Imatges de pÓgina

Nor have I reason to complain,
She loves a more deserving swain.
But oh ! how ill halt thou divin'd
A crime, that shocks all human kind;
A deed unknown to female race,
At which the sun should hide his face;
Advice in vain you would apply-
Then leave me to despair and die.
Ye kind Arcadians, on my urn
These elegies and sonnets burn;
And on the marble grave these rhimes,
A monument to after-times :
“ Here Cally lies, by Cælia slain,
" And dying never told his pain.”

Vain empty world, farewel. But hark, The loud Cerberian triple bark. And there-behold Alecto stand, A whip of scorpions in her hand. Lo, Charon from his leaky wherry Beck’ning to waft me o'er the ferry. I come, I come,—Medusa! see, Her serpents hiss direct at me. Begone; unhand me, hellish fry:

Avaunt—ye cannot say ’tis I.

* See Macbeth.

Dear Cally, thou must purge and bleed; I fear thou wilt be mad indeed. But now by friendship’s facred laws, I here conjure thee, tell the cause ; And Cælia's horrid fact relate : Thy friend would gladly share thy fate.

To force it out, my heart must rend: Yet when conjur’d by such a friendThink, Peter, how my soul is rackt! These eyes, these eyes, beheld the fact. Now bend thine ear, since out it must; But when thou seeft me laid in duft, The secret thou shalt ne'er impart, Not to the nymph that keeps thy heart (How would her virgin soul bemoan A crime to all her sex unknown !) Nor whisper to the tattling reeds The blackest of all female deeds; Nor blab it on the lonely rocks, Where Eche fits, and listening mocks; Nor let the Zephyrs' treacherous gale Through Cambridge waft the direful tale; Nor to the chattering feather'd race Discover Celia's foul disgrace. But if you fail, my spectre dread Attending nightly round your bed : Vol. VII. e


And yet I dare confide in

you: So take my secret, and adieu.

Nor wonder how I lost my wits : Oh ! Clia , Cælia, Cælia 16—*.





Written in the Year 1731.

BY Y the just vengeance of incensed skies Poor bifhop

fudas late repenting dies, The Jewsengag'd him with a paltry bribe, Amounting hardly to a crown a tribe; Which though his conscience forcd him

to restore (And parsons tell us, no man can do more), Yet through despair, of God and man

accurst, Helost his bishoprick,and hang’d or burst. Thofeformerages differ'd much from this; Judas betray'd his master with a kifs : But some have kiss’d the gospel fifty times, Whose perjury's the least of all their

crimes :

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Some who can perjure through a twoinch

board, Yet keep their bifhopricks, and 'scape the

cord. Like bemp, which, by a skilful spinster

drawn To Nender threads, may sometimes pass

for lawn.

As ancient Judas by trangreffion fell, And burst asunder ere he went to hell; So could we see a sett of new Iscariots Come headlong tumbling from their

mitred chariots; Each modern Judas perish like the first; Drop from the tree with all his bowels

Who could forbear, that view'd each

guilty face,
To cry ; Lo, Judas gone to his own place :
His habitation let all men forsake,
And let his bishoprick another take ?

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On Mr. PULTENÉY's being put out

of the council.

Written in the Year 1731.

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IR Robert*, weary'd by Will Pulteney's

teazings, Who interrupted him in all his leasings, Resolv'd that Will and he should meet no

more : Full in his face Bob shuts the council door; Nor lets him sit as justice on the bench To punish thieves, or lash a suburb wench. Yet ftill St. Stepben's chapel open

lies For Will to enter-what shall I advise? E'en quit the House, for thou too long

haft sat in't, Produce at last thy dormant ducal patent; There, near thy master's throne in shelter

plac'd, Let Will unheard by thee his thunder

waste. Yet ftill I fear your work is done but half: Forwhile he keeps hispen,your are not safe,

Hear an old fable, and a dull one too; It bears a moral, when apply'd to you. • Sir Robert ll'al; ole, then prime minister.


A hare

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