CCCXXXV.

On a Sight at Lambeth.

While bunters, attending the archbishop's door, Accosted each other with cheat, bitch, and whore. I noted the drabs, and considering the place, Concluded 'twas plain that they wanted his grace.

CCCXXXVI.

On a Lady's refusing to show her Hand.

No argument could Celia move;

With strong reluctance still she strove,

Her lovely hand to hide;

The case is plain; she was afraid,
That, plac'd in view, it might be said,
'Twas by her hand they dy'd.

CCCXXXVII.

The Prudent Maid.

Help me, nature; help me, art;
Why should I deny my heart :
If a lover will pursue,

Like the wisest let me do;
I will fit him, if he's true;
If he's false, I'll fit him too.

CCCXXXVIII.

On a bad Translation of HORACE.

ONCE Horace fancy'd, from a man,
He was transform'd into a swan;
But *** as from him thou learnest,
Hast made the man a goose in earnest.

CCCXXXIX.

With industry I spread your praise,
With equal you my censure blaze;
But faith, 'tis all in vain we do,-
The world nor credits me, nor you.

CCCXL.

While Corydon with awkward grace,
And downcast modesty of face,
Accosts the pest Lycoris;
She, who before was never coy,
With pride insults the bashful boy,
Nor heeds his love-sick stories.
In vain his friends oppose his flame,
And tell him his disdainful dame

Is but a very woman:

He swears she is a goddess bright
While she, to fit her lover right,
Imagines he is no man.

;

CCCXLI.

To a coy Lady.

'Tis the Arabian bird alone

Lives chaste, because there is but one :
But had kind nature made them two,
They would like doves and sparrows do.

CCCXLII.

The Jews, as we in Sacred Writ are told,
To buy a god, gave Aaron all their gold ;
But Christians now, times are so monstrous odd,
To heap up gold, will even sell their GOD.

CCCXLIII.

Fickle is vext at heart, he says, to see
His Lydia look on him so scurvily:
Thou art a most uuconscionable man;
Would'st have the girl look better than she can ?

CCCXLIV.

On a Statue of Cupid.

Whoe'er thou art, thy lord and master see: Thou wast my slave, or art, or thou shalt be.

CCCXLV.

I die with sadness, if the blushing fair
These eyes adore, rejects her lover's prayer;
I die with transport, if her gentle ear

Is pleas'd her lover's soft complaint to hear.
How shall a wretch his fate contrive to shun,
Both by her rigour and her smiles undone ?
Each way I look, I view my ruin sure;
Fall by the wound, or perish by the cure!

CCCXLVI.

Hoary Apicius, like Sicilia's mount,

Tho' winter veils its venerable front,

Tho' its grave head is cover'd o'er with snow,
Yet labours with incessant fires below.

CCCXLVII.

A new Solution to an old Problem.

"Tis clear, since Brandy kill'd Tom's scolding wife, That drinking rids us of the cares of life.

CCCXLVIII.

The Road to Ruin.

Tom's coach and six! whither in such haste going? But a short journey—to his own undoing.

CCCXLIX.

To a Lady, who turned her cheek to him, when he went to kiss her.

Is't for a grace, or is't for some dislike,

That, when I'd kiss your lips, you turn your cheek? Some think this carriage rude in your behaviour, But I should rather think it for a favour.

For I, to show my kindness and my love,

Would leave both lip and cheek, to kiss your glove: And, with the cause to make you full acquainted, Your glove's perfum'd, your lips and cheeks are painted.

CCCL.

On the Achievement over the Door of

The coat exactly with his manners suits :
How near akin the master and the brutes!
His qualities were ne'er so well exprest;
Wolves his supporters, and a bear his crest.

CCCLI.

'Cause Charles delights to hear himself,
You call him a conceited elf:

From censure let his patience clear him ;
Who else could ever bear to hear him?