The Progrefs of ADVICE. A common Cafe. •Suade, nam certum eft.

AYS Richard to Thomas (and feem'd half afraid)
I am thinking to marry thy miftrefs's maid:
Now because Mrs. Martha to thee is well known,
I will do't if thou bidft me, or let it alone.

Nay don't make a jeft on't, 'tis no jest to me;
For faith I'm in earnest, fo prithee be free.

I have no fault to find with the girl fince I knew her;
But I'd have thy advice, ere I tye myfelf to her.

Said Thomas to Richard-to speak my opinion,
There is not fuch a bitch in king George's dominion!
And I firmly believe, if thou knew'ft her as I do,
Thou would'st chufe out a whipping-poft, first, to be ty'd to.

D4.

She's

She's peevish, fhe's thievih, fhe's ugly, fhe's old,"
And a lyar, and a fool, and a flut, and a scold-
Next day Richard haften'd to church and was wed,
And ere night had inform'd her what Thomas had faid.

SLENDER'S GHOST,
Cura leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent.

B

ENEATH a church-yard yew

Decay'd and worn with age,

At dusk of eve, methought I fpy'd

Poor Slender's ghost, that whimpering cry'd,

O sweet, O sweet Anne Page!

Ye gentle bards, give ear!

Who talk of amorous rage,

Who spoil the lily, rob the rose;

Come learn of me to weep your woes:

O fweet! O fweet Anne Page!

Why should fuch labour'd strains
Your formal Mufe engage?

I never dreamt of flame or dart,

That fir'd my breaft, or pierc'd my heart,
But figh'd, O fweet Anne Page!

And you, whofe love-fick minds
No medicine can affuage!
Accufe the leech's art no more,
But learn of Slender to deplore;

O fweet! O fweet Anne Page!

And

And you, whofe fouls are held,
Like linnets, in a cage!

Who talk of fetters, links, and chains,
Attend, and imitate my ftrains:

O fweet! O fweet Anne Page!

And you, who boast or grieve,
What horrid wars ye wage!
Of wounds receiv'd from many an eye,
Yet mean as I do when I figh

O fweet! O fweet Anne Page!

Hence every fond conceit

Of thepherd, or of fage!

'Tis Slender's voice, 'tis Slender's way,

Expreffes all you have to fay

O fweet! O fweet Anne Page!

Η

Upon RIDDLES.

AVE you'

not known a fmall machine

H^ Which brazen rings environ,

In many a country chimney feen,
Y-clep'd a tarring-iron ?

Its puzzling nature to display

Each idle clown may try, Sir,

Tho, when he has acquir'd the way,
He's not a jot the wifer.

"Tis thus with him, who fond of rhime
In Wit's low fpecies piddles;

And tires his thoughts, and waftes his time
In explicating riddles.

Shall idle bards, by fancy led,

(With wrathful zeal I fpeak it)
Write with defign to plague my head,
Who have no right to break it?

He writes the best, who, writing, can
Both please and teach together:
But 'tis the devil of a plan,

That can accomplish neither.

Ye readers, hear! ye writers too!
O fpare your darkling labours!
For, tho' they please, not profit, you,
They plague and hurt your neighbours.
Go learn of POPE; then judge aright,
Which way to Fame's the furer;
To put the truth in faireft light,
Or render it obfcurer.

A

H! boaft not those obfcuring lays,

Nor think it fure and certain

That every one can draw a face,
Who can produce a curtain.

2

POPE

POPE does the flourish'd truth no hurt,
While graceful flowers disguise it;
Thou daub'ft it fo with mud and dirt,
That not a foul espies it.

His fancy decks, thy fancy fhrowds;
What likeness is between 'em?
'Twixt one who foars above the clouds,
And one entangled in 'em?

But let my candour not upbraid

Thy ftrains, which flow so purely ;

It is thy fecret, 'tis thy trade,

'Tis that alone can guard thy fame,
The style that fuits thy fense.

When Nature forms an horrid mien
Lefs fit for vulgar fight;
The creature, fearful to be seen,
Spontaneous fhuns the light.

The bat uncouth thro' inftinct fears
The prying eyes of day;

Yet when the fun no more appears,
Securely wings away.

'Tis inftinct bids the frightful owl
To devious glooms repair;
And points out Riddles to a fool,
To wrap his genius there.