Men, learn'd, polite, and yet fo much the prig, 1
Their genius feems quite center'd in their wig;
Ferries and ferrymen, begrim'd like Charon;
Plump, chuckling priests, dreft gorgeously as Aaron;
Pulpit enthufiafts, foaming like mad Tom;
Coarfe vixins, ogling lewd in Notre Dame;
Pert, fallow, flipt-fhoed damfels, loosely drefs'd,
As.rifen from bed, and panting to be prefs'd;
Shades, which the gazer for Elyfium takes,
'Till his ftung-nofe fufpects the neighb'ring jakes;
Nuns, joking now, now fighing, "Flesh is grafs ;"
Friars, who catches roar, and toast a lass
An opera house, large as our city halls,
Fine action, words, fcenes, dreffes-dismal fqualls!
Round from Pont-Neuf the view fuperb and rich;
Grand keys; the river a genteel Fleet-ditch ;
Lame hackney horfes, as their drivers lean;
Figures unnumber'd, anti's to the spleen ;
Old wither'd cronies, in gaudy filks display'd;
Monks with toupees, and tonfors in brocade;
Tawdry, patch'd fempftreffes, befmear'd with fnuff;
Long-rapier'd pigmies, hid behind a muff;
Shoe-boys with ruffles; lacqueys drefs'd like qual-;
Such oddities! the town feems all a droll:
Turn where we will, our eyes new fplendors greet,
Whilst half the city glares a Monmouth street,
Still motlier, Vanity, had been thy fair,
If the fam'd painter, Bunyan, had been there.
THE BACHELOR's CHOICE OF A WIFE.
IF e'er I wed, my wife thall not be old, Deform'd, nor ugly, handsome, nor a scold; She shan't be pale, nor red, nor shall she paint; Shall be religious too, but not a faint;
She shall have fenfe; if not a wit, I'll take her : Give fuch a wife, ye Gods, I'll ne'er forfake her.
CUSTOM, alas! does partial prove,
Nor, gives us even measure;
A pain it is to maids to love,
But 'tis to men a pleasure.
They freely can their thoughts difclofe,
But ours must burst within;
Tho' Nature eyes and tongues bestows,
Yet Truth from us is Sin.
Men to new joys and conquefts fly,
And yet no hazards run; Poor we are left, if we deny ;
And, if we yield, undone.
Then equal laws let Custom find,
Nor thus the fex opprefs;
More Freedom grant to woman kind,
Or give to mankind lefs.
BY A WILFUL MISTAKE READING,
FOR "BUBBIES"
WHEN wife philosopher's explain
How gravity attracts,
The weighty pow'r they ftill maintain,
All in the centre acts.
Thus tho' of earth the smallest part
The heavy impulfe owns,
Poize but the middle point with art,
You balance all the zones.
Hence fages, when of fpheres they write,
At centers fix a letter,
And wifely call the body by't:
Take A, or chufe a better.
If then on things we fix a name,
We borrow from the middle,
How Mira's reading's not to blame,
No longer is a riddle.
For though, that white as hills of snow
A bubby is, most true be,
Peep flily thro' the gaufe, 'twill fhew
The middle is a ruby.
MISS COURTNEY TO MISS ANNE
THO' kind your words-how full of forrow! "Adieu! dear Bell-we part to-morrow !"
Farewel! dear fifter of my youth,
Ally'd by honour, love, and truth;
Farewel our vifits, fports, and plays,
Sweet folace of our childish days;
Farewel our walks to Park and Mall,
Our jaunts to concert, route, or ball;
Farewel our difh of fprightly chat,
Of who faid this-and who did that;
Critiques on fciffars, needles, pins,
Fans, aigrettes, ribbands, capuchins,
A long farewel! Conoly flies
To distant funs, and diff'rent skies!
A mufe in tears moves flow and dull
How weak the head, the heart fo full!
Slight forrows find an eafy vent,
And trifling cares are eloquent ;
Sad filence only can exprefs,
The genuine pains of deep distress;
Yet I cou'd rave in darken'd chamber
On feas of milk, and fhips of amber,
Like frantic Belvidera, when is
Perform'd the tragedy of Venice
Preferv'd-Oh! as I hope to marry,
Cibber is parted from her Barry;
This by the by, may serve as news
To-morrow on your way t'amuse,
It caufes great, great fpeculation-
Part of the business of the nation.
But hang digreffions- to return;
And must I three long winters mourn?
That tedious length fpun out and past
We meet-but how improv'd your taste?
Your figure, manner, drefs, and wit,
With all things for a Lady fit;
For, entre nous, my dear, our faces
Should be the least of all our graces ;
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