Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors]

For, catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out, alive or dead.

Why, Strephon, will you tell the reft?
And muft you needs defcribe the cheft?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out of yonder corner!
But leave it fstanding full in fight,
For you to exercise your spite?

In vain the workman fhew'd his wit,
With rings and hinges counterfeit,
To make it feem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes,

Which Strephon ventur'd to look in,
Refolv'd to go through thick and thin.
He lifts the lid: there needs no more,
He smelt it all the time before.

As, from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus op'd the locks,
A fudden univerfal crew

Of human evils upward flew;
He ftill was comforted to find
That hope at laft remain'd behind.
So Strephon lifting up the lid,
To view what in the cheft was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent;
But Strephon, cautious, never meant

The

The bottom of the pan to grope,
And foul his hands in fearch of hope.

O! ne'er may fuch a vile machine
Be once in Calia's chamber feen!
O! may she better learn to keep
Thofe fecrets of the hoary deep*!

As mutton-cutlets, † prime of meat, Which, though with art you falt and beat, As laws of cookery require,

And roaft them at the cleareft fire;
If from tadown the hopeful chops,
The fat upon a cinder drops,
To ftinking smoke it turns the flame,
Pois'ning the flesh from whence it came,
And up exhales a greasy stench,

For which you curfe the careless wench:
So things which must not be expreft,
When plumpt into the reeking cheft,
Send up an excremental smell

To taint the parts from whence they fell;
The petticoats and gown perfume,
And waft a ftink round ev'ry room.

Thus finishing his grand furvey,

The fwain difgufted flunk away;

* Milton.

+ Primo virorum.

[blocks in formation]

Repeating in his am'rous fits,
"Oh! Calia, Calia, Calia fh-.”

But vengeance, goddefs never fleeping,
Soon punish'd Strephon for his peeping:
His foul imagination links

Each dame he fees with all her ftinks;
And, if unfav'ry odours fly,
Conceives a lady ftanding by.
All women his defcription fits,
And both ideas jump like wits;
By vicious fancy coupled faft,
And ftill appearing in contraft.

I pity wretched Strephon, blind
To all the charms of woman-kind.
Should I the queen of love refuse,
Because the rofe from ftinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the fcene,
Statira's but fome pocky quean.

When Calia all her glory fhows, If Strephon would but stop his nofe, Who now fo impiously blafphemes Her ointments, daubs, and paints, and

creams,

Her washes, flops, and every clout,
With which he makes fo foul a rout:

He foon would learn to think like me,
And bless his ravish'd
eyes to fee
Such order from confufion fprung,
Such gaudy tulips rais'd from dung.

The Power of TIME*.

Written in the Year 1730.

F neither brass nor marble can withstand The mortal force of Time's deftructive hand;

If mountains fink to vales, if cities die, And lefs'ning rivers mourn their fountains dry:

When my old caflock (faid a Welsh divine) Is out at elbows; why fhould I repine?

THE

REVOLUTION at MARKET-HILL.

FR

Written in the Year 1730.

ROM diftant regions Fortune fends An odd triumvirate of friends; Where Phoebus pays a fcanty ftipend, Where never yet a codling ripen'd:

* Scarron hath written a larger poem on the fame subject.

M 4

Hither

Hither the frantic goddess draws
Three fuff'rers in a ruin'd caufe:
By faction banish'd here unite,

A dean, a Spaniard, and a knight‡;
Unite, both on conditions cruel;
The dean and Spaniard find it too well:
Condemn'd to live in fervice hard;
On either fide his honour's guard,
The dean, to guard his honour's back,
Must build a caftle at § Drumlack:
The Spaniard, fore against his will,
Muft raise a fort at Market-bill.
And thus the pair of humble gentry
At north and fouth are pofted centry;
While in his lordly castle fixt

The knight triumphant reigns betwixt:
And, what the wretches moft resent,
To be his flaves muft pay him rent;
Attend him daily as their chief,
Decant his wine, and carve his beef.
Oh, fortune! 'tis a fcandal for thee
To fmile on thofe who are leaft worthy:
Weigh but the merits of the three,
His flaves have ten times more than he.

*The author.

+ Col. Harry Leflie, who ferv'd and liv'd long in Spain. 4

Sir Arthur Achefon. § See the poem called Drapier's Hill.

Proud

« AnteriorContinua »