"Tell me, inexorable fair!

"How could you, thus attack'd, forbear?"
"Swear to forgive what's past," she cry'd;
"The naked truth sha'nt be deny'd."
He did; the baggage thus reply'd:
"Deceiv'd so many times before
"By your false sex, I rashly swore
"To trust deceitful man no more."

IV. BACCHUS TRIUMPHANT.

A TALE.

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"FOR shame,” said Ebony, "for shame, "Tom Ruby! troth you're much to blame "To drink at this confounded rate,

"To guzzle thus early and late!"

Poor Tom, who just had took his whet,

And at the door his uncle met,
Surpris'd and thunderstruck, would fain
Make his escape, but, oh! in vain.
Each blush, that glow'd with an ill grace,
Lighted the flambeaus in his face;
No loop-hole left, no slight pretence,
To palliate the foul offence.

"I own," said he, "I'm very bad---
"A sot---incorrigibly mad---
"But, Sir---I thank you for your love,

"And by your lectures would improve:

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"Yet give me leave to say, the street
"For conference is not so meet.
"Here in this room---nay, Sir, come in,
"Expose, chastise me for my sin;
"Exert each trope, your utmost art,
"To touch this senseless flinty heart.

"I'm conscious of my guilt, 'tis true,
"But yet I know my frailty too;
"A slight rebuke will never do.

"Urge home my faults---Come in, I pray---
"Let not my soul be cast away.”
Wise Ebony, who deem'd it good
T'encourage by all means he could
These first appearances of grace,
Follow'd up stairs, and took his place.

The bottle and the crust appear'd,
And wily fom demurely sneer'd.

"My duty, Sir!"---" Thank you, kind Tom!"

'Again an't please!"---" Thank you!" "Come--"Sorrow is dry---I must once more---"

"Nay, Tom, I told you at the door

"I would not drink---what! before dinner?--

"Not one glass more, as I'm a sinner--"Come, to the point in hand; is't fit,

"A man of your good sense and wit,

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"Those parts which Heav'n bestow'd should drown, "A but to all the sots in town?

"Why tell me, Tom---what fort can stand

"(Tho' regular, and bravely mann'd) "If night and day the fierce foe plies "With never-ceasing batteries,

"Will there not be a breach at last ?"---
"Uncle, 'tis true---forgive what's past."
"But if nor interest nor fame,

"Nor health, can your dull soul reclaim,
"Hast not a conscience, man? no thought
"Of an hereafter? dear are bought
"These sensual pleasures."---" I relent,
"Kind Sir---but give your zeal a vent---"
Then, pouting, hung his head; yet still
Took care his uncle's glass to fill,
Which, as his hurry'd spirits sunk,
Unwittingly, good man! he drunk.
Each pint, alas! drew on the next,
Old Ebony stuck to his text,

Grown warm, like any angel spoke,
Till intervening hiccups broke

The well-strung argument. Poor Tom
Was now too forward to reel home.

That preaching still, this still repenting,
Both equally to drink consenting,
Till both, brimful, could swill no more,
And fell dead drunk upon the floor.

Bacchus, the jolly God, who sate
Wide straddling o'er his tun in state,

Close by the window side, from whence
He heard this weighty conference,
Joy kindling in his ruddy cheeks,
Thus the indulgent Godhead speaks:
"Frail Mortals! know, reason in vain
"Rebels, and would disturb my reign.
"See there the sophister o'erthrown,
"With stronger arguments knock'd down
"Than e'er in wrangling schools were known!
"The wine that sparkles in this glass

"Smooths ev'ry brow, gilds ev'ry face;
"As vapours when the sun appears,

"Far hence anxieties and fears:

"Grave ermine smiles, lawn-sleeves grow gay, "Each haughty monarch owns my sway,

"And cardinals and popes obey:

"Ev'n Cato drank his glass; 'twas I
"Taught the brave patriot how to die
"For injur'd Rome and liberty:
"'Twas I who with immortal lays
"Inspir'd the bard that sung his praise.
"Let dull unsociable fools

"Loll in their cells, and live by rules;
"My votaries in gay delight

"And mirth shall revel all the night;
"Act well their parts on life's dull stage,

"And make each moment worth an age."

90°

81

98

V. THE NIGHT-WALKER RECLAIMED.

A TALE.

In those bless'd days of jubilee,

When pious Charles set England free
From canting and hypocrisy,
Most graciously to all restoring

Their ancient privilege of whoring,

There liv'd, but 'tis no matter where,
The son of an old cavalier;

Of ancient lineage was the squire,

A man of mettle and of fire;

Clean-shap'd, well-limb'd, black-ey'd, and tall,

Made a good figure at a ball,
And only wanted wherewithal.

His pension was ill-paid and strait,
Full many a loyal hero's fate :
Often half-starv'd, and often out
Atelbows, an hard case, no doubt.
Sometimes perhaps a lucky main,
Prudently manag'd in Long-lane,
Repair'd the threadbare beau again;
And now and then some secret favours,
The kind returns of pious labours,
Enrich'd the strong and vig'rous lover,
His honour liv'd a while incloyer:
For (to say truth) it is but just,
Where all things are decay'd but lust,

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