A great Bottle of Wine, long buried, being that Day dug up.
Written in the Year 1722.
ESOLV'd my annual Verse to pay,
By Duty bound, on Stella's Day;
Furnish'd with Paper, Pens, and Ink,
I gravely fat me down to think:
I bit my Nails, and fcratch'd my Head,
But found my Wit, and Fancy fled:
Or, if with more than ufual Pain,
A Thought came flowly from my Brain,
It cost me, Lord knows, how much Time
To fhape it into Senfe and Rhyme :
And, what was yet a greater Curse,
Long-thinking made my Fancy worse.
FORSAKEN by th' infpiring Nine,
I waited at Apollo's Shrine;
I told him what the World would fay
IF Stelle were unfung To-day;
How I should hide my Head for Shame,
When both the Jacks and Robin came;
How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer;
How Sheridan the Rogue would fneer:
And fwear it does not always follow,
That Semel'n anno ridet Apollo,
I have affur'd them twenty Times,
That Phabus help'd me in my Rhymes;
Phœbus infpir'd me from above,
And He and I were Hand and Glove;
But, finding me fo dull and dry fince,
They'll call it all poetick Licence:
And, when I brag of Aid Divine,
Think* Eufden's Right as good as mine.
NOR, do I ask for Stella's Sake; 'Tis my own Credit lies at Stake. And Stella will be fung, while I Can only be a Stander-by.
APOLLO, having thought a littlę, Return'd this Anfwer to a Tittle.
THOUGH you should live like old Methufalem,
I furnish Hints, and you should use all 'em ;
You yearly fing as fhe grows old,
You'd leave her Virtues half untold;
But, to fay Truth, fuch Dulness reigns
Through the whole Set of Irish Deans;
I'm daily stunn'd with fuch a Medley,
Dean Wd, Dean DI, and Dean Smedley,
That, let what Dean foever come,
My Orders are, I'm not at Home ;
And, if your Voice had not been loud,
You must have pafs'd among the Crowd.
But now, your Danger to prevent,
You must apply to * Mrs. Brent.
For fhe, as Priestess, knows the Rites,
Wherein the God of Earth delights.
First, nine Ways looking, let her stand
With an old Poker in her Hand;
Let her defcribe a Circle round
In +Saunder's Cellar on the Ground:
A Spade let prudent || Archy hold,
And with Discretion dig the Mould:
Let Stella look with watchful Eye,
§ Rebecca, ** Ford, and Grattans by.
BEHOLD the Bottle, where it lies With Neck elated tow'rds the Skies! The God of Winds and God of Fire, Did to its wond❜rous Birth confpire;
The House-keeper.
+ The Butler.
|| The Footman.
SA Lady, Friend to STELLA.
** Gentlemen, Friends to the Author.
And Bacchus, for the Poet's Use,
Pour'd in a strong infpiring Juice:
See! as you raise it from its Tomb,
It drags behind a spacious Womb,
And in that spacious Womb contains
A fov❜reign Med'cine for the Brains.
YOU'LL find it foon, if Fate confents;
If not, a Thousand Mrs. Brents,
Ten Thousand Archys arm'd with Spades,
May dig in vain to Pluto's Shades
FROM thence a plenteous Draught infuse,
And boldly then invoke the Muse:
(But first let Robert on his Knees,
With Caution drain it from the Lees)
The Mufe will at your Call appear,
With Stella's Praise to crown the Year:
A Receipt to reftore STELLA's
Youth.
Written in the Year 1724-5.
HE Scottish Hinds too poor to house
In frofty Nights their starving Cows,
While not a Blade of Grafs, or Hay,
Appears from Michaelmas to May;
Must let their Cattle range in vain.
For Food, along the barren Plain
Meager and lank with fafting grown,
And nothing left but Skin and Bone;
Expos'd to Want, and Wind, and Weather,
They juft keep Life and Soul together,
'Till Summer Show'rs and Ev'ning Dew,
Again the verdant Glebe renew;
And, as the Vegetables rife,
The famish'd Cow her Want fupplies;
Without an Ounce of last Year's Flesh,
Whate'er fhe gains is young and fresh;
Grows plump and round, and full of Mettle,
As rifing from Medea's Kettle;
With Youth and Beauty to enchant
Europa's counterfeit Gallant.
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