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from BOILE A U.
Un Jour dit un Auteur, etc.
NCE (says our Author, where I need no: fay)
Two Trav'lers found an Oyster in their way; Both fierce, both hungry; the dispute grew strong, While Scale in hand Dame Justice past along. Before her each with clamour pleads the Laws, Explain'd the matter and would win the cause. Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful Right, Takes, opens, swallows it, before their fight. The cause of strife remov'd so rarely well, There take (says Juflice) take ye each a Shell. We thrive at Westminster on Fools like you: Twas a fat Oifter -- Live in peace --Adieu.
ANSWER to the following
Queftion of Mrs. Howe.
HAT is Pruder
'Tis a Beldam, Seen with Wit and Beauty feldom. 'Tis a fear that starts at shadows. "Tis, (no, 'tisn't) like Miss Meadows. 'Tis a Virgin hard of Feature, Old, and void of all good. nature; Lean and frecful ; would feem wise; Yet plays the fool before the dies. "Tis an ugly envious Shrew, That rails at dear Lepell and You.
Occasioned by some Verses of his
Grace the Duke of BUCKING
USE, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends,
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain,
PRO LO GUE
By Mr. POPE,
To a Play for Mr. Dennis's Benefit, in 1733, when
he was old, blind, and in great Distress, a little before his Death.
S when that Hero, who in each Campaign,
VER. 6. But pitied Belifarius, etc.) Nothing could be more happily imagined than this allufion, or finelier conducted. And the continued pleasantry so delicately touched, that it took no. thing from the self satisfaction the Critic, who heard it, had in bis merit, or the Audience in their charity. With fo masterly
Was there a Chief but melted at the Sight?
a hand has the Poet prosecuted, in this benevolent irony, thac end, which he supposed Dennis himfelf, had he the wit to fee, would have the in-enuity to approve.
This dreaded Sat'rift, Dennis quill confess,
Foe to bis pride, but Friend 19 bis Diftress. VER. 7. Was there a Chief, etc.] The fine figure of the Come mander in that capital Picture of Belisarius at Chiswick, supplied the Poet with this beautiful idea.
M A CER:
, First sought a Poet's Fortune in the Town, 'Twas all th’ Ambition his high soul 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 these he ventur'd on the Town, And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crown. There he stop'd short, 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 Verse, and what he gets commends, Not of the Wits his foes, but fools his friends. 14
So some coarse Country Wench, almoft decay'd, Trudges to town, and firft turns Chambermaid; Aukward and supple, each devoir to pay ; She flatters her good Lady twice a day;