And ye! whose souls are held

Like linnets in a cage,

Who talk of fetters, links and chains,
Attend, and imitate my strains;

"O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!"

25

And you! who boast or grieve

What horrid wars ye wage,

Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye,

Yet mean as I do, when I sigh,

"O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!"

30

Hence ev'ry fond conceit

Of shepherd or of sage;

"Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way,

Expresses all you have to say,

"O sweet! O sweet Anne Page !"

THE INVIDIOUS.

MART.

O FORTUNE! if my pray'r of old
Was ne'er solicitous for gold,
With better grace thou may'st allow
My suppliant wish, that asks it now;
Yet think not, Goddess! I require it
For the same end your clowns desire it.

35

6

In a well-made effectual string

Fain would I see Lividio swing;

Hear him from Tyburn's height haranguing;
But such a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O Goddess! store of pelf,
And he will tie the knot himself.

THE PRICE OF AN EQUIPAGE.

Servum si potes, Ole, non habere,

Et regem potes, Ole, non habere.

"If thou from Fortune dost no servant crave,
"Believe me thou no master need'st to have."

I ASK'D a friend, amidst the throng,
Whose coach it was that trail'd along?
"The gilded coach there-don't ye mind?
"That with the footmen stuck behind."

12

MART.

"O, Sir!" says he, "what! han't you seen it? 5 "Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it. ""Tis odd, methinhs, you have forgot

"Your friend, your neighbour, and--what not! "Your old acquaintance Damon !—“ True; "But faith his equipage is new."

"Bless me!" said I, "where can it end? "What madness has possess'd my friend? "Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest, "Their stomachs, doubtless, not the smallest!

ΤΟ

And ye! whose souls are held

Like linnets in a cage,

Who talk of fetters, links and chains,

Attend, and imitate my strains;

"O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!"

25

And you! who boast or grieve

What horrid wars ye wage,

Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye,
Yet mean as I do, when I sigh,

"O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!"

30

Hence ev'ry fond conceit

Of shepherd or of sage;

'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way,

Expresses all you have to say,

"O sweet! O sweet Anne Page !"

35

THE INVIDIOUS.

O FORTUNE! if my pray'r of old
Was ne'er solicitous for gold,

MART.

With better grace thou may'st allow
My suppliant wish, that asks it now;
Yet think not, Goddess! I require it
For the same end your clowns desire it.

6

In a well-made effectual string

Fain would I see Lividio swing;

Hear him from Tyburn's height haranguing;
But such a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O Goddess! store of pelf,
And he will tie the knot himself.

THE PRICE OF AN EQUIPAGE.

Servum si pot s, Oie, non habere,

Et regem potes, Ole, non habere.

"If thou from Fortune dost no servant crave,
"Believe me thou no master need'st to have."

I ASK'D a friend, amidst the throng,
Whose coach it was that trail'd along?
"The gilded coach there-don't ye mind?
"That with the footmen stuck behind."

12

MART.

"O, Sir!" says he, "what! han't you seen it? 5 "Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it. ""Tis odd, methinhs, you have forgot

"Your friend, your neighbour, and-what not!
"Your old acquaintance Damon !" True;
"But faith his equipage is new."

"Bless me!" said I," where can it end?
"What madness has possess'd my friend?
"Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest,
"Their stomachs, doubtless, not the smallest!

IO

"Can Damon's revenue maintain,

"In lace and food, so large a train ?

"I know his land--each inch o' ground-
""Tis not a mile to walk it round-
"If Damon's whole estate can bear
"To keep his lad and one horse chair,
"I own 'tis past my comprehension."
"Yes, Sir; but Damon has a pension-

Thus does a false ambition rule us,
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flick'ring knaves,
He grows himself the worst of slaves.

HINT FROM VOITURE.

LET Sol his annual journeys run,

And when the radiant task is done,
Confess, thro' all the globe 'twould pose him
To match the charms that Celia shows him.

And should he boast he once had seen

As just a form, as bright a mien,
Yet must it still for ever pose him
To match-what Celia never shows him.

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