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DEAR Col'nel, Cobham's and your country's

Friend! You love a Verse, take such as I can send. A Frenchman comes, presents you with his Boy, Bows and begins— This Lad, Sir, is of Blois : “ Observe his. Ihape how clean! his locks how curld! " My only son, I'd have him see the world : His French is pure; his Voice too--you shall hear. " Sir he's your Nave, for twenty pounds a year. " Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with ease, " Your Barber, Cook, Upholst'rer, what you please : " A perfect genius at an Op'ra fong

To say too much, might do my honour wrong. " Take him with all his virtues, on my word : 46 His whole ambition was to serve a Lord:

" But, Sir, to you, with what would I not part? " Tho' faith I fear, 'twill break his mother's heart. " Once (and but once) I caught him in a lye, " And then, unwhipp'd, he had the grace to cry; “ The fault he has I fairly shall reveal, " (Could you o'erlook but that) it is, to steal.”

If, after this, you took the graceless lad,
Could you complain, my friend, he prov'd so bad?
Faith, in such case, if you should prosecute,
I think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit;
Who fent the Thief that stole the cash, away,
And punish'd him that put it in his way.

Consider then, and judge me in this light;
I told you when I went, I could not write;
You said the same; and are you discontent
With laws, to which you gave your own affent?
Nay worse, to ask for verse at such a time!
D'ye think me good for nothing but to rliyme?

In Anna's Wars, a Soldier, poor and old,
Had dearly earn'd a little purse of gold,
Tir'd with a tedious march, one luckless night,
He slept, poor dog! and lost it to a doit.
This put the man in such a desp'rate mind,
Between revenge, and grief, and hunger joind,
Against the foe hinfelf, and all mankind,
He leap'd the trenches, scald a Castle wall,
Tore down a Standard, took the Fort and all.
“ Prodigious well;" his great Commander cry'd,
Gave him much praise, and some reward beside.
Next pleas'd his Excellence a town to batter;
(Its name I know not, and it's no great matter)


" Go on, my friend (he cry’d) see yonder walls ! Advance and conquer ! go where glory calls! “ More honours, more rewards, attend the brave." Don't you remember what reply you gave? “ D'ye think me, noble Gen’ral such a Sot? • Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat.”

Bred up at home, full early I begun To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' son. Besides, my father taught me from a lad, The better art to know the good from bad : (And little fure imported to remove, To hunt for Truth in Maudlin's learned grove.) But knottier points we knew not half so well, Depriv'd us soon of our paternal Cell; And certain Laws, by suff'rers thought unjust, Deny'd all posts of profit or of truit: Hopes after hopes of pious Papists fail'd, While mighty William's thund'ring arm prevail'd, For right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd, He stuck to poverty with peace of mind; And me, the Muses help'd to undergo it;, Convict a Papist he, and I a Poet. But (thanks to Homer)since I live and thrive, Indebted to no Prince or peer alive, Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes, If I would scribble, rather than report.

Years foll'wing years, steal fomething ev'ry days At last they steal us from ourselves av.zy; In one our Frolics, our Amusemenis vind, In one a Mistress drops, in one a frivid,


This fubtle Thief of life, this paltry Time,
What will it leave me, if it snatch my rhyme ?
If ev'ry wheel of that unwear'd Mill,
That turn'd ten thousand verses, now stands still?

But after all, what would you have me do?
When out of twenty I can please not two;
When this Heroics only deigas to praise,
Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays!
One likes the Pheasant's wing, and one the leg;
The vulgar boil, the learned roast an egg.
Hard talk! to hit the palate of such guests,
When Oldfield loves, what Dartineuf detests.

But grant I may relapse, for want of grace,
Again to rhyme; can London be the place?
Who there his Muse, or self, or soul attends,
In crouds, and courts, law, business, feasts, and friends?
My counsel fends to execute a deed :
A Poet begs me I will hear him read:
In Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there-
At ten, for certain, Sir, iu Bloomsb’ry square-
Before the Lords at twelve my cause comes on
There's a Rehearsal, Sir exact at one.--
" Oh but a Wit can study in the streets,

And raise his mind above the mob he meets."
Not quite so well however as one ought;
A may chance to fpoil a thought;
And then a nodding beam, or pig of lead,
God knows, may hurt the very ableft head.
Have you not seen, at Guildhall's narrow pass,
Two Aldermen dispute it with an Ass?


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