In vain their charms display;
The luscious nectarine, juicy peach,
In richness, nor in sweetness reach
The lips of Jenny Gray.
To the sweet knot of Graces three,
Th' immortal band of bards agree,
A tuneful tax to pay;
There yet remains a matchless worth, There yet remains a lovelier fourth, And she is Jenny Gray.
ULL many a heart, that now is free, May shortly, fair one, beat for thee, And court thy pleasing chain; Then prudent hear a friend's advice, And learn to guard, by conduct nice,
The conquests you shall gain.
When Tabby Tom your Crop pursues,
How many a bite, and many a bruise
The amorous swain endures?
E'er yet one favouring glance he catch,
What frequent squalls, how many a scratch
His tenderness procures?
Tho' this, 'tis own'd, be somewhat rude,
And Puss by nature be a prude,
Yet hence you may improve,
By decent pride, and dint of scoff,
Keep caterwauling coxcombs off,
And ward th' attacks of love. Your Crop a mousing when you see, She teaches you economy,
Which makes the pot to boil: And when she plays with what she gains, She shows you pleasure springs from pains, And mirth's the fruit of toil.
THE PRETTY BAR-KEEPER OF THE
BALLAD XIV.
Written at College, 1741,
"RELAX, Sweet girl, your wearied mind, And to hear the poet talk, Gentlest creature of your kind,
Lay aside your sponge and chalk; Cease, cease the bar-bell, nor refuse To hear the jingle of the Muse.
"Hear your numerous vot'ries prayers, Come, O come, and bring with thee Giddy whimsies, wanton airs,
And ali love's soft artillery;
Smiles and throbs, and frowns, and tears.
With all the little hopes and fears."
She heard-she came-and e'er she spoke,
Not unravish'd you might see
Her wanton eyes that wink'd the joke,
E'er her tongue could set it free.
While a forc'd blush her cheeks inflam'd,
And seem'd to say she was asham'd.
No handkerchief her bosom hid,
No tippet from our sight debars
Her heaving breasts with moles o'erspread,
Mark'd, little hemispheres, with stars;
While on them all our eyes we more,
Our eyes that meant immoderate love.
In every gesture, every air,
Th' imperfect lisp, the languid eye,
In every motion of the fair
We awkward imitators vie,
And, forming our own from her face,
Strive to look pretty as we gaze.
If e'er she sneer'd, the mimic crowd
Sncer'd too, and all their pipes laid down;
If she but stoop'd, we lowly bow'd,
And sullen if she 'gan to frown
In solemn silence sat profound-
But did she laugh!-the laugh went round.
Her snuff-box if the nymph pull'd out,
Each Johnian in responsive airs
Fed with the tickling dust his snout,
With all the politesse of bears.
Dropt she her fan beneath her hoop,
Ev'n stake-stuck Clarians strove to stoop.
The sons of culinary Kays
Smoking from the eternal treat,
Lost in ecstatic transport gaze.
As though the fair was good to eat ; Ev'n gloomiest king's men, pleas'd awhile, "Grin horribly a ghastly smile."
But hark, she crics, My mamma calls," And straight she's vanish'd from our sight;
"Twas then we saw the empty bowls,
"Twas then we first perceiv'd it night; While all, sad synod, silent moan, Both that she went-and went alone.
She said: A youth approach'd of manly grace,
A son of Mars, and of th' Hibernian race:--
In flow'ry rhetoric he no time employ'd,
He came he woo'd-he wedded and enjoy'd.
Dido thus of old protested,
Ne'er to know a second flame, But alas! she found she jested; When the stately Trojan came. Nature a disguise may borrow,
Yet this maxim true will prove, Spite of pride, and spite of sorrow,
She that has an heart must love. What on Earth is so enchanting
As beauty weeping on her weeds! Through flowing eyes, on bosom panting What a rapturous ray proceeds? Since from death there's no returning, When th' old lover bids adieu, All the pomp and farce of mourning Are but signals for a new.
EPISTLE TO MRS. TYLER,
Ir ever was allow'd, dear madam,
Ev'n from the days of father Adam,
Of all perfection flesh is heir to,
Fair patience is the gentlest virtue;
This is a truth our grandames teach,
Our poets sing, and parsons preach;
Yet after all, dear Moll, the fact is
We seldom put it into practice;
I'll warrant (if one knew the truth)
You've cal'd me many an idle youth,
And styled me rude ungrateful bear,
Enough to make a parson swear.
I shall not make a long oration
In order for my vindication,
For what the plague can I say more
Than lazy dogs have done before;
Such stuff is nought but mere tautology,
And so take that for my apology.
First then for custards, my dear Mary,
The produce of your dainty dairy,
For stew'd, for bak'd, for boil'd, for roast,
And all the teas and all the toast;
With thankful tongue and bowing attitude,
1 here present you with my gratitude:
Next for your apples, pears and plumbs
Acknowledgment in order comes;
For wine, for ale, for fowl, for fish-for
Ev'n all one's appetite can wish for:
But O ye peas, and O ye pencils,
And all ye scribbling utensils,
Say in what words and in what metre,
Shall unfeign'd admiration greet her,
For that rich banquet so refin'd
Her eonversation gave the mind;
The solid meal of sense and worth,
Set off by the desert of mirth;
Wit's fruit and pleasure's genial bowl,
And all the joyous flow of soul;
For these, and every kind ingredient
That form'd your love-year most obe Jient.
