Then up starts Nois,

Who's full of his Jokes,

And faid he the like had not heard on,

For no Man's Intent

Was so wickedly bent,

So he begs his Episcopal Pardon:

As nimble as the Old Swifs Dancer; But the Parson stood to't, › veled dans ; That he would ne'er do'tka 76. Till the Book had a better Answer:<ul

And tell the Old Peer, to my Knowledge,

I

Since he turn'd his Back to the College,..

I will not difpute,

This Book to confute,

Tho' his Arguments are but Scurvy;

So I've bid my Hoft,

To fend it by Post,

To be answer'd by Old Toм DURFEY.

And then let him know,

know,

We're honeft below,

And do not think this a bad Action;

As oft as we drink,

Of NASSAU we think,

Without Irreligion or Faction.

A

DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

LONDON,

AND THE

River THAMES,

ON THE

Late QUEEN's paffing fo much Time at WINDSOR.

ple Bay,

By Mr. A. H

EAR the foft Solitudes of Chelsea-Plain,

Whofe Verdant Banks a conftant Spring
Banks

maintain,

The gentle THAMES has form'd an am

Where, undisturb'd by Winds, his Streams in Whirl

Pools play.

In

In this Tweet Place, the Skies no Terrors wear,
Nor ftormy Tempefts difcompofe the Air;
Nor ruffled Billows rowl along the Shoar,
Nor hollow Winds from diftant Caverns roar;
But all ferène and calm is form'd to please,
And Birds of tuneful Notes furround the Trees.
Hither on Zephyr's Wings fweet Scents repair,
And gentle Breezes fan the peaceful Air,
Soft as the Sighs of Love-fick Virgins are.
Here fad with Grief by ANNA's Absence bred,
The fam'd Augusta lean'd her mournful Head,
And with her Looks confefs'd her inward Pains,
She to the gliding Waters thus complains :

Ye gentle Streams be kind, one Moment stay,
And on your Surface bear my Sighs away;
Tell the great Mistress of this happy ISLE,
AUGUSTA Weeps, that once was us'd to smile;
Tell her, fhe mourns the Rigour of her Fate,
Rob'd of her high-priz'd Glory and her State.
What, tho' my lofty Spires are rais'd fo high,
And with their gilded Tops fupport the Sky?
What, tho' my warlike Sons defend my Gates,
And at my Portals untold Plenty waits?
What, if 'twere all increas'd ten thousand fold,
Tho' all my Marble fhould be chang'd to Gold?
Tho' all
my Streets with polifh'd Gems fhould fhine,
And both the India's Treafures all be mine?

G 2

}

Tho

Tho' Art and Nature ftroye to make me fair,

Could I tafte Honour, and my QUEEN not there? But, oh! how fondly I to thee complain,

That know'ft, unkindly know'ft 'tis all in vain?
Thy partial Streams their artful Pleafures joyn
To raise thy WINDSOR's State, and ruin mine.
WINDSOR made lovely, cruel Flood, by thee,
In ANNA's Favour has out-rival'd me:

But turn, fweet, gentle Current, turn, I pray,
And bid the Waters take fome other Way:
Strip the proud Cottage of its borrow'd Pride,
And on my Shoars alone bestow thy Tide,
Then fhall my Honours be redeem'd again,
And to thy felf the Glory fhall remain,

T'ave giv'n AUGUSTA back her QUEEN again.
Grave Thamefis at this, thrice shook his Head,
And rifing upwards from his Ouzy Bed,
Whilft his deep Streams in awful Stilness ran,
He to the griev'd AUGUSTA thus began,

Mourn not, great QUE EN of Cities, learn Content, Nor thus ungratefully thy Lofs relent;

Was it that I who fix'd thy mighty Fate,

And rais'd thy Nothing to be more than great?
How many other Towns are likewife mine,
Yet which of them can boaft a Trade like thinę?
What Riches, Glory, Pleasure, State, and Pride,
Thou ow'ft the Favours of my daily Tide?

Why