

And fap man's fortress by the toe :
If med'cine can the fmart diflodge,
From bone to bone you skip and dodge;
And when compell'd to quit the fect,
You wound, like Parthians, in retreat.
The restlefs humour upward flies,
As dregs disturb'd fermenting rise.
From ancle forc'd you climb to knees,
And run the round by fore degrees.
So the four fap from crab-tree roots
Begins below and upward shoots;
For when malignant juices flow,
Hard knotty knobs in fharpnefs grow.
Old Oedipus, the Theban king,
With fwelling feet felt gouty fting;
And tho' the fage could Sphinx explain,
The fage could ne'er unriddle pain.
Tho' Stoics talk of indolence,
Man's flesh retains a feeling ferife:
And what is worfe, the wounded part
Finds fmall relief from doctor's art;
Great WILMOT's fkill confounded ftands,

When patient roarsmy toe! my hands!
But as Apollo, god of wit,

Befides his phyfick keeps a kit,

N.

(No doubt to footh the patient's heart, When dofes can't remove the smart) This eafy lenitive admit ;

Perhaps a verse may lull the fit.

'Tis faid that bees, when raging found, Are charm'd to peace by tinkling found; Shrill lullabies in nurfe's ftrain

Affwage the froward bantling's pain,
When cutting teeth, or ill-plac'd pin
Moleft the tender baby's fkin;

So when Gout-humours throb and ach,
The prefent foft prescription take.
In elbow-chair majestick fit

In full high twinge, yet fcorn to fret;
Divert the pain with generous wine;
Read news from Flanders and the Rhine ;
Hold up the toe, like Pope of Rome;
Forbear to fcold, to fwear, and fume;
Let double flannel guard the part,
To mitigate the dreadful fmart;
Wrap round the joint this harmless verse
And let dame PATIENCE be your nurse.

F

To Mifs B P

EW of our fex, you fay, fincerely love;
'Tis man's beft priviledge unblam'd to rove.
Learn then, my fair, what arts will firmly bind,
And fix in conftancy th' unfettled mind.

When o'er our hearts triumphantly you reign,
Think not that beauty justifies disdain.

You too muft love; your breast in sweet return
With honeft warmth fhould undiffembled burn.

Happy the maid, and worthy to be bless'd,
Whose foul, entire by him the loves poffefs'd,
Feels ev'ry vanity in fondness loft,

And wants no pow'r but that of pleasing moft.

For

1