BRITO N! bold and honeft too,

Ev'ry Vertue is thy due;

Ev'ry Poet, ev'ry Bard,

In thy Cause shall foon be heard;
And when I my Lines have done,
Welfted next fhall fcribble on.
In the mean while pray, Sir, peruse
The following Efforts of my Muse..

How! uniform thy Toil and Care,
For GEORGE and BRITAIN'S Welfare are!
Poftponing Intereft, Ease and Blood,
For ev'ry thing of Publick Good.

Free from the falfe and petty Jars
Of Juncto-Tricks and Closet-Wars,
Bold and daring to advise,
(The best Effect of being Wife)
But honest also, not to give
Advice, unfit for to receive...

Go on, Great Sir, and don't bestow
Your Favours on a flatr'ring Foe;
Nor treat Mankind-with unbred Mein,
With fawcy, awkard, sow'r Disdain.

Your

Your happy Clients still attend The Patron, Gentleman, and Friend.

But ftop, my Mufe, and curb thy Reins, Check thy fond and well-meant Strains; What the Patron likes (I fear)

The Criticks Cenfure cannot fpare.

Begin then, Welfted, bright and young, Correct's thy Speech, and fweet thy Tongue, Born! to celebrate his Braife,

Who's born the Subject of thy Lays.

Thus, whilft Virgil, Horace write Macenas is the World's Delight;

When thou'ft fpun thy tuneful Verse,
The past and present to rehearse;
Let thy ftrong prophetick Rhymes
Foreftal th' Eclat of future Times,
Give the Hero many Years,
Profp'rous Peace, fuccefsful Wars,
Paint him at the Helm of State,
Telling Foreign Powers their Fate;
Confulting BRITAIN's Quiet and Eafe
Thro' all the Civil-Arts of Peace:

And

And fometimes, for his Country's Good,
Working thro' a Sea of Blood;

And when this is faid, and more,

And Praises rattled o'er and o'er;

Give the Earl at once his Due, '
Tell the World it is most True,
That he his Life did ever guide,
By sticking to one honeft Side;

And, unto Death, there's no one Art,
Him and his Caufe fhall ever part:
That he t' advife the KING is fit,
Has Judgment, and is bleft with Wit:
And in fhort, when Marlbro' dies,

And Fate has clos'd thofe glorious Eyes,
There's no one Subject in this Land
Fit the Army to Command,

But Cadogan------And for Rhyme,

Good-by, fmart Poet, 'till next Time.'

And what's this hidden Charm? (fhe cr'd)`

And fpurn'd th' embracing Cloaths afide,.
From Limbs of such a Shape, and Hue
As Titian's Pencil never drew;
Refolv'd the dark Abode to trace
Of Female Honour, or Difgrace,
Where Vertue finds her Task too hard,
And often Slumbers on the Guard.

Th' Attempt fhe makes, and buckles to
With all her Might; but 'twould not do:
Still, as fhe bent, the Part requir'd,
As Conscious of its Shame, retir'd.

"What's to be done? We're all aground! "Some other Method must be found "Water Narciffu's Face could show, "And why not Chloe's Charms below? Big with this Project, she applies The Jordan to her Virgin-Thighs,

But the dull Lake her Wifh denies.

"What Luck is here? We're foil'd again! "The Devil's in the Dice, that's plain! No Chymift e'er was fo perplex'd; No jilted Coxcomb half fo vex'd; No Bard, whofe gentler Muse excels, At Tunbridge, Bath, or Epfom-Wells,

Ordain'