Nor have I reason to complain,
She loves a more deserving swain.
But oh! how ill haft thou divin'd
A crime, that shocks all human kind;
A deed unknown to female race,
At which the fun fhould 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 fonnets burn;
And on the marble grave
A monument to after-times:
"Here Caly lies, by Calia flain,
"And dying never told his pain."

these rhimes,

Vain empty world, farewel. But hark, The loud Cerberian triple bark. And there-behold Alecto stand, A whip of fcorpions in her hand. Lo, Charon from his leaky wherry Beck'ning to waft me o'er the ferry. I come, I come,-Medufa! fee, Her ferpents hifs direct at me. Begone; unhand me, hellish fry: * Avaunt―ye cannot fay 'tis I.

*See Macbeth.

Dear Caffy, thou muft purge and bleed; I fear thou wilt be mad indeed. But now by friendship's facred laws, I here conjure thee, tell the caufe And Calia's horrid fact relate: Thy friend would gladly fhare thy fate.

To force it out, my heart muft rend: Yet when conjur'd by fuch a friend— Think, Peter, how my foul is rackt! These eyes, these eyes, beheld the fact. Now bend thine ear, fince out it muft; But when thou feeft me laid in duft, The secret thou fhalt ne'er impart, Not to the nymph that keeps thy heart (How would her virgin foul bemoan A crime to all her fex unknown!) Nor whisper to the tattling reeds The blackeft of all female deeds; Nor blab it on the lonely rocks, Where Echo fits, and liftening mocks; Nor let the Zephyrs' treacherous gale Through Cambridge waft the direful tale; Nor to the chattering feather'd race Difcover Calia's foul difgrace. But if you fail, my spectre dread Attending nightly round your bed: e

VOL. VII.

And

And yet I dare confide in you:
So take my fecret, and adieu.

Nor wonder how I loft my wits:
Oh! Clia, Calia, Calia

-*.

J

U

D A

A S.

B

Written in the Year 1731.

Y the juft vengeance of incensed skies Poor bifhop Judas late repenting dies, The Jews engag'd him with a paltry bribe, Amounting hardly to a crown a tribe; Which though his confcience forc'd him to restore

(And parfons tell us, no man can do more),
Yet through defpair, of God and man
accurft,
Heloft
He loft his bishoprick,and hang'd or burst.
Thofe former ages differ'd much from this;
Judas betray'd his master with a kifs:
But fome have kifs'd the gospel fifty times,
Whofe perjury's the leaft of all their

crimes:

See the lady's dreffing-room.

Some

Some who can perjure through a two inch board,

Yet keep their bishopricks, and 'fcape the cord.

Like hemp, which, by a skilful spinster drawn

To flender threads, may fometimes pafs for lawn.

As ancient Judas by trangreffion fell, And burft afunder ere he went to hell; So could we fee a fett 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 burft;

Who could forbear, that view'd each guilty face,

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

On Mr. PULTENEY's being put out of the council.

SIR

Written in the Year 1731.

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

Who interrupted him in all his leafings, Refolv'd that Will and he should meet no

more:

Full in his face Bob fhuts the council door;
Nor lets him fit as justice on the bench
To punish thieves, or lafh a fuburb wench.
Yet ftill St. Stephen's chapel open lies
For Will to enter-what fhall I advife?
E'en quit the HoUSE, for thou too long
haft fat in't,

Produce at laft thy dormant ducal patent; There, near thy mafter's throne in shelter plac'd,

Let Will unheard by thee his thunder wafte.

Yet ftill I fear your work is done but half: For while he keeps his pen, your are not safe,

Hear an old fable, and a dull one too; It bears a moral, when apply'd to you. A hare

Sir Robert Walpole, then prime minifter.

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