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(The Ladies there must needs be Rooks,
For, Cards we know, are Pluto's Books)
If, Florimel had found her Love
For whom she hang'd herself above?
How oft a Week was kept a Ball
By Proserpine, at Pluto's Hall?
She fancy'd, those Elysian Shades
The sweetest Place for Masquerades:
How pleasant on the Banks of Styx,
To troll it in a Coach and Six !
WHAT Pride a Female Heart inflames!
How endless are Ambition's Aims !
Cease, haughty Nymph; the Fates decree,
Death must not be a Spouse for thee:
For, when by chance the meagre Shade
Upon thy Hand his Finger laid ;
Thy Hand as dry and cold as Lead,
His matrimonial Spirit fled;
He felc about his Heart a Damp,
That quite extinguish'd Cupid's Lamp:
Away the frighted Spectre scuds,
And leaves my Lady in the Suds.
Written in the Year 1730.
UEEN of Wit and Beauty, Betty,
Never may the Muse forget ye:
How thy Face charms ev'ry Shepherd,
Spotted over like a Le’pard !
And thy freckled Neck display'd,
Envy breeds in ev'ry Maid,
Like a Fly-blown Cake of Tallow,
Or, on Parchment, Ink turn’d yellow;
Or, a tawny, speckled Pippin,
Shriveld with a Winter's keeping.
And, thy Beauty thus dispatch'd ; Let me praise thy Wit unmatch’d.
Sets of Phrases, cut and dry,
Evermore thy Tongue supply.
And, thy Memory is loaded
With old Scraps from Plays exploded,
Stock'd with Repartees and Jokes,
Suited to all Christian Folks:
Shreds of Wit, and senseless Rhimes,
Blunder'd out a thousand Times,
Nor, wilt thou of Gifts be sparing,
Which can ne'er be worse for wearing,
Picking Wit among Collegions,
In the Play-house upper Regions ;
Where, in Eighteen-penny Gall’ry,
Irish Nymphs learn Irish Raillery:
But, thy Merit is thy Failing,
And, thy Raillery is Railing.
Thus, with Talents well endu'd
To be fcurrilous and rude ;
When you pertly raise your Snout,
Fleer, and gibe, and laugh, and fout ;
This, among Hibernian Afles,
For sheer Wit, and Humour passes!
Thus, indulgent Chloe bit,
Swears you have a World of Wit,
Written in the Year 1731.
LL Folks, who pretend to Religion and
Allow there's a Hell, but dispute of the Place ; But, if Hell may by Logical Rules be defin'd The Place of the Damn'd, -I'll tell you my Mind.
Wherever the Damn'd do chiefly abound, Most certainly there is HELL to be found;
Damn'd Poets, Damn'd Criticks, Damn'd Block
beads, Damn'd Knaves, Damn'd Senators brib'd, Damn'd prostitute Slaves; Damn'd Lawyers and Judges, Damn'd Lords and
Damn'd Squires, Damn’d Spies and Informers, Damn'd Friends and
Damn'd Villains corrupted in every Station ;
Damn'd Time-Serving Priests all over the Nation.
And into the Bargain, I'll readily give ye,
Damn'd ignorant Prelates, and Counsellors Privy.
Then let us no longer by Parsons be flamm’d,
For We know by these Marks, the Place of the
And Hell to be sure is at Paris or Rome,
How happy for Us, that it is not at Home!
APOLLO: Or, a Problem solved.
Written in the Year 1731.
APOLLO, God of Light and Wit,
Could Verse inspire, but seldom writ:
Refin'd all Metals with his Looks,
As well as Chymists by their Books:
As handsome as my Lady's Page ;
Sweet Five and Twenty was his Age.
His Wig was made of sunny Rays,
He crown'd his youthful Head with Bays:
Not all the Court of Heav'n could show
So nice and so compleat a Beau.
No Heir upon his first Appearance,
With Twenty Thousand Pounds a Year Rents,
E'er drove, before he fold his Land,
So fine a Coach along the Strand;
The Spokes, we are by Ovid told,
Were Silver, and the Axle Gold.
(I own, 'twas but a Coach and Four,
For Jupiter allows no more.)
Yet, with his Beauty, Wealth, and Parts,
Enough to win ten Thousand Hearts ;
No vulgar Deity above
Was so unfortunate in Love.
Three weighty Causes were assign’d,
That mov'd the Nymphs to be unkind.
Nine Muses always waiting round him,
He left them Virgins as he found 'em.
His Singing was another Fault;
For he could reach to B. in alt :
And, by the Sentiments of Pliny,
Such Singers are like * Nicolini.
At last, the Point was fully clear'd;
In short ; Apollo had no Beard.