And now, the ladies all are bent
To try the great experiment,
Ambitious of a regent's heart,

Spread all their charms to catch a f—;
Watching the first unfav'ry wind,
Some ply before and fome behind.
My lord, on fire amidst the dames,
Fts like a laurel in the flames.
The fair approach the speaking part
To try the back-way
the back-way to his heart.

For, as when we a gun discharge,
Although the bore be ne'er fo large,
Before the flame from muzzlę burst,
Juft at the breech it flashes first:
So from my lord his paffion broke,
He f―d firft, and then he spoke,

The ladies vanish in the finother To confer notes with one another; And now they all agreed to namę Whom each one thought the happy dame. Quoth Neal, whate'er the reft may think, I'm fure 'twas I, that smelt the ftink. You smell the stink ! by G― you lye, Quoth Rofs, for I'll be fworn 'twas I, Ladies, quoth Levens, pray forbear, Let's not fall out, we all had share, Dd4

And

And by the most I can discover,
My lord's an univerfal lover.

A LOVE POEM

FROM

A PHYSICIAN to his MISTRESS.

*Written at London in the Year 1738.

BY poets we are well affur`d

That love, alas! can ne'er be cur'd; A complicated heap of ills, Defpifing bolufes and pills. Ah! Chloe, this I find is true, Since first I gave my heart to you. Now, by your cruelty hard-bound I ftrain my guts, my colon wound: Now, jealoufy my grumbling tripes Affaults with grating, grinding gripes: When pity in those eyes I view, My bowels wambling make me pew: When I an am'rous kifs defign'd, I belch'd a hurricane of wind. Once you a gentle figh let fall, Remember how I fuck'd it all;

* Dean Swift was not in London after the year 1727.

What

What colic pangs from thence I felt

Had you but known, your heart would
melt,

Like ruffling winds in caverns pent,
Till nature pointed out a vent.
How have you torn my heart to pieces
With maggots, humours, and caprices!
By which I got the hæmorrhoids,
And loathfome worms my anus voids.
Whene'er I hear a rival nam'd,
I feel my body all inflam'd,

Which, breaking out in boils and blanes,
With yellow filth my linen ftains.
Or, parch'd with unextinguifh'd thirft,
Small beer I guzzle till I burst :
And then I drag a bloated corpus
Swell'd with a dropfy like a porpus;
When, if I cannot purge or ftale,
I must be tapp'd to fill a pail.

On a PRINTER's being fent to Newgate, by

BET

ETTER we all were in our graves
Than live in flavery to flaves,

Worse than the anarchy at sea,

Where fishes on each other prey;

Where

Where ev'ry trout can make as high rants
O'er his inferiors as our tyrants ;
And swagger while the coaft is clear;
But fhould a lordly pike appear,
Away you see the varlet fcud,
Or hide his coward fnout in mud,
Thus if a gudgeon meet a roach,
He dare not venture to approach;
Yet still has impudence to rife,
And, like Domitian, leap at flies.

On the Little House by the Church-yard of Caftlenock.

WHOEVER pleafeth to enquire,

Why yonder fteeple wants a
fpire,

The grey old fellow poet * foe
The philofophic caufe will show.
Once on a time a western blast
At least twelve inches overcaft,
Reck'ning roof, weathercock and all,
Which came with a prodigious fall;
And tumbling topfy-turvy round
Light with its bottom on the ground.

* Mr. Beaumont of Trim.

For,

For, by the laws of gravitation,
It fell into its proper station,

This is the little ftrutting pile, You fee juft by the church-yard ftile; The walls in tumbling gave a knock; And thus the fteeple gave a fhock From whence the neighbouring farmer calls

The fteeple, Knock; the vicar, + Walls,

The vicar once a week creeps in, Sits with his knees up to his chin; Here conns his notes, and takes a whet, Till the fmall ragged flock is met.

A traveller, who by did pafs, Obferv'd the roof behind the grass; On tiptoe ftood and rear'd his fnout, And faw the parfon creeping out; Was much furpriz'd to fee a crow Venture to build his neft fo low.

A school-boy ran unto't, and thought, The crib was down, the black bird caught. A third, who loft his way by night, Was forc'd for fafety to alight,

+ Rev. Archdeacon Wall.

And