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TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.
N beauty, or wit,
No mortal as yet
To queftion your empire has dar'd;
But men of discerning
Have thought that in learning,
To yield to a lady was hard.
With musty dull rules,
Have reading to females deny'd:
So papists refuse
The Bible to use,
Left flocks fhou'd be wife as their guide,
'Twas a woman at first,
(Indeed she was curft)
In knowledge that tafted delight,
And fages agree
The laws fhou'd decree
To the first poffeffor the right.
Then bravely, fair dame,
Which to your whole fex does belong;
From a fecond bright Eve,
But if the first Eve
Hard doom did receive,
When only one apple had she,
What a punishment new
Shall be found out for you,
Who tasting, have robb'd the whole tree?
OZELL, at Sanger's call, invok'd his Muse,
For who to fing for Sanger cou'd refuse? His numbers fuch as Sanger's felf might use. Reviving Perault, murd'ring Boileau, he Slander'd the ancients firft, then Wycherley; Which yet not much that old bard's anger rais'd, Since those were flander'd most, whom Ozell prais'd. Nor had the gentle fatire caus'd complaining, Had not fage Rowe pronounc'd it entertaining; How great must be the judgment of that writer, Who the Plain-dealer damns, and prints the Biter!
EGBERT SANGER ferved his apprenticeship with Jacob Tonfon, and fucceeded Bernard Lintot in his shop at Middle Temple Gate, Fleet-street. Lintot printed Ozell's tranflation of Perrault's Characters, and Sanger his tranflation of Boileau's Lutrin, recommended by Mr. Rowe, Anno 1709.
ON MRS. PULTENEY.
ITH fcornful mien, and various toss of air,
Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain,
She looks ambition, and she moves disdain.
Be what she was, and charm mankind once more.
A A 4
A FAREWELL TO LONDON
IN THE YEAR 1714.
EAR, damn'd, distracting town, farewell!
Thy fools no more I'll teize:
year in peace, ye critics, dwell,
Soft Bs and rough C-.-, adieu!
The lively H.-k and you
May knock up whores alone.
To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd
Till the third watchman's toll
Let Jervafe gratis paint, and Frowde
Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery
On every learned fot;
And Garth, the best good Christian he,
Altho' he knows it not.
Lintot, farewell! thy bard muft go;
Farewell, unhappy Tonfon!
Heaven gives thee for thy lofs of Rowe,
Lean Philips, and fat Johnfon.