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That Betty with her drops in vain

Recalls her flying foul again.

No colour now so fair appears

1455

As is the fable vest she wears,
To be her only garment vow'd,
Till death exchange it for a shroud,
And her cold afhes kindly place
Once more within her lord's embrace!
The ladies pleas'd with thee to dwell
Afpire to write correct and spell:
We scarce behold, tho' writ in hafte,
Five letters in a score mifplac'd;
Marshall'd in rank they all appear
With no front vowels in the rear,
Nor any out of fhame or dread
Sculking behind that should have led.
In ev'ry line they now demur;.
'Tis now no longer Wurthee Surr!
With half our usual sweat and pain
We both unravel and explain,
Nor call in foreign aid to find

In myftick terms the fair one's mind.

Maintain, great Sage! thy deathless name;

Thou canst no wider ftretch thy fame

1460

1465

1470

1...!

1475

Till gliding from her native fkies
Virtue once more delighted flies,
By each adoring patriot own'd,

And boasts herself by thee enthron'd.

1481

THE LAST BILLET.

SEPTEMBER and November now were past
When men in bonfires did their firing waste,
Yet ftill my monumental Log did laft:
To begging boys it was not made a prey
On the king's birth or coronation day.

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Why with those Oaks, under whofe facred shade Charles was prefer v'd, should any fire be made? At laft a frost, a dismal frost! there came Like that which made a market upon Thame: Unruly company would then have made Fire with this Log, whilft thus its owner pray'd: "Thou that art worshipp'd in Dodona's grove "From all thy facred Trees fierce flames remove; "Preserve this groaning Branch: O hear my pray'r! 66 Spare me this oné, this one poor Billet spare, 15 "That having many fires and flames withstood "Its ancient teftimonial may laft good

"In future times to prove I once had Wood!" 18

THE MAD LOVER.

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I'LL from my breaft tear fond defire

Since Laura is not mine;

I'll ftrive to cure the am'rous fire,

And quench the flame with wine.

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Perhaps in groves and cooling shade

Soft flumbers I may find;

There all the vows to Laura made
Shall vanish with the wind,

The fpeaking ftrings and charming fong

My paffion may remove :

Oh! mufick will the pain prolong,

And is the food of Love,

I'll fearch heav'n, earth, hell, feas, and air,

And that fhall fet me free:

Oh! Laura's image will be there

Where Laura will not be.

My foul must still endure the pain
And with fresh torment rave;
For none can ever break the chain

That once was Laura's flave.

THE SOLDIER'S WEDDING,

A SOLILOQUY BY NAN. THRASHERWELL,

Being part of a Play called The New Troop.

My dear Thrasherwell! you 're gone to sea,
And happiness muft ever banish'd be
From our flock-bed, our garret, and from me!

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Perhaps he is on land at Portsmouth now In the embraces of fome Hampfhire fow, Who with a wanton pat cries, "Now, my Dear! "You're wishing for fome Wapping doxy here.""Pox on them all! but most on bouncing Nan, "With whom the torments of my life began: "She is a bitter one!"-You lic, you Rogue! You are a treach'rous, false, ungrateful, dog. Did not I take you up without a fhirt? Wo worth the hand that scrubb'd off all your dirt! Did not my int'rest list you in the Guard? And had not you ten fhillings? my reward.

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Did I not then before the Sergeant's face
Treat Jack, Tom, Will, and Martin, with disgrace,
And Thrafherwell before all others chufe,

When I had the whole regiment to loofe?

Curs'd be the day when you produc'd your sword, 20
The juft revenger of your injur'd word!
The martial youth round in a circle stood,
With envious looks of love and itching blood:
You with fome oaths that fignify'd confent
Cry'd, "Tom is Nan's!" and o'er the fword you went:
Then I with fome more modesty would step;
The Enfign thumb'd my bum and made me leap:
I leap'd indeed; and you prevailing men
Leave us no pow'r of leaping back again.

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THE OLD CHEESE.

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YOUNG Slouch the farmer had a jolly wife
That knew all the conveniencies of life,
Whose diligence and cleanliness supply'd
The wit which Nature had to him deny'd,
But then she had a tongue that would be heard,
And make a better man than Slouch afeard:
This made cenforious perfons of the town
Say Slouch could hardly call his foul his own;
For if he went abroad too much, she'd use
To give him flippers and lock up his fhoes.
Talking he lov'd, and ne'er was more afflicted
Than when he was difturb'd or contradicted;
Yet still into his story she would break
With "'Tis not fo-Pray give me leave to fpeak.”
His friends thought this was a tyrannick rule,

Not diff'ring much from calling of him fool,
Told him he must exert himself, and be

In fact the master of his family.

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He faid "That the next Tuesday noon would show "Whether he were the lord at home or no,

"When their good company he would entreat "To well-brew'd ale and clean if homely meat." With aking heart home to his wife he goes, And on his knees does his rafh act disclose, And prays dear Sukey that one day at least He might appear as mafter of the feast. Volume II.

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