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M A CER:

A CHARACTER.

HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown,

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'Twas all th' ambition his high foul could feel,
To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steel.
Some ends of verse his betters might afford, 5
And

gave the harmless fellow a good word.
Set up with these, he ventur'd on the town,
And, with a borrow'd play, outdid poor Crown.
There he stopp'd short, nor fince has writ a tittle,
But has the wit to make the moft of little:
Like ftunted hide-bound trees, that just have got
Sufficient fap at once to bear and rot.
Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends,
Not of the wits his foes, but fools his friends.

So fome coarse country-wench, almost decay'd, Trudges to town, and first turns chambermaid ; 16 Aukward and supple, each devoir to pay ; She flatters her good lady twice a-day; Thought wondrous honest, though of mean degree, And strangely lik'd for her fimplicity:

20 In a translated suit, then tries the towni, With borrow'd pins, and patches not her own; But just endur'd the winter she began, And in four months a batter'd harridan. Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk, To bawd for others, and go lhares with punk. 26

SONG,

SONG, by a PERSON of QUALITY.

Written in the Year MDCCXXXIII.

I.
LUTT'RING spread thy purple pinions,

Gentle Cupid, o'er my
I a flave in thy dominions;

Nature must give way to Art.

. ,

5

II.
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,

Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
See my weary days consuming,
All beneath yon flow'ry rocks.

III.
Thus the Cyprian Goddess weeping,

Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth:
Him the Boar, in silence creeping,
Gor'd with unrelenting tooth,

IV.
Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers;

Fair Discretion, string the lyre;'
Sooth my ever-waking slumbers:

Bright Apollo, lend thy choir.

15

V.
Gloomy Pluto, King of Terrors,

Afm'd in adamantine chains,

1

Lead

Lead me to the crystal mirrors,

Wat'ring foft Elyfian plains.

20

VI. Mournful cypress, verdant willow,

Gilding my Aurelia's brows, Morpheus hov'ring o'er my pillow,

Hear me pay my dying vows.

25

VII. Melancholy smooth Mæander,

Swiftly purting in a round, On the margin lovers wander,

With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd.

VIII. Thus when Philomela drooping,

Softly seeks her filent Mate, See the bird of Juno stooping;

Melody resigns to Fate.

30

END OF VOLUME SECOND,

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