For One who would not be buried in
Westminster Abbey
EROES, and KINGS! your distance keep:
In peace let one poor Poet fleep,
Who never flatter'd Folks like you:
Let Horace blufh, and Virgil too.
-On One who made long Epitaphs.
FRIEN Where ftill fo much is faid,
RIEND! for your Epitaphs I'm griev'd,
One half will never be believ'd,
The other never read.
Engraved on the Collar of a Dog which I gave to his Royal Highness.
Am his Highness' Dog at Kew;
I Pray tell me Sir, whofe Dog are you?
HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown,
First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town,
'Twas all th' Ambition his high foul could feel,
To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steel.
Some Ends of verse his Betters might afford,
And gave the harmless fellow a good word.
Set up with thefe, he ventur'd on the Town,
And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crown.
There he ftop'd fhort, nor fince has writ a tittle,
But has the wit to make the most of little:
Like ftunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got
Sufficient fap at once to bear and rot.
Now he begs Verfe, and what he gets commends,
Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends.
So fome coarse Country Wench, almost decay'd,
Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid;
Aukward and fupple, each devoir to pay;
She flatters her good Lady twice a day;
Thought wond'rous honeft, though of mean degree,
And ftrangely lik'd for her Simplicity:
In a tranflated Suit, then tries the Town,
With borrow'd Pins, and Patches not her own;
But juft endur'd the winter fhe began,
And in four months a batter'd Harridan.
Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and fhrunk, To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.
ET Cloë fure was form'd without a Spot'Tis true, but fomething in her was forgot. "With ev'ry pleafing, ev'ry prudent part, "Say what can Cloë want ?-She wants a Heart : She fpeaks, behaves, and acts just as he ought; But never, never, reach'd one gen'rous Thought. Virtue fhe finds too painful an endeavour, Content to dwell in Decency for ever. So very reasonable, fo unmov'd,
As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.
She, while her Lover pants upon her breast,
Can mark the figures on an Indian Chest;
And when the fees her Friend in deep defpair,
Obferves how much a Chintz exceeds Mohair.
Forbid it Heav'n, a favour or a Debt
She e're fhould cancel but fhe may forget.
your Secret ftill in Cloe's ear;
But none of Cloe's fhall you ever hear.
Of all her Dears fhe never flander'd one,
But cares not if a thoufand are undone.
Would Cloë know if you're alive or dead?
She bids her Footman put it in her head.
Cloë is prudent- would you too be wise?
Then never break your heart when Cloë dies.
To Mrs. M. B. on her Birth-day.
H be thou bleft with all that Heav'n can send,
Long Health, long Youth, long Pleasure, and a
Friend:
Not with those Toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and Vanities that tire.
With added years if Life bring nothing new,
But like a Sieve let ev'ry bleffing thro',
Some joy ftill loft, as each vain year runs o'er,
And all we gain, fome fad Reflection more;
Is that a Birth-day? 'tis alas! too clear,
'Tis but the Fun'ral of the former year.
Let Joy or Eafe, let Affluence or Content,
And the gay Confcience of a life well spent,
Calm ev'ry thought, infpirit ev'ry Grace,
Glow in thy heart, and fmile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without à Pain, a Trouble, or a Fear;
Till Death unfelt that tender frame destroy,
In fome fome foft Dream, or Extasy of joy :
Peaceful fleep out the Sabbath of the Tomb,
And wake to Raptures in a Life to come.
UNIVERSAL-PRAYER.
DEO OPT. MAX.
ATHER of All! in every Age,
FATHER every Clime ador'd,
By Saint, by Savage, and by Sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou Great First Cause, least understood :
Who all my Sense confin'd
To know but this, that Thou art Good,
And that my felf am blind;
Yet gave me, in this dark Estate,
To fee the Good from Ill;
And binding Nature faft in Fate,
Left Confcience free, and Will.
|