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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