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I hear the beat of Jacob's 3 drums,
Poor Ovid finds no quarter ! See first the merry P
In haste without his garter.
Then lords and lordlings, 'squires and knights,
Wits, witlings, prigs, and peers : Garth at St. James's, and at White's,
Beats up for volunteers.
What Fenton will not do, nor Gay,
Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan, Tom Burnet, or Tom D'Urfey may,
John Dunton, Steele, or any one.
If justice Philips' costive head
Some frigid rhymes disburses: They shall like Persian tales be read,
And glad both babes and nurses.
Let Warwick's Muse with Ash-t join,
And Ozell's with Lord Hervey's, Tickell and Addison combine,
And Pope translate with Jervas.
I himself, that lively lord,
Who bows to every lady,
And be like Tate and Brady.
3 Old Jacob Tonson, the publisher of the Metamorphoses. • Perhaps Pembroke.
Ye ladies, too, draw forth your pen;
where can the hurt lie? Since
have brains as well as men, As witness Lady Wortley.
Now, Tonson, list thy forces all,
Review them and tell noses : For to poor Ovid shall befall
A strange metamorphosis;
A metamorphosis more strange
Than all his books can vapour“ To what (quoth 'squire) shall Ovid change ?"
Quoth Sandys, “ To waste paper."
Close to the best known author Umbra sits, The constant index to old Button's wits, “Who's here?” cries Umbra : “Only Johnson.”2
_"0! Your slave," and exit; but returns with Rowe: “ Dear Rowe, let's sit and talk of tragedies :" Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies. Then up comes Steele : he turns upon his heel, And in a moment fastens upon Steele;
1 Intended, it is said, for Ambrose Philips
Charles Johnson, a third rate dramatist.
But cries as soon, “ Dear Dick, I must be gone,
Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam ;
SYLVIA, A FRAGMENT."
Sylvia my heart in wondrous wise alarm’d,
and without beauty charm’d:
1 Introduced, with some alterations, into the Second of the Moral Epistles, Of the Characters of Women
Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; But every
woman's in her soul a rake. Frail, feverish sex; their fit now chills, now burns: Atheism and superstition rule by turns ; And a mere heathen in the carnal part, Is still a sad good Christian at her heart.
IMPROMPTU, TO LADY WINCHELSEA."
OCCASIONED BY FOUR SATIRICAL VERSES ON WOMEN WITS,
IN THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.
boast poetic names of yore, And cite those Sapphos we admire no more: Fate doom'd the fall of every female wit ; But doom'd it then, when first Ardelia writ. Of all examples by the world confess'd, I knew Ardelia could not quote the best ; Who, like her mistress on Britannia's throne, Fights and subdues in quarrels not her own. To write their praise you but in vain essay; E'en while you write, you take that praise away: Light to the stars the sun does thus restore, But shines himself till they are seen no more.
1 Authoress of a volume of poems, some of which possess
very great merit.
A BISHOP by his neighbours hated
EPIGRAM, ON THE FEUDS ABOUT HANDEL
STRANGE! all this difference should be 'Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!
ON MRS. TOFTS, A CELEBRATED OPERA
So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus
along : But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride, That the beasts must have starv'd, and the poet