She, with soft fpeech, my anguish cheers, She wants affiftance more than I; When, among scholars, can we find To raise up Stella's virtue higher; Which had been latent in her breast. Her firmness who could e'er have known, Had the not evils of her own? Her kindness who could ever guess, Had not her friends been in diftrefs? From me, dear Stella, ftill be kind. In your own heart you'll reap the fruit, But, when I once am out of pain, Ο Ν ON DREAM S. AN IMITATION OF PETRONIUS. "Somnia quæ mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris," &c. THOSE dreams, that on the filent night intrude, For, when in bed we reft our weary limbs, The drowsy tyrant, by his minions led, The foldier fmiling hears the widow's cries, The statesman rakes the town to find a plot, And dreams of forfeitures by treason got. Nor lefs Tom-t-d-man, of true ftatefman mold, Collects the city filth in search of gold. Orphans around his bed the lawyer fees, And takes the plaintiff's and defendant's fees. His fellow pick-purse, watching for a job, Fancies his finger's in the cully's fob. The kind physician grants the husband's prayers, Or gives relief to long-expecting heirs. The fleeping hangman ties the fatal noose, The grave divine, with knotty points perplext, The hireling fenator of modern days WHITSHED'S MOTTO ON HIS COACH. 1724. IBERTAS et natale folum : LIB Fine words! I wonder where you ftole 'em. Could nothing but thy chief reproach Serve for a motto on thy coach? But let me now the words tranflate: Natale folum, my eftate; My dear eftate, how well I love it! My tenants, if you doubt, will prove it. *The chief juftice who profecuted the Drapier. They They swear I am fo kind and good, First, how to swagger in a court; And, fixthly, for my foul, to barter it You had good reason, when you ftole 'em. Sent by Dr. DELANY to Dr. SWIFT, In order to be admitted to fpeak to him, when he was DEAF, 1724. EAR fir, I think, 'tis doubly hard, DEA Your ears and doors fhould both be barr'd, Can any thing be more unkind? Muft I not fee, 'cause you are blind? * Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. Why am I robb'd of that delight, When you can be no loser by't? Nay, when 'tis plain (for what is plainer?) TH HE wife pretend to make it clear, 'Tis true, fay they, cut off the head, That where we find the members twain, Becomes his brother's lawful heir: And you shall find, by this device For every day you New vigour to the leg remaining. Sc, when an eye has loft its brother, You fee the better with the other. Cut |