A week is now enough to pine
When puking lapdog cannot dine;

While grief as real fwells her eyes

When spouse as when her parrot dies.
The fop no longer fhall believe
Senfe ty'd to ev'ry modish sleeve,
Nor, confcious of his wants, presume
To measure merit by perfume;
That courage in Pulvilio dwells,
The boldest he who strongest smells:

1430

1435

To prove his fenfe no longer bring
'The doughty proofs of box and ring,
Strongly profeffing ne'er to know
An afs conceal'd beneath a beau.

Each taught by thee shall hence confefs

1440

Virtue has no regard for drefs;

That the bright nymph as often dwells

In homely bays as rural cells,

And in a ruff as fairly fhin'd

As now to modern peak confin'd;
Blushing thus half expos'd to view
Both herself and miftrefs too.

The widow pining for her dear
Shall curfe no more the tedious year,
In fighs confume each penfive day,
Nor think it long from June to May.
See how the pensive relict lies
Opprefs'd with spouse's fate and dies!

1445

1450

That Betty with her drops in vain

Recalls her flying foul again.

No colour now fo fair appears

As is the fable veft fhe wears,
To be her only garment vow'd,

Till death exchange it for a fhroud,
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 haste,
Five letters in a score misplac'd;
Marshall'd in rank they all appear
With no front vowels in the rear,

1455

1460

1465

Nor any out of fhame or dread

Sculking behind that should have led.

In ev'ry line they now demur;

1470

'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

THE LAST BILLET.

}

5

SEPTEMBER and November now were past When men in bonfires did their firing wafte, Yet ftill my monumental Log did last : To begging boys it was not made a prey On the king's birth or coronation day. Why with thofe Oaks, under whofe facred fhade Charles was preferv'd, should any fire be made? At last 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, whilst thus its owner pray'd: "Thou that art worshipp'd in Dodona's grove "From all thy facred Trees fierce flames remove; "Preferve this groaning Branch: O hear my pray'r! cc Spare me this one, this one poor Billet spare, "That having many fires and flames withstood "Its ancient teftimonial may last good

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

I'LL from

THE MAD LOVER.

my breast tear fond defire

Since Laura is not mine;

I'll ftrive to cure the am'rous fire,
And quench the flame with wine.

15

Perhaps in groves and cooling fhade

Soft flumbers I may find;

There all the vows to Laura made

Shall vanish with the wind.

The speaking strings 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 ftill 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 Thrafherwell! you 're gone to fea, And happiness muft ever banish'd be

From our flock-bed, our garret, and from me!

8

12

16

20

}

Perhaps he is on land at Portsmouth now
In the embraces of fome Hampshire 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 lie, 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'reft lift you in the Guard?
And had not you ten fhillings? my reward.
Did I not then before the Sergeant's face
Treat Jack, Tom, Will, and Martin, with difgrace,
And Thrafherwell before all others chufe,
When I had the whole regiment to loofe?

15

Curs'd be the day when you produc'd yoursword, 20
The just 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 sword you went:
Then I with fome more modesty would step; 26
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.

29