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Lady Betty BERKELEY finding in
the Author's Room fome Verses unfinished; underwrit a Stanza of ber own, with Raillery upon him, which gave Occafon to this Ballad.
Written in the Year 1703.
To the Tune of, The Cut-purse.
NCE on a time, as old Stories rehearse,
A Friar would needs (hew his Talent in Latin, But was forely put to't in the Midst of a Verse, Because he could find out no Word to come pas in.
Then all in the Place
He left a void Space ;
And so went to Bed in a desperate Case.
When behold, the next Morning a wonderful Riddle!
He found it was strangely fill'd up in the Middle. .
Cho. Let censuring Criticks then think wbat they
lift on't, Who would not write Verses with such an Affant ?
This put me the Friar into an Amazement ;
For he wisely consider'd it must be a Sprite, That came thro' the Key-Hole, or in at the Case
ment ; And it needs must be one, that could both read
and write :
Yet he did not know
If it were Friend or Foe, Or whether it came from above or below. Howe'er, it was civil in Angel or Elf; For he ne’er could have fill d' it so well of himself.
Even fo Master Doctor had puzzled his Brains
In making a Ballad, but was at a stand He had mix?d little Wit with a great deal of Pains ; When he found a new Help from invisible Hand.
Then good Dr. S
Pays Thanks for the Gift, For you freely must own you were at a dead Lift: And tho? some malicious young Spirit did do't, You may see by the Hand it had no cloven Foot.
ERUSE my Leaves thro? ev'ry Part,
And think thou seest my Owner's Heart;
Scrawld o’er with Trißes thus ; and quite
As hard, as senseless, and as light;
Expos?d to ev'ry Coxcomb's Eyes,
But hid with Caution from the Wise.
Here you may read, (Dear charming Saint)
Beneath, (A new Receipt for Paint.)
Here, in Beau-spelling, (tru tel Detb.)
There, in her own far an el Bretb.)
Here, (lovely Nymph pronounce my Doom.)
There, (a safe Way to use Perfume.)
Here, a Page fill'd with Billet-Doux ;
On t'other Side, (laid out for Shoes.)
(Madam, I die without your Grace.)
(Item, for half e Tard of Lace.)
Who, that had wit would place it here,
For ev'ry peeping Fop to jeer?
In Power of Spittle, and a Clout,
Whene'er he please, to bļot it out';
And then to heighten the Disgrace,
Clap his own Nonsense in the Place.
Whoe'er expects to hold his Part
In such a Book, and such a Heart;
If he be wealthy, and a Fool,
Is in all Points the fittest Tool;
Of whom it may be justly said,
He's a Gold Pencil tipt with Lead.
Out of Pliny's Nat. Hist. lib. 1o. cap. 67.
& lib. 29. cap. 4.
Written in the Year 1706.
S Mastiff Dogs in modern Phrase are
Calld Pompey, Scipio, and Cæfar;
As Pies and Daws are often styl'd
With Christian Nick-names, like a Child ;
As we say Monsieur to an Ape,
Without Offence to human Shape:
So Men have got from Bird to Brute
Names that will beft their Natures fuit.
The Lion, Eagle, Fox, and Boar
Were Heroes Titles heretofore,
Bestowed as Hi'roglyphicks fit
To shew their Valour, Strength, or Wit,
For what is understood by Fame,
Besides the getting of a Name?
But e'er since Men invented Guns,
A diff'rent Way their Fancy runs:
To paint a Hero, we enquire
For something that will conquer Fire.
Would you describe Turenne or Trump,
Think of a Bucket, or a Pump.
Are these too low? then find out grander,
Call my Lord Cutts, a Salamander.
'Tis well: But since we live among
Detractors with an evil Tongue,
Who may object against the Terms
Pliny shall prove what we affirm:
Pliny shall prove, and we'll apply,
And I'll be judg'd by Standers-by.
FIRST then, our Author has defin'd
This Reptile of the Serpent Kind,
With gaudy Coat and shining Train,
But loathsome Spots his Body stain :
Our from some Hole obscure he flies,
When Rains descend, and Tempests rise,
Till the Sun clears the Air, and then
Crawls back, neglected, to his Den.
So, when the War has rais'd a Storm ;
I've seen a Snake in human Form,
All stain'd with Infamy and Vice,
Leap from the Dunghill in a Trice;