Have done! have done! I quit the field,
To you, as to my wife, I yield:
As fhe muft wear the breeches
So fhall you wear the laurel crown,
Win it, and wear it, 'tis your own;
The poet's only riches.
THIS day, dear Bec, is thy nativity;
Had Fate a luckier one, fhe'd give it ye:
She chose a thread of greatest length,
And doubly twifted it for ftrength;
Nor will be able with her fhears
To cut it off these forty years.
Then who fays care will kill a cat?
Rebecca fhews they're out in that.
For fhe, though over-run with care,
Continues healthy, fat, and fair.
As, if the gout should feize the head,
Doctors pronounce the patient dead
But, if they can, by all their arts,
Eject it to th' extremeft parts,
They give the fick man joy, and praise
The gout, that will prolong his days.
Rebecca thus I gladly greet,
Who drives her cares to hands and feet:
For, though philofophers maintain
The limbs are guided by the brain,
Quite contrary Rebecca's led,
Her hands and feet conduct her head,
By arbitrary power convey her,
She ne'er confiders why, or where:
Her hands may meddle, feet may wander,
Her head is but a mere by-ftander;
And all her bustling but fupplies
The part of wholesome exercise.
Thus nature has refolv'd to pay her
The cat's nine lives, and eke the care.
Long may she live, and help her friends
Whene'er it fuits her private ends;
Domeftic bufinefs never mind
Till coffee has her ftomach lin'd;
But, when her breakfast gives her courage,
Then think on Stella's chicken-porridge;
I mean when Tiger* has been ferv'd,
Or else poor Stella may be ftarv'd.
May Bec have many an evening nap,
With Tiger flabbering in her lap;
But always take a special care
She does not overfet the chair!
Still be the curious, never hearken.
To any speech but Tiger's barking!
And when she's in another fcene,
Stella long dead, but firft the Dean,
May fortune and her coffee get her
Companions that will please her better!
Whole afternoons will fit befide her,
Nor for neglects or blunders chide her;
Mrs. Dingley's favourite lap-dog.
A goodly fet as can be found
Of hearty goffips prating round
Fresh from a wedding or a christening,
To teach her ears the art of listening,
And please her more to hear them tattle,
Than the Dean ftorm, or Stella rattle.
Late be her death, one gentle nod,
When Hermes, waiting with his rod,
Shall to Elyfian fields invite her,
Where there will be no cares to fright her!
ON THE COLLAR OF TYGER, MRS. DINGLEY'S LAP-DOG.
PRAY fteal me not; I'm Mrs. Dingley's,
Whose heart in this four-footed thing lies.
EPIGRAMS ON WINDOWS.
Moft of them written in 1726.
I. On a Window at an INN.
WE fly from luxury and wealth,
To hardships in pursuit of health;
From generous wines and coftly fare,
And dozing in an easy chair;
Pursue the Goddefs Health in vain,
To find her in a country scene,
And every where her footsteps trace,
And fee her marks in every face;
And ftill her favourites we meet,
Crowding the roads with naked feet.
But, oh! fo faintly we pursue,
We ne'er can have her full in view.
II. At an INN in ENGLAND.
HE glass, by lovers' nonsense blurr'd,
Dims and obfcures our fight:
So when our paffions Love has stirr'd,
It darkens Reason's light.
HE church and clergy here, no doubt,
Are very near a-kin;
Both weather-beaten are without;
And empty both within.
IV. At CHESTER.
MY landlord is civil,
But dear as the d-1:
Your pockets grow empty,
With nothing to tempt ye:
The wine is fo four,
"Twill give you a fcour:
The beer and the ale
Are mingled with stale.
The veal is fuch carion,
A dog would be weary on.
All this I have felt,
For I live on a fmelt.
And ftrangers delight to walk round 'em :
But as for the dwellers,
Both buyers and fellers,
For me, you may hang 'em, or drown 'em.
VI. Another, at HOLYHEAD *
NEPTUNE! Neptune! muft I still
Be here detain'd against my will?
Is this your justice, when I'm come
Above two hundred miles from home!
O'er mountains fteep, o'er dufty plains,
Half choak'd with duft, half drown'd with rains;
Only your Godship to implore,
To let me kifs your other fhore?
A boon fo fmall! but I may weep,
While you're, like Baal, fast asleep.
VII. Another, written upon a WINDOW where there was no WRITING before.
THANKS to my ftars, I once can fee
A window here from fcribbling free!
Here no conceited coxcombs pass,
To fcratch their paultry drabs on glass;
Nor party-fool is calling names,
Or dealing crowns to George and James.
Thefe verfes are figned J-K-, but written, as it is prefumed,
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