Imatges de pàgina
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Let prudence with good-nature ftrive
To keep efteem and love alive.
Then come old age whene'er it will,
Your friendship shall continue ftill;
And thus a mutual gentle fire

Shall never but with life expire.

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Written in the Year 1731,

POLLO, God of light and wit,
Could verfe infpire, but feldom

writ;

Refin'd all metals with his looks,
As well as chemifts by their books:
As handsome as my lady's page ;
Sweet five and twenty was his age.
His wig was made of funny rays,
He crown'd his youthful head with bays:
Not all the court of heaven could fhew
So nice and fo complete a beau.

No heir upon his first appearance,

With twenty thousand pounds a yearrents,

E'er

E'er drove, before he fold his land,
So fine a coach along the Strand;
The spokes, we are by Ovid told,
Were filver, and the axle gold
(I own, 'twas but a coach and four,
For Jupiter allows no more),

Yet with his beauty, wealth and parts,
Enough to win ten thousand hearts,
No vulgar deity above

Was fo unfortunate in love.

Three weighty causes were affign'd, That mov'd the nymphs to be unkind. Nine Muses always waiting round him, He left them virgins as he found 'em, His finging was another fault; For he could reach to B in alt: And by the fentiments of Pliny, Such fingers are like Nicolini*. At last the point was fully clear'd; In fhort, Apollo had no beard,

An Italian.

CASSINUS

CASSINUS AND PETER.

A Tragical ELEGY.

Written in the Year 1731.

TWO college fophs of Cambridge

growth,

Both special wits, and lovers both,
Conferring as they us'd to meet
On love, and books, in rapture sweet
(Mufe, find me names to fit my metre,
Caffinus this, and t'other Peter);
Friend Peter to Caffinus goes,

To chat a while and warm his nose:
But fuch a fight was never seen,
The lad lay fwallow'd up in fpleen.
He feem'd as juft crept out of bed;
One greafy ftocking round his head,
The other he fat down to darn
With threads of different-colour'd yarn;
His breeches torn exposing wide
A ragged shirt and tawny hide.
Scorch'd were his fhins, his legs were bare,
But well embrown'd with dirt and hair.
rug was o'er his fhoulders thrown;
rug; for night-gown he had none.

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His

His jordan ftood in manner fitting
Between his legs to fpew and spit in,
His ancient pipe in fable dy'd,
And half unsmok'd lay by his fide.

Him thus accoutred Peter found,
With eyes in smoke and weeping drown'd:
The leavings of his last night's pot
On embers plac'd to drink it hot.

Why, Cafly, thou wilt doze thy pate: What makes thee lie a-bed fo late? The finch, the linnet, and the thrush, Their mattins chant in every bush : And I have heard thee oft falute Aurora with thy early flute.

Heaven fend thou haft not got the hyps! How! not a word come from thy lips?

Then gave him fome familiar thumps; A college joke to cure the dumps.

The fwain at last with grief oppreft Cry'd, Calia! thrice, and figh'd the reft.

Dear Caffy, though to ask I dread, Yet afk I muft. Is Calia dead?

How

How happy I, were that the worst? But I was fated to be curft.

Come, tellus, has fhe play'd the whore?

Oh, Peter, would it were no more!

Why, plague confound her fandy locks: Say, has the small or greater pox Sunk down her nofe, or feam'd her face? Be cafy, 'tis a common cafe.

Oh, Peter! beauty's but a varnish, Which time and accidents will tarnish: But Celia has contriv'd to blaft Those beauties, that might ever last. Nor can imagination guess, Nor eloquence divine express, How that ungrateful charming maid My pureft paffion has betray'd. Conceive the moft invenom'd dart To pierce an injur'd lover's heart. Why hang her; though fhe feem focoy,

I know she loves the barber's boy.

Friend Peter, this I could excuse; For every nymph has leave to chuse;

Nor

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