Among their Brethren of the Skies;

To which (though late) fhall Stella rife.
Ten Thousand Oaths upon Record,
Are not fo facred as her Word:

The World fhall in its Atoms end,
E'er Stella can deceive a Friend.
By Honour feated in her Breast,
She ftill determines what is best:
What Indignation in her Mind
Against Enflavers of Mankind!
Bafe Kings and Minifters of State,
Eternal Objects of her Hate.

SHE thinks, that Nature ne'er defign'd Courage to Man alone confin'd:

Can Cowardice her Sex adorn,

Which most exposes ours to Scorn?
She wonders where the Charm appears.

In Florimel's affected Fears:

For Stella never learn'd the Art,
At proper Times to fcream and start;
Nor calls up all the Houfe at Night,
And swears the faw a Thing in White:

Doll

Doll never flies to cut her Lace,
Or throw cold Water in her Face,
Because she heard a fudden Drum,
Or found an Earwig in a Plum.

HER Hearers are amaz'd from whence
Proceeds that Fund of Wit and Senfe;
Which though her Modefty would fhroud,
Breaks like the Sun behind a Cloud:
While Gracefulness its Art conceals,

And yet through ev'ry Motion steals.

SAY, Stella, was Prometheus blind,
And forming you, miftook your Kind?
No: "Twas for you alone he ftole
The Fire that forms a manly Soul;
Then to compleat it ev'ry way,
He molded it with Female Clay;
To that you owe the nobler Flame,
To this, the Beauty of your Frame.

How would Ingratitude delight?
And, how would Cenfure glut her Spight?

If I fhould Stella's Kindness hide

In Silence, or forget with Pride.

When

When on my fickly Couch I lay,

Impatient both of Night and Day,
Lamenting in unmanly Strains,

Call'd ev'ry Pow'r to cafe my Pains:
Then Stella ran to my Relief,

With chearful Face, and inward Grief;
And, though by Heaven's fevere Decree

She fuffers hourly more than me,
No cruel Mafter could require

From Slayes employ'd for daily Hire,
What Stella, by her Friendship warm'd,
With Vigour and Delight perform'd:
My finking Spirits now fupplies
With Cordials in her Hands, and Eyes;
Now, with a soft and filent Tread,
Unheard the moves about my Bed.

I see her taste each naufeous Draught,
And so obligingly am caught;

I blefs the Hand from whence they came,
Nor dare distort my Face for fhame,

BEST Pattern of true Friends, beware; You pay too dearly for your Care,

If,

If, while your Tenderness fecures
My Life, it must endanger yours.
For fuch a Fool was never found,
Who pull'a a Palace to the Ground,
Only to have the Ruins made
Materials for an House decay'd.

ON

Cutting down the old THORN

A T

MARKET-HIL L.

A

Written in the YEAR 1727.

T Market-Hill, as well

appears

By Chronicle of antient Date,

There ftood for many a Hundred Years,

A fpacious Thorn before the Gate.

Hither came every Village-Maid,

And on the Boughs her Garland hung, And here, beneath the spreading Shade, Secure from Satyrs fat and fung.

*Sir Archibald that val'rous Knight,
Then Lord of all the fruitful Plain,
Would come to listen with Delight,
For he was fond of rural Strain.

(Sir Archibald whofe fav'rite Name Shall ftand for Ages on Record, By Scottish Bards of highest Fame,

† Wife Hawtborden and Sterling's Lord.)

But Time, with Iron Teeth, I ween

Has canker'd all its Branches round;

No Fruit or Bloffom to be feen,

Its Head reclining tow'rds the Ground,

This

* Sir Archibald Achefon, Secretary of State for Scotland. † Drummond of Hawthorden, and Sir William Alexander, E. of Sterling, both famous for their Poetry, who were Friends to Sir Archibald.