Imatges de pÓgina

And heave her Bosom, unaware,
For neighb❜ring Beaux to fee it bare.

AT length, a lucky Lover came,
And found Admittance to the Dame.
Suppofe all Parties now agreed,

The Writings drawn, the Lawyer fee'd,
The Vicar.and the Ring bespoke :

Guefs, how could fuch a Match be broke?
See then, what Mortals place their Bliss in!
Next Morn, betimes, the Bride was miffing.
The Mother scream'd, the Father chid;
Where can this idle Wench be hid?

No News of Phyl! The Bridegroom came,
And thought his Bride had skulk'd for Shame;
Because her Father us❜d to say,

The Girl bad fuch a bashful Way.

Now John, the Butler, must be sent,
To learn the Road that Phyllis went.
The Groom was wish'd to faddle Crop;
For, John muft neither light, nor stop,
But find her wherefoe'er fhe fled,
And bring her back, alive or dead.

SEE here again, the Dev'l to do!
For, truly, John was miffing too.
The Horfe and Pillion both were gone!
Phyllis, it feems, was fled with John.




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OLD Madam, who went up to find
What Papers Phyl had left behind,
A Letter on the Toylet fees,


my much bonour'd Father


('Tis always done, Romances tell us,
When Daughters run away with Fellows)
Fill'd with the choiceft Common-Places,
By others us'd in the like Cases;

"That, long ago, a Fortune-teller


Exactly faid what now befel her; "And in a Glass had made her fee "A Serving-Man of low Degree. "It was her Fate, must be forgiven, "For Marriages were made in Heaven: "His Pardon begg'd; but, to be plain, She'd do't, if 'twere to do again.

"Thank GOD, 'twas neither Shame nor Sin;

"For John was come of boneft Kin.

"Love never thinks of Rich and Poor, "She'd beg with John from Door to Door.

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Forgive her, if it be a Crime,

"She'll never do't another Time.

"She ne'er before in all her Life
"Once disobey'd him, Maid nor Wife.
One Argument fhe fumm'd up all in,
"The Thing was done, and paft recalling ;
"And therefore hop'd she should recover
"His Favour, when his Paffion's over!

" She

"She valu'd not what others thought her, "And was his most obedient Daughter.

FAIR Maidens all, attend the Muse,
Who now the wand'ring Pair pursues.
Away they rode in homely Sort,
Their Journey long, their Money short;
The loving Couple well bemir'd;
The Horse and both the Riders tir'd:
Their Victuals bad, their Lodging worse;
Phyl cry'd, and John began to curfe;
Phyl wish'd, that she had strain'd a Limb,
When first she ventur'd out with him:
John wifh'd, that he had broke a Leg,
When firft for her he quitted Peg."

BUT what Adventures more befel 'em,
The Muse hath now no Time to tell 'em.
How Jobny wheedled, threatned, fawn'd,
Till Phyllis all her Trinkets pawn'd:
How oft she broke her Marriage Vows,
In Kindness, to maintain her Spouse,
Till Swains unwholesome spoil'd the Trade;
For now the Surgeon must be paid,
To whom thofe Perquifites are gone,

In Christian Justice due to John.

WHEN Food and Rayment now grew scarce,

Fate put a Period to the Farce,

And with exact poetick Justice;

For, John is Landlord, Phyllis Hoftefs:

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They keep, at Staines, the old blue Boar,
Are Cat and Dog, and Rogue and Whore.

STELLA's Birth-Day.

Written in the Year 1718.

TELLA this Day is Thirty-four,


(We shan't dispute a Year or more :) However Stella, be not troubled,

Although thy Size and Years are doubled,
Since first I saw thee at Sixteen,
The brightest Virgin on the Green.
So little is thy Form declin'd;
Made up fo largely in thy Mind.

OH! Would it please the Gods, to split
Thy Beauty, Size, and Years, and Wit;
No Age could furnish out a Pair

Of Nymphs fo graceful, wife, and fair:
With half the Luftre of your Eyes,

With half your Wit, your Years, and Size.
And then, before it grew too late,

How fhould I beg of gentle Fate,

(That either Nymph might have her Swain,) To split my Worship too in twain.


STELLA's Birth-Day.


Written in the Year 1720.

LL Travellers at first incline

Where'er they see the faireft Sign;
And if they find the Chambers neat,
And like the Liquor, and the Meat,
Will call again, and recommend
The Angel-Inn to ev'ry Friend:
What though the Painting grows decay'd,
The House will never lofe its Trade:
Nay, tho' the treach❜rous Tapfter Thomas
Hangs a new Angel two Doors from us,
As fine as Dawbers Hands can make it,
In hopes that Strangers may mistake it;
We think it both a Shame and Sin
To quit the true old Angel-Inn.

Now, this is Stella's Cafe in fact,
An Angel's Face, a little crack'd:
(Could Poets, or could Painters fix
How Angels look at Thirty-fix :)
This drew us in at first, to find
In fuch a Form as Angel's Mind;
And ev'ry Virtue now fupplies
The fainting Rays of Stella's Eyes:

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