Imatges de pÓgina
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Burnish and make a gaudy Show,
Become a General, Peer, and Beau;
Till Peace hath made the Sky serene,
Then shrink into its Holc again.

All this we grantwby then look yonder,
Sure that must be a SALAMANDER.

FARTHER we are by Pliny told,
This Serpent is extremely cold ;
So cold, that put it in the Fire,
?Twill make the very Flames expire:
Besides it fpues a filthy Froth,
(Whether thro' Rage, or Luft, or both,)
Of Matter purulent and white,
Which, happening on the Skin to light,
And there corrupting to a Wound,
Spreads Leprofộ and Baldness round.

So, have I seen a batter'd Beau,
By Age and Claps grown cold as Snow,
Whose Breath, or Touch, where'er he came,
Blew out Love's Torch, or chilld the Flame;
And should fome Nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like Carleton cheap, or fam'd Du-Ruel,
Receive the Filth which he ejects;
She foon would find the fame Effects
Her tainted Carcass to pursue,
As from the Salamander's Spue:

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A dismal Shedding of her Locks,
And, if no Leprosy, a Pox.

Then I'll appeal to each By-ftander,
If this be not a SALAMANDER ?

On Mrs. BIDDY FLOYD.

Written in the Year 1707.

WHE

HEN Cupid did his Grandsire Jove intreat,

To form some Beauty by a new Receipt ; Jove sent and found far in a Country Scene, Truth, Innocence, Good-Nature, Look serene ; From which Ingredients, first the dextrous Boy Pick'd the Demure, the Aukward, and the Coy! The Graces from the Court did next provide Breeding, and Wit, and Air, and decent Pride. These Venus cleans'd from ev'ry fpurious Grain Of Nice, Coquet, Affected, Pert, and Vain. Hove mix'd

up

all, and his best Clay employ'd ;.'? Then call'd the happy Composition FLOYD.

A POLLO

APOLLO outwitted.

To the Hon. Mrs. Finch, (fince Countess of

WINCHELSEA,) under the Name of Ar

DELIA.

Written in the Year 1707.

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HEBUS now shortning every Shade, ,

Up to the Northern Tropick came,
And thence beheld a lovely Maid

Attending on a Royal Dame.

The God laid down his feeble Rays ;

Then lighted from his glitt'ring Coach ; But fenc'd his Head with his own Bays,

Before he durft the Nymph approach.

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Under those facred Leaves, secure

From common Lightning of the Skies, He fondly thought he might endure

The Flashes of Ardelia's Eyes.

The Nymph, who oft had read in Books,

Of that bright God, whom Bards invoke, Soon knew Apollo by his Looks,

And guess'd his Business, 'ere he spoke.

He

He in the old Celestial Cant,

Confess’d his Flame, and swore by Styx, Whate’er she would desire, to grant;

But wife Ardelia knew his Tricks.

Ovid had warn'd her to beware

Of stroling Gods, whose usual Trade is, Under Pretence of taking Air,

To pick up Sublunary Ladies.

Howe'er, she gave no flat Denial,

As having Malice in her Heart; And was resoly'd upon a Tryal,

To cheat the God in his own Art.

Hear my Request, the Virgin said ;

Let which I please of all the Nine Attend whene'er I want their Aid,

Obey my Call, and only mine.

By Vow oblig'd, by Paffion led,

The God could not refuse her Prayer: He wav'd his Wreath thrice o'er her Head,

Thrice mutter'd something to the Air.

And now he thought to seize his Due,

But she the Charm already try'd, Thalia heard the Call, and few

To wait at bright Ardelia's Side.

On On Sight of this celestial Prude,

Apollo thought it vain to stay, Nor in her Presence durft be rude;

But made his Leg, and went away.

He hop'd to find some lucky Hour,

When on their Queen the Muses wait ; But Pallas owns Ardelia's Power

For Vows divine are kept by Fate.

Then full of Rage Apollo spoke;

Deceitful Nymph! I see thy Art ; And though I can't my

Gift revoke, I'll disappoint its nobler Part.

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Let stubborn Pride poffefs thee long,

And be thou negligent of Fame ; With ev'ry Muse to grace thy Song,

May'st thou despise a Poet's Name.

Of modeft Poets be thou first,

To filent Shades repeat thy Verse, Till Fame and Eccbo almost burst,

Yet hardly dare one Line rehearse.

And laft, my Vengeance to compleat ;

May you descend to take Renown, Prevail'd on by the Thing you hate,

A Whig, and one, that wears a Gown.

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