ON THE NON-PERFORMANCE OF A PROMISE HE
MADE THE AUTHOR OF A HARE.
FRIEND, with regard to this same hare,
Am I to hope, or to despair?
By punctual post the letter came,
With P***ll's hand, and P***ll's name :
Yet there appear'd, for love or money,
Nor hare, nor leveret, nor coney.
Say, my dear Morgan, has my lord,
Like other great ones kept his word?
Or have you been deceiv'd by 'squire?
Or has your poacher lost his wire?
Or in some unpropitious hole,
Instead of puss, trepann'd a mole?
Thou valiant son of great Cadwallader,
Hast thou a hare, or hast thou swallow'd her?
But, now, methinks, I hear you say,
(And shake your head) "Ah, well-a-day!
Painful pre-em'nence to be wise,
We wits have such short memories.
Oh, that the act was not in force!
A horse!--my kingdom for a horse!
To love-yet be deny'd the sport!
Oh! for a friend or two at court!
God knows, there's scarce a man of quality
In all our peerless principality-"
But hold-for on his country joking,
To a warm Welchman's most provoking.
As for poor puss, upon my honour,
I never set my heart upon her.
But any gift from friend to friend,
Is pleasing in it's aim and end.
I, like the cock, wou'd spurn a jewel,
Sent by th' unkind, th' unjust, and cruel.
But honest P***ll!-Sure from him
A barley-corn wou'd be a gem.
Pleas'd therefore had I been, and proud,
And prais'd thy generous heart aloud,
If 'stead of hare (but do not blab it)
You'd send me only a Welch-rabbit.
THE SICK MONKEY.
EPIGRAM I.
A LADY sent lately for one doctor Drug,
To come in an instant, and clyster poor Pug-
As the fair one commanded he came at the word,
And did the grand office in tie-wig and sword.
The affair being ended, so sweet and so nice!
He held out his hand with "You-know, ma'am,
my price."
[your brother,
"Your price," says the lady-"Why, Sir, he's
And doctors must never take fees of each other."
APOLLO AND DAPHNE.
EPIGRAM II.
WHEN Phoebus was am'rous, and long'd to be
rude,
[wood,
Miss Daphne cry'd pish! and ran swift to the
And rather than do such a naughty affair,
She became a fine laurel to deck the god's hair.
The nymph was be sure of a cold constitution,
To be turn'd to a tree was a strange resolution;
But in this she resembled a true modern spouse,
For she fled from his arms to distinguish his
brows.
THE MISER AND THE MOUSE.
EPIGRAM III.
(FROM THE GREEK.)
To a Mouse says a Miser, "My dear Mr. [house?"
Mouse, Pray what may you please for to want in my Says the Mouse, "Mr. Miser, pray keep yourself quiet, [diet: You are safe in your person, your purse, and your A lodging I want, which ev'n you may afford, But none wou'd come here to beg, borrow, or board."
ON A WOMAN WHO WAS SINGING BALLADS FOR MONEY TO BURY HER HUSBAND.
For her husband deceas'd, Sally chants the sweet lay,
Why, faith, this is singular sorrow; [day, But (I doubt) since she sings for a dead man to She'll cry for a live one to morrow.
From grief to bliss, from Earth to Heav'n remov'd,
His mem'ry honour'd, as his life belov'd:
That heart o'er which no evil e'er had pow'r;
That disposition sickness could not sour;
That sense so oft to riper years denied,
That patience heroes might have own'd with
His painful race undauntedly he ran, [pride.
And in the eleventh winter died a man.
REI, MR. REYNOLDS. AT ST. PETER'S IN THE ISLE OF THANET. WAS rhetoric on the lips of sorrow hurg, Or cou'd affliction lend the heart a tongue, Then should my soul, in noble anguish free, Do glorious justice to herself and thee. But ah! when loaded with a weight of woe, Ev'n nature, blessed nature is our foe. When we should praise, we sympathetic groan, For sad mortality is all our own. Yet but a word: as lowly as he lies, He spurns all empires and asserts the skies. Blush, power! he had no interest here below; Blush, malice! that he dy'd without a foe; The universal friend, so form'd to engage, Was far too precious for this world and age. Years were deny'd, for (such his worth and truth) Kind Heaven has call'd him to eternal youth.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
EARL OF DARLINGTON,
ON HIS BEING APPOINTED PAYMASTER OF HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES.
The royal hand, my lord, shall raise
To nobler heights thy name;
Who praises thee shall meet with praise,
Ennobled in thy fame.
WHAT the prophetic Muse foretold is true.
And royal justice gives to worth it's due;
The Roman spirit now breathes forth again,
And Virtue's temple leads to Honour's fane;
But not alone to thee this grant extends,
Nor in thy rise great Brunswick's goodness ends:
Whoe'er has known thy hospitable dome,
Where each glad guest still finds himself at home;
Whoe'er has seen the numerous poor that wait
To bless thy bounty at the expanded gate;
Whoe'er has seen thee general joy impart,
And smile away chagrin from every heart,
All these are happy-pleasure reigns confest,
And thy prosperity makes thousands blest.
