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If Pope, the prince of poets, sick a-bed,
O'er steaming coffee bends his aching head,
The fools in public o'er the fragrant draught
Incline those heads, that never ach'd or thought.
This must provoke his mirth or his disdain,
Cure his complaint,—or make him sick again.
I too, like them, the poet's path pursue,
And keep great Flaccus ever in my view;
But in a distant view—yet what I write,
In these loose sheets, must never see the light;
Epistles, odes, and twenty trifles more,
Things that are born and die in half an hour.
What! you must dedicate, fays sneering Spence^
This year some new performance to the prince:
Tho' money is your scorn, no doubt in time,
You hope to gain some vacant stall by rhyme;
Like other poets, were the truth but known,
You too admire whatever is your own.
These wise remarks my modesty confound,
While the laugh rises, and the mirth goes round;
Vext at the jest, yet glad to shun a fray,
I whisk into my coach, and drive away.
The Author apologizes to a Lady, for his being a little man.
Natura nusquam magis, quam in minimis tota est. Pliny.
By Mr. L U N.
YE S, contumelious fair, you scorn
The amorous dwarf, that courts you to his arms,-
But ere you leave him quite forlorn,
And to some youth gigantic yield your charms,
Hear him—oh! hear him, if you will not try,
And let your judgment check th' ambition of your eye.
Say, is it carnage makes the man?
Is to be monstrous really to be great?
Say, is it wise or just to scan
Your lover's worth by quantity, or weight?
Aflc your mamma, arid nurse, if it be so;
Nurse and mamma, I ween, shall jointly answer, no.
The less the body to the view,
The foul (like springs in closer durance pent)
Is all exertion, ever new,
Unceasing, unextinguish'd, and unspent;
Still pouring forth executive desire,
As bright, as brisk, as lasting, as the vestal fire.
Does thy young bosom pant for fame;
Woud'st thou be of posterity the toast?
The poets shall ensure thy name,
Who magnitude of mind, not body boast.
Laurels on bulky bards as rarely grow,
As on the sturdy oak the virtuous mistetoe.
Look in the glass, survey that cheek———
Where Flora has with all her roses blush'd;
The shape so tender, looks so meelc,-
The breasts made to be press'd, not to be crush'dThen turn to me,—turn with obliging eyes, Nor longer nature's works, in miniature, despise.
Young Ammon did the world subdue, Yet had not more external man than Ij Ah! charmer, should I conquer you, With him in fame, as well as size, I'll vie. Then, scornful nymph, come forth to yonder grove, Where I defy, and challenge, all thy utmost love.
By the same.
MY Florio, wildest of his sex,
(Which sure the veriest faint wou'd vex)
From beauty roves to beauty;
Yet tho' abroad the wanton roam,
Whene'er he deigns to stay at home,
He always minds his duty.
Something to every charming she,
In thoughtless prodigality,
He's granting still and granting;
To Phyllis that, to Chloe this,
And every madam, every miss,
Yet I sind nothing wanting.
If haply I his will displease,
Tempestuous as th' autumnal seas,
He foams and rages ever;
But when he ceases from his ire;
I cry, such spirit, and such fire,
Is, surely, wondrous clever.
I ne'er want reason to complain,
But sweet is pleasure after pain,
And ev'ry joy grows greater;
Then trust me, damsels, whilst I tell,
I shou'd not like him half so well,
If I cou'd make him better.
An Extempore EPIGRAM.
IN soft Clarissa's form united shine
Such female ease and majesty divine,
That each beholder must with awe declare
Apelles' Venus was not half so fair;
But when the stores of judgment, wit and sense
Her lips with graceful diffidence dispense,
Each hearer owns, with pleasure and surprise,
That Homer's Pallas was not half so wise:
These diff'rent charms such different passions move,
Who sees must reverence, but who hears must love.
An Epistle from Mr. Alsop to Dr. Keil,
On his MARRIAGE.
DEAR John, if you are not bely'd,
You've chang'd your course of life;
You that so many nymphs have try'd,
To take, good Gods, a wise!
Os all the numerous semale scum,
What jade, the devil take her^
Could thus bewitch thee to become
Cuckold, from cuckold-maker.
Since thou art in-for't now, old friend,
And setter'd past retreating;
Give me, a husband, leave to send
To thee, a husband, greeting.
I who, hard fate! am forc'd to rove,
True to my nuptial vows,
And leave my country out of love,
An exile for my spouse.
But I, by heav'ns decree, remain
Blest on a foreign shore;
And hourly such delights obtain,
I need not wish for more.
Me a kind wise's embraces chear,
A lovely creature she;
Nor can the fun find out a pair
More hap'ly join'd than we.
fain would I hear the jests that pass, The mirth that's made on me;
Fain would partake the circling glass,
And vent my wit on thee.