Imatges de pàgina

And heave her Bosom, unaware,
For neighboring Beaux to see it barç.

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At length, a lucky Lover came,
And found Admittance to the Dame,
Suppose all Parties now agreed,
The Writings drawn, the Lawyer fee'd,
The Vicar.and the Ring bespoke :
Guess, how could such a Match be broke?
See then, what Mortals place their Bliss in!
Next Morn, betimes, the Bride was missing.
The Mother scream'd, the Father chid ;
Where can this idle Wench be hid?
No News of Pbyl! The Bridegroom came,
And thought his Bride had skulk’d for Shame;
Because her Father us’d to say,
The Girl bad such a bashful Way.

Now Fobn, the Butler, must be sent,
To learn the Road that Phyllis went.
The Groom was wild to faddle Crop ;
For, John must neither light, nor stop,
But find her wherefoe'er she fed,
And bring her back, alive or dead.

See here again, the Dev'l to do!
For, truly, John was missing too.
The Horse and Pillion both were gone!
Phyllis, it seems, was filed with John.

Vol. II.



OLD Madam, who went up to find What Papers Phyl had left behind, A Letter on the Toylet sees, To my much bonour'd FatherThefe. ('Tis always done, Romances tell us, When Daughters run away with Fellows) Fill'd with the choicest Common-Places, By others us'd in the like Cases ; That, long ago, a Fortune-teller “ Exactly faid what now befel her;

And in a Glass had made her see " A Serving-Man of low Degree. “ It was her Fate, must be forgiven, “ For Marriages were made in Heaven: “ His Pardon begg'd; but, to be plain, She'd do'l, if 'twere to do again. “ Thank God, 'twas neither Sbame nor Sin ; “ For Jobn was come of bonest Kin. « Love never thinks of Rich and Poor, " She'd beg with John from Door to Door. “ Forgive her, if it be a Crime, « She'll never do't another Time. 66 She ne'er before in all her Life « Once disobey'd him, Maid nor Wife. One Argument she summ'd up all in, • The Thing was done, and past recalling ; " And therefore hop'd she should recover 66 His Favour, when his Paljon's over!

« She valu'd not what others thought her, “ And was-his most obedient Daughter.

Fair Maidens all, attend the Muse,
Who now the wand'ring Pair pursues.
Away they rode in homely Sort,
Their Journey long, their Money short ;
The loving Couple well bemir'd;
The Horse and both the Riders tird:
Their Vićtuals bad, their Lodging worse;
Pbyl cry'd, and John began to curse ;
Pbył wish'd, that she had strain'd a Limb,
When first she ventur'd out with him :
John wilh'd, that he had broke a Leg,
When first for her he quitted Peg.

But what Adventures more befel 'em,
The Muse hath now no Time to tell 'em.
How Jobny wheedled, threatned, fawn'd,
Till Pbyllis all her Trinkets pawn'd:
How oft she broke her Marriage Vows,
In Kindness, to maintain her Spouse,
Till Swains unwholesome spoild the Trade ;
For now the Surgeon must be paid,
To whom those Perquisites are gone,
In Christian Justice due to Yobn.

When Food and Rayment now grew scarce,
Fate put a Period to the Farce,
And with exact poetick Justice ;
For, John is Landlord, Phyllis Hostess :
H 2


They keep, at Staines, the old blue Boar,
Are Cat and Dog, and Rogue and Whore.

STEL LA's Birth-Day.

Written in the Year 1718.

STELLA this Day is Thirty-four,

(We shan't dispute a Year or more:)
However Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy Size and Years are doubled,
Since first I saw thee at Sixteen,
The brightest Virgin on the Green.
So little is thy Forn declin'd ;
Made up so largely in thy Mind.

OH! would it please the Gods, to split
Thy Beauty, Size, and Years, and Wit ;
No Age could furnish out a Pair
Of Nymphs fo graceful, wise, and fair :
With half the Lustre of your Eyes,
With half your Wit, your Years, and Size.
And then, before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle Fate,
(That either Nymph might have her Swain,)
To split my Worship too in twain.


STELLA's Birth-Day.

Written in the Year 1720.


LL Travellers at first incline

Where'er they see the fairest Sign;
And if they find the Chambers neat,
And like the Liquor, and the Meat,
Will call again, and recommend
The Angel-Inn to ev'ry Friend :
What though the Painting grows decay'd,
The House will never lose its Trade:
Nay, tho' the treach'rous Tapster Thomas
Hangs a new Angel two Doors from us,
As fine as Dawbers Hands can make it,
In hopes that Strangers may mistake it;
We think it both a Shame and Sin
To quit the true old Angel-Inn.

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Now, this is Stella's Case in fact,
An Angel's Face, a little crack'd:
(Could Poets, or could Painters fix
How Angels look at Thirty-six :)
This drew us in at first, to find
In such a Form as Angel's Mind ;
And ev'ry Virtue now supplies
The fainting Rays of Stella's Eyes:


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