ON THE DEATH OF
MASTER NEWBERY.
AFTER A LINGERING ILLNESS.
HENCEFORTH be every tender tear supprest, Or let us weep for joy, that he is blest;
And shall no just, impartial bard be found,
Thy more exalted merits to resound?
Who giv'st to beauty a perpetual bloom,
And lively grace, which age shall not consume;
Who mak'st the speaking eyes with ineaning roll,
And paint'st at once the body and the soul.
AN INVITATION TO MRS. TYLER,
A CLERGYMAN'S LADY, TO DINE UPON A COUPLE
OF DUCKS ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE AU-
THOR'S WEDDING-DAY.
HAD I the pen of sir John Suckling,
And could find out a rhyme for duckling,
Why, dearest madam, in that case,
I would invite you to a brace.
Haste, gentle shepherdess', away,
To morrow is the gaudy day,
That day, when to my longing arms,
Nancy resign'd her golden charms,
And set my am'rous inclination
Upon the bus'ness of the nation.
Industrious Moll, with many a pluck,
Unwings the plumage of each duck;
And as she sits a brooding o'er,
You'd think she'd hatch a couple more.
Come, all ye Muses, come aud sing,—
Shall we then roast them on a string?
Or shall we make our dirty jilt run,
To beg a roast of Mrs. Bilton 3?
But to delight you more with these,
We shall provide a dish of pease:
On ducks alone we'll not regale you,
We'll wine, we'll punch you, and we'll ale you.
To morrow is the gaudy day,
Haste, gentle shepherdess, away.
TO MISS SPE.
FAIR partner of my Nancy's heart,
Who feel'st, like me, love's poignant dart;
Who at a frown can'st pant for pain,
And at a smile revive again;
Who doat'st to that severe degree,
You're jealous, e'en of constancy;
Born hopes and fears and doubts to prove,
And each vicissitude of love!
To this my humble suit attend,
And be my advocate and friend,
So may just Heav'n your goodness bless;
Successful ev'n in my success!
Oft at the silent hour of night,
When bold intrusion wings her flight,
My fair, from care and bus'ness free,
Unbosoms all her soul to thee,
Each hope with which her bosom heaves,
Each tender wish her heart receives
To thee are intimately known,
And all her thoughts become thy own:
1 As every good parson is the shepherd of his flock, his wife is a shepherdess of course. > The maid.
The landlady of the public house,
M primùm ante oculos, virili lasciva juventâ, Non temere attonites Fannia pulchra stetit, Ut mihi se gratus calor insinuavit in ossa
Miranti speciem, virgineumque decus! [non?
Dum partes meditor varias, & amabile-quid
Lustrandique acies magna libido capit;
Prodigus & laudum dum formam ad sidera tollo,
Subdolus en! furtim labitur intus amor.
Idalii pueri, Venerisque exercitus omnis
Exornat muito lumina feta dolo;
Hie currus, hic tela jacent, hic arcus Amoris,
Cypri posthabitis hie manet ipse jugis.
Nativis gena pulchra rosis vestita superbit,
Invalidam artificis spernere nàta manum;
Non tantas jactat vencres suavissimas horti
Incola, quando novis spirat amnoma comis.
Concinnis membris patet immortalis origo,
Illa Jovis monstrant quid potuêre mauns; Reginamque Cuidi, formosam Cyprida, reddit, Quicunque egregio ludit in ore decor! Quanta mihi nervos, heu, quanta est flamma mePectoris ut video luxuriantis cbur Pectoris eximia nymphæ-jam dulcè tumentis Jam subsidentis-sed cupit ante premi. Cirenmdat mediam cestus (mihi credite) nympInsignis cestus, quem dedit ipsa Venus: [ham Duke satellitium circa illam ludit amorum, Atque hilares ducit turba jocosa choros. Felix ante homines istius cingula zonæ
Qui solvas, felix, quisquis es, ante Deos! Omnes, tanta vines, nisi me, contingere posse Gaudia, vosque Dii, tuque puella neges.
WHEN Fanny, blooming fair,
First caught my ravisir'd sight, Pleas'd with her shape and air, I felt a strange delight: Whast eagerly I gaz'd,
Admiring ev'ry part, And ev'ry feature prais'd, She stole into my heart.
In her bewitching eyes
Ten thousand loves appear;
There Cupid basking lies,
His shafts are hoarded there. Her blooming cheeks are dy'd With colour all her own, Excelling far the pride
Of roses newly blown.
Her well turn'd limbs confess
The lucky hand of Jove;
Her features all express
The beauteous queen of love.
What flames my nerves invade
When I behold the breast
Of that too charming maid
Rise suing to be prest!
Venus round Fanny's waist
Has her own cestus bound, There guardian Cupids grace, And dance the circle round. How happy may he be,
Who shall her zone unloose! That bliss to all but me,
May Heav'n and she refuse.
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