And now fhe vomits forth the din
Of oyfter-wenches drunk with gin.
Nay, rumour fcruples not to tell ye,
The ftrumpet kick'd the matron's belly,
Of the fair coming birth afraid;
For black abortion was her trade.

CORINNA VINDICATED.

CORINNA, Virtue's child, and chaste

As veftal maid of yore,
Nor fought the nuptial rites in hafte,
Nor yet those rites forfwore.

Her, many a worthless knight, to wed,
Purfu'd in various shapes;
But fhe, tho' chufing not to lead,
Would not be led by-apes.

Roysters they were, and each a mere
Penelope's gallant;

They eat and drank up all her cheer,
And lov'd her into want.

See her by Walpole firft addrefs'd, (But Walpole caught a tartar)

Him while an ill-earn'd ribband grac'd,

She wore a nobler garter.

A pair of brothers next advance,
Alike for bufinefs fit:

The filly 'gan to kick and prance,
And fpurn the Pelham bit.

But who comes next? O well I ken
Him playing faft and loose;
Ceafe, Fox, the prey will ne'er be thine,
Corinna's not a goofe.

See, laft the man by heav'n defign'd,
To make Corinna bleft;
To ev'ry virtuous act inclin'd,
All patriot in his breast.

He woo'd the fair with manly fense,
And, flattery apart,
By dint of fterling eloquence,

Subdu'd Corinna's heart.

She gave her hand-but left her hand,
So giv'n, fhould prove a curfe,

The priest omitted, by command,
"For better and for worse.”

SOME

STANZAS,

ADDRESSED TO NO MINISTER NOR GREAT MAN.

WITH all thy titles, all thy large estate,

And all the favours which a King can grant, Something is wanting ftill to make тHEE great, And still that fomething THOU wilt ever want.

For is it greatnefs, at a sumptuous board To feaft a county, and to hear thy name 'Mid noify revels rictoufly roar'd,

When longer than the banquet lafts not fame ?

Or is it greatness in the pomp of pow'r

Each morn a crowd obfequious to collect, Pleas'd to accept th' obeifance of an hour, When with the levee endeth all respect !

He who is great, fome nobler purpose shews :
Nor feafts nor levees His attention claim:
That which is fit and right he first pursues,
And after finds it justify'd by fame.

What tho' a fawning academic train,

O fhame to learning! on thy footsteps wait;
Tho' flatt'ring mufes in a courtly strain
Salute THEE pillar of the British state;

Yet

Yet in fair history's impartial page,

Penn'd nor in flatt'ring nor invective strain, Truth will report THEE to the future age

No statesman, but a courtier light and vain.

For hath THY civil prudence well upheld

The ftate, 'gainst foreign or dómeltic foe? Was fierce rebellion by THY counfels quell'd? By THEE averted Gallia's threaten'd blow ?

Where was thy forefight, when the Gaul prepar'd
To feize the provinces of Albion's realm ?
That foul difgrace with THEE tho' OTHERS fhar'd,
Yet feiz'd they were when THOU wert at the helm.

And tho' once more Britannia lifts her head,

By pow'rful nations fees herfelf rever'd, And hails her valiant fons by glory led

T'affault that realm whence late affault fhe fear'd;

Yet from their deeds no honour THOU can't gain, Tho' vict'ry's laurels fhould their brows entwine: For when did'ft THOυ their arduous toils maintain ? Or of their bold exploits which plan was THINE?

Did'ft THOU fecure the harveft of the land

Amid invafion's threat and war's alarm?

When martial weapons fill'd the reaper's hand,
Was it THY voice exhorted him to arm?

Have fleets and armies by THY orders mov'd
To diftant lands and oceans far remote ?
And when fuccefs those orders hath approv'd,

De crowds THY wisdom and THY spirit note

Yet in the triumph тHOυ affum'st a share,
Bustling, important, full of giddy zeal;
And vainly fit'ft with ministerial air,
A fly of state on glory's chariot-wheel.

STAN ZA S

ADDRESSED TO A GREAT MINISTER AND GREAT MAN.

WITH titles, honours, and a large eftate,
And all a favour'd fubject can poflefs,

Can aught be wanting still to make thee great,
Or can envonom'd flander make thee lefs?

For fure 'tis greatness nobly to difdain

The high. rewards that wait the statesman's toils, And rather, with unfparing hand, to drain

Thy private wealth, than share the public fpoils.

And fure 'tis greatness, to the Muse's choir
Thy foft'ring care and bounty to extend,

With royal fmiles her grateful train to fire,
And Attic grace with Spartan morals blend.

Who,