Adieu, ye

bobs! ye bags, give place!

Full bottoms come inftead!

Good Lord! to fee the various ways

Of dreffing-a calve's head !

The PROGRESS of ADVICE.

A Common CASE.

"Suade, nam certum eft."

AYS Richard to Thomas (and feem'd half afraid)

SAYS

"I am thinking to marry thy miftrefs's maid:
Now, because Mrs. Lucy to thee is well known,
I will do 't if thou bidft me, or let it alone.

Nay don't make a jeft on't; 'tis no jest to me;
For 'faith I'm in earnest, so pr`ythee be free.

I have no fault to find with the girl fince I knew her,
But I'd have thy advice, ere I tye myself to her."

Said Thomas to Richard, "To fpeak my opinion.
There is not fuch a bitch in king George's dominion,
And I firmly believe, if thou knew'ft her as I do,
Thou wouldst chufe out a whipping-poft, first to be ty’d to.

She's peevish, he's thievifh, fhe's ugly, fhe's old,
And a liar, and a fool, and a flut, and a fcold."
Next day Richard haften'd to church and was wed,
And ere night had inform'd her what Thomas had faid.

A BAL

"Trahit fua quemque voluptas."

ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young fquire,

FR

To bring down a wife, whom the fwains might admire: But, in fpite of whatever the mortal could fay,

The goddess objected the length of the way!

To give up the opera, the park, and the ball,
For to view the ftag's horns in an old country-hall;
To have neither China nor India to fee!

Nor a laceman to plague in a morning-not she!

To forfake the dear play-houfe, Quin, Garrick, and Clive,
Who by dint of mere humour had kept her alive;
To forego the full box for his lonesome abode,

O heavens! fhe fhould faint, fhe fhould die on the road;
To forego the gay fashions and geftures of France,
And leave dear Augufte in the midst of the dance,
And Harlequin too!—'twas in vain to require it ;
And the wonder'd how folks had the face to defire it.
She might yield to refign the sweet-fingers of Ruckholt,
Where the citizen-matron feduces her cuckold;

But Ranelagh foon would her footsteps recall,

And the mufic, the lamps, and the glare of Vauxhall. To be fure she could breathe no where elfe but in town, Thus the talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown; But the while honeft Harry defpair'd to fucceed,

A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed.

SLEN

SLENDER's Ghoft. Vide SHAKESPEAR.

ENEATH a church-yard yew,

BE

Decay'd and worn with age,

At dusk of eve methought I spy'd

Poor Slender's ghost, that whimpering cryed,
O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

Ye gentle bards! give ear!

Who talk of amorous rage,

Who spoil the lily, rob the rose,

Come learn of me to weep your woes:
O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!
Why should fuch labour'd strains
Your formal Muse engage?

I never dreamt of flame or dart,
That fir'd my breast or pierc'd my heart,
But figh'd, O fweet Anne Page!

And you! whofe love-fick minds
No med'cine can affuage!
Accufe the leech's art no more,
But learn of Slender to deplore;

O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

And ye! whofe fouls are held,
Like linnets in a cage!

Who talk of fetters, links, and chains,
Attend and imitate my ftrains!

O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

And you who boast or grieve,
What horrid wars we wage!

Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye;
Yet mean as I do, when I figh,
O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

Hence every fond conceit

Of shepherd or of fage;

'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way
Expreffes all you have to fay,
O fweet, O fweet Anne Page!

The INVIDIOUS.

MART.

Fortune! if my prayer of old
Was ne'er folicitous for gold,
With better grace thou may'ft allow
My fuppliant wish, that asks it now.
Yet think not! goddefs! I require it
For the fame end your clowns defire it.
In a well-made effectual string,

Fain would I fee Lividio fwing!

Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing,
But fuch a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O goddess! ftore of pelf,

And he will tye the knot himself.

The

I

The PRICE of an EQUIPAGE.

"Servum fi potes, Ole, non habere, "Et regem potes, Ole, non habere."

Afk'd a friend amidst the throng,

Whofe coach it was that trail'd along: "The gilded coach there-don't ye mind? That with the footmen ftuck behind."

O Sir! fays he, what! han't you seen it? 'Tis Damon's coach, and Damon in it. 'Tis odd, methinks, you have forgot

MART.

Your friend, your neighbour, and-what not!
Your old acquaintance Damon!
"True;

But faith his equipage is new.”

"Blefs me, faid I, where can it end? What madness has poffefs'd my friend? Four powder'd flaves, and those the tallest, Their ftomachs doubtlefs not the smallest! Can Damon's revenue maintain

In lace and food, fo large a train?

I know his land-each inch of ground-
'Tis not a mile to walk it round-
If Damon's whole eftate can bear
To keep his lad and one-horfe chair,
I own 'tis paft my comprehenfion."
Yes, Sir, but Damon has a penfion-