In England the dead in woollen are clad,

The dean and his printer then let us cry fye on; To be cloath'd like a carcafe, would make a Teague mad,

Since a living dog better is than a dead lion.

Our wives they grow fullen

At wearing of woollen,

And all we poor fhop-keepers muft our horns pull in.

Then we'll buy English filks, for our wives and our daughters,

In spite of his deanship, and journeyman Waters.

Whoever our trading with England would hinder,
To inflame both the nations do plainly conspire;
Because Irish linen will foon turn to tinder,
And wool it is greafy, and quickly takes fire,
Therefore I affure ye,

Our noble grand jury,

When they faw the dean's book, they were in a great fury:

They would buy English filks, for their wives and their daughters,

In fpite of his deanship, and journeyman Waters,

This wicked rogue Waters, who always is finning,

And before corum nobus fo oft' has been call'd, Henceforward fhall print neither pamphlets nor linen,

And, if fwearing can do't, fhall be fwingingly

mawl'd:

And

And as for the dean,

You know whom I mean,

If the printer will peach him, he'll fcarce come off clean.

Then we'll buy English filks, for our wives and our daughters,

In spite of his deanship, and journeyman Waters.

THE PROGRESS OF BEAUTY.

1720.

WHEN firft Diana leaves her bed,

Vapours and fteams her look difgrace,

A frowzy dirty-colour'd red

Sits on her cloudy wrinkled face:

But, by degrees, when mounted high,
Her artificial face appears

Down from her window in the sky,
Her spots are gone, her visage clears.

'Twixt earthly females, and the moon,
All parallels exactly run :

If Celia should appear too foon,
Alas, the nymph would be undone!

To fee her from her pillow rife,

All reeking in a cloudy fteam,

Crack'd lips, foul teeth, and gummy eyes,
Poor Strephon! how would he blafpheme!

Three

Three colours, black, and red, and white,
So graceful in their proper place,
Remove them to a different fite,

They form a frightful hideous face:

For inftance, when the lily fkips
Into the precincts of the rose,
And takes poffeffion of the lips,
Leaving the purple to the nofe:

So Celia went intire to bed,

All her complexion safe and found;
But, when she rofe, white, black, and red,
Though still in fight, had chang'd their ground.

The black, which would not be confin'd,
A more inferior ftation feeks,

Leaving the fiery red behind,

And mingles in her muddy cheeks.

But Celia can with eafe reduce,

By help of pencil, paint, and brush,
Each colour to its place and ufe,
And teach her cheeks again to blush.

She knows her early self no more,

But fill'd with admiration ftands

As other painters oft' adore

The workmanship of their own hands.

Thus, after four important hours,

Celia's the wonder of her fex:

Say, which among the heavenly powers
Could caufe fuch marvellous effects?

7

Venus,

Venus, indulgent to her kind,

Gave women all their hearts could wish,
When first she taught them where to find
White-lead and Lufitanian * dish.

Love with white-lead cements his wings;
White-lead was fent us to repair
Two brightest, brittleft, earthly things,
A lady's face, and China-ware.

She ventures now to lift the fash ;
The window is her proper fphere :
Ah, lovely nymph! be not too rash,
Nor let the beaux approach too near.

Take pattern by your fifter ftar :

Delude at once and bless our fight; When you are feen, be feen from far, And chiefly choose to fhine by night.

But art no longer can prevail,

When the materials all are gone; The beft mechanic hand must fail, Where nothing's left to work upon.

Matter, as wife logicians fay,

Cannot without a form fubfift

And form, fay I as well as they,
Must fail, if matter brings no grift,

And this is fair Diana's cafe ;

For all aftrologers maintain,

Each night a bit drops off her face,

When mortals fay fhe's in her wane:

• Portugal.

While

While Partridge * wifely fhews the cause
Efficient of the moon's decay,
That Cancer with his poisonous claws
Attacks her in the milky way:

But Gadbury, in art profound,

From her pale cheeks pretends to fhow,
That fwain Endymion is not found,
Or elfe that Mercury's her foe.

But, let the cause be what it will,

In half a month fhe looks fo thin, That Flamfteed † can, with all his fkill, See but her forehead and her chin.

Yet, as fhe waftes, fhe grows difcreet,
Till midnight never fhews her head :
So rotting Celia ftrolls the ftreet,
When fober folks are all a-bed:

For fure, if this be Luna's fate,
Poor Celia, but of mortal race,

In vain expects a longer date

To the materials of her face.

When Mercury her treffes mows,

To think of black-lead combs is vain §

No painting can reftore a nofe,

Nor will her teeth return again.

Ye powers, who over love prefide!

Since mortal beauties drop fo foon,

If ye would have us well fupply'd,

Send us new nymphs with each new moon!

Partridge and Gadbury wrote each an ephemeris.

John Flamfeed, the celebrated aftronomer royal.