Nor can be more fecurely plac'd
Than on a nymph of Stella's taste.
I must confefs, your wine and vittle
I was too hard upon a little :
Your table neat, your linen fine;
And though in miniature, you shine:
Yet, when you figh to leave Wood-park,
The scene, the welcome, and the spark,
To languish in this odious town,
And pull your haughty ftomach down;
We think you quite mistake the cafe,
The virtue lies not in the place :
For, though my raillery were true,
A cottage is Wood-park with you,

COPY OF THE BIRTH-DAY VERSES

ON MR. FOR D.

COME, be content, fince out it must,

For Stella has betray'd her trust

;

And, whispering, charg'd me not to fay
That Mr. Ford was born to-day;
Or, if at last I needs muft blab it,
According to my usual habit,
She bid me, with a serious face,
Be fure conceal the time and place;
And not my compliment to spoil,
By calling this your native foil;
Or vex the ladies, when they knew
That you are turning forty-two:

But, if these topicks fhall appear

Strong arguments to keep you here,
I think, though you judge hardly of it,
Good-manners must give place to profit.
The nymphs, with whom you first began,
Are each become a harridan ;
And Montague fo far decay'd,
Her lovers now must all be paid;
And every belle that fince arofe,
Has her contemporary beaux.

Your former comrades, once fo bright,
With whom you toasted half the night,
Of rheumatism and pox complain,

And bid adieu to dear champaign.
Your great protectors, once in power,
Are now in exile or the Tower.
Your foes triumphant o'er the laws,
Who hate your person and your cause,
If once they get you on the spot,
You must be guilty of the plot :
For, true or falfe, they'll ne'er enquire,
But ufe you ten times worfe than Prior.

In London! what would you do there?
Can you, my friend, with patience bear
(Nay, would it not your paffion raise
Worfe than a pun, or Irish phrafe ?)
To see a scoundrel ftrut and hector,
A foot-boy to fome rogue director,
To look on vice triumphant round,
And virtue trampled on the ground?
Obferve where bloody ***** stands
With torturing engines in his hands,

Hear

Hear him blaspheme, and fwear, and rail,
Threatening the pillory and jail:

If this you think a pleasing scene,
To London ftrait return again;

Where, you have told us from experience,
Are swarms of bugs and prefbyterians.

I thought my very fpleen would burst,
When Fortune hither drove me firft;
Was full as hard to please as you,
Nor perfons names nor places knew:
But now I act as other folk,
Like prifoners when their jail is broke.
If you have London ftill at heart,
We'll make a small one here by art;
The difference is not much between
St. James's Park and Stephen's Green:
And Dawfon-ftreet will ferve as well
To lead you thither as Pall-Mall.
Nor want a paffage through the palace,
To choque your fight, and raise
your malice.
The Deanry-house may well be match'd,
Under correction with the Thatch'd*.
Nor fhall I, when you hither come,
Demand a crown a quart for ftum.
Then, for a middle-aged charmer,

Stella may vye with your Monthermer;
She's now as handsome every bit,
And has a thousand times her wit,
The Dean and Sheridan, I hope,
Will half supply a Gay and Pope,

* A famous tavern in St. James's-street,

S 4

Corbet

Corbet*, though yet I know his worth not,
No doubt, will prove a good Arbuthnot.
I throw into the bargain Tim;

In London can you equal him?

What think

you of my favourite clan,
Robin †, and Jack, and Jack and Dan;
Fellows of modeft worth and parts,
With cheerful looks and honeft hearts ?

Can you on Dublin look with fcorn?
Yet here were you and Ormond born.
Oh! were but you and I so wise,
To fee with Robert Grattan's eyes!
Robin adores that spot of earth,
That literal spot which gave him birth;
And fwears," Belcamp is, to his taste,
"As fine as Hampton-court at least."
When to your
friends you would enhance
The praise of Italy or France,
For grandeur, elegance, and wit,
We gladly hear you, and submit:

But then, to come and keep a clutter,
For this or that fide of a gutter,

To live in this or t'other ifle,

We cannot think it worth your while;
For, take it kindly or amifs,
The difference but amounts to this,
We bury on our fide the channel
In linen; and on your's in flannel.

Dr. Corbet, afterwards dean of St. Patrick's,
R. and J. Grattan, and J. and D. Jackson.

You

You for the news are ne'er to seek ;
While we, perhaps, may wait a week:
You happy folks are fure to meet
An hundred whores in every ftreet
While we may trace all Dublin o'er
Before we find out half a score.

;

You fee my arguments are strong,
I wonder you held out fo long:
But, fince you are convinc'd at last,
We'll pardon you for what is past.
So-let us now for whift prepare ;
Twelve-pence a corner, if you dare,

1

JOAN CUDGELS NE D. 1723.

JOA

DAN cudgels Ned, yet Ned's a bully;
Will cudgels Befs, yet Will's a cully.
Die Ned and Befs; give Will to Joan,
She dares not fay her life's her own.
Die Joan and Will; give Bess to Ned,
And every day fhe combs his head.

A QUIBBLING ELEGY,

ON JUDGE BOAT. 1723.

To mournful ditties, Clio, change thy note, Since cruel fate has funk our justice Boat. Why should he fink, where nothing feem'd to prefs, His lading little, and his ballaft lefs?

Toft