He lifts the lid: there needs no more,
He imelt it all the time before.

As, from within Pandora's box,
When Ep metheus op'd the locks,
A fudden univerfal crew
Of human evils upward flew,
He fill was comforted to find
That hope at laft remain'd behind;
So Stephon lifting up the lid,
To view what in the cheft was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent :
But Strephon, cautious, never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope,
And foul his hands in fearch of bope.
Oh! ne'er may fuch a vile machine
Be once in Calia's chamber feen!
Oh! may be better learn to keep
Thole fecrets of the boary deep* !

As mutton-cutlets †, prime of meat,
Which though with art you falt and beat,
As laws of cookery require,

And rooft them at the cleareft fire;
If from adown the hopeful chops

The fat upon a cinder drops,

To finking fmoke it turns the flame,
Poloning the flesh from whence it came,
And up exhales a greasy stench,
For which you curfe the carelefs wench;
So things which must not be exprest,
When plump into the reeking cheft,
Send up an excremental smell

To taint the parts from whence they fell;
The petticoats and gown perfume,
And waft a ftink round every room.
Thus finishing his grand survey,
The fwain difgufted flunk away;
Repeating in his amorous fits,

Oh! Calia, Calia, Cælia fh-!"
But vengeance, goddefs never fleeping,
Soon punish d Strephon for his peeping:
His foul imagination links

Each dame he fees with all her ftinks;
And, if unfavoury odours fly,
Conceives a lady ftanding by.
All women his defcription fits,
And both ideas jump like wits;
By vicious fancy coupled fast,
And fill appearing in contraft.

pity wretched Strephon, blind
To all the charms of woman-kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refufe,
Because the role from stinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene,
Satira's but fome pocky quean.
When Calia all her glory fhows,
Stephon would but stop his nofe,
Who now fo impiously blafphemes

Her ointments, daubs, and paints, and creams,
Her wathes, flops, and every clout,
W which he makes fo foul a rout;
He foon would learn to think like me,

And bless his ravish'd eyes to fee
Bach order from confufion sprung,
Such gandy tulips rais'd from dung.

THE

POWER OF TIME. 1730.

Ir neither brafs nor marble can withstand
The mortal force of Time's deftructive hand;
If mountains fink to vales, if cities die,
And leffening rivers mourn their fountains dry:
When my old caffock (faid a Welsh divine)
Is out at elbows; why thould I repine?

ON

MR. PULTNEY'S

BEING PUT OUT OF THE COUNCIL. 1731.

SIR ROBERT, weary'd by Will Pultney's teafings,
Who interrupted him in all his leafings,
Refolv'd that Will and he fhould meet no more:
Full in his face Bob fhuts the council door;
Nor lets him fit as juftice on the bench,
To punish thieves, or lash a suburb-wench.
Yet ftill St. Stephen's chapel open lies
For Will to enter.-What fhall I advife?
Ev'n quit the HOUSE, for thou too long has fat in't
Produce at last thy dormont ducal patent;
There, near thy master's throne in shelter plac'd,
Let Will unheard by thee his thunder wafte.
Yet ftill I fear your work is done but half;
For, while ho keeps his pen, you are not safe.
Hear an old fable, and a dull one too;
It bears a moral, when apply'd to you.

A hare had long efcap'd purfuing hounds,
By often fhifting into diftant grounds;
Till, finding all his artifices vain,
To fave his life he leap'd into the main.
But there, alas! he could no fafety find,
A pack of dog-fib had him in the wind.
He fcours away; and, to avoid the foe,
Defcends for fhelter to the fhades below:
There Cerberus lay watching in his den,
(He had not seen a hare the Lord knows when).
Out bounc'd the maftiff of the triple head;
Away the hare with double swiftness fled;
Hunted from earth, and sea, and hell, he flies
(Fear lent him wings) for fafety to the skies.
How was the fearful animal distrest!
Behold a foe more fierce than all the rest!.
Sirius, the fwifteft of the heavenly pack,
Fail'd but an inch to feize him by the back.
He fled to earth, but first it cost him dear:
He left his fcut behind, and half an ear.

Thus was the hare purfu'd, though free from guilt;

Thus, Bob, fhalt thou be maul'd, fly where thou wilt.

Then, honeft Robin, of thy corpfe beware;
Thou art not half fo nimble as a hare:

Too ponderous is thy bulk to mount the sky;
Nor can you go to hell, before you die.
So keen thy bunters, and thy feent so strong,
Thy turns and doublings cannot fave thee long*.

This bunting ended in the promotion both of Will and Bob. Bob was no longer first minifter, but Earl of Orford; and Will was no longer bis opponent, but Ear of Bath,

e:

Two college fophs of Cambridge growth, Both special wits, and lovers both, Conferring, as they us'd to meet, On love, and books, in rapture sweet (Mufe, find me names to fit my metre, Caffinus this, and t'other Peter); Friend Peter to Caffinus goes, To chat a while, and warm his nose But fuch a fight was never seen, The lady lay fwallow'd up in fpleen. He feem'd as juft crept out of bed; One greafy stocking round his head, The other he fat down to dearn With threads of different-colour'd yarn ; His breeches torn expofing wide A ragged thirt and tawny hide. Scorch'd were his fhins, his legs were bare, But well embrown'd with dirt and hair. A rug was o'er his fhoulders thrown (A rug; for night-gown he had none). His jordon ftood in manner fitting Between his legs to fpew or fpit in; His ancient pipe, in fable dy'd, And half unfmok'd, lay by his fide.

Him thus accoutr'd Peter found,
With eyes in fmoke and weeping drown'd;
The leavings of his last night's pot
On embers plac'd, to drink it hot.

Why, Caffy, thou wilt doze thy pate:
What makes thee lie a-bed fo late?
The finch, the linnet, and the thrush,
Their mattins chant in every bush :

* The Duke was unhappily killed, in croffing the river Boyne, July 1, 1690, and was buried in St. Patrick's cathedral; where the dean and chapter erected a small monument to bis bonour, at their own expence.

And I have heard thee oft' falute
Aurora with thy early flute.
Heaven fend thou haft not got the hyps!
How! not a word come from thy lips?
Then gave him fome familiar thumps;
A college-joke, to cure the dumps.
The fwain at laft, with grief oppreft,
Cry'd, Calia thrice, and figh'd the reft.
Dear Caffy, though to afk I dread,
Yet afk I muft. Is Cælia dead?
How happy I, were that the worst!
But I was fated to be curst.

Come, tell us, has the play'd the whore?
Oh, Peter, would it were no more!
Why, plague confound her fandy locks!
Say, has the mall or greater pox
Sunk down her nofe, or feam'd her face?
Be eafy, 'tis a common case.

Oh, Peter! beauty's but a varnish,
Which time and accidents will tarnish:
But Cælia has contriv'd to blast
Those beauties that might ever last.
Nor can imagination guess,
Nor eloquence divine express,
How that ungrateful charming maid
My pureft paffion has betray'd.
Conceive the most envenom'd dart
To pierce an injur'd lovers heart.

Why, hang her; though the feems so coy, I know the loves the barber's boy.

Friend Peter, this I could excufe;
For every nymph has leave to choose;
Nor have I reafon to complain,
She loves a more deferving fwain.
But, oh! how ill haft thou divin'd
A crime that fhocks all human-kind;
A deed unknown to female race,
At which the fun should hide his face!
Advice in vain you would apply-
Then leave me to defpair and die.
Ye kind Arcadians, on my urn
Thefe elegies and fonnets burn;
And on the marble grave these rhymes,
A monument to after-times:
"Here Caffy lies, by Calia flain,
"And dying never told his pain."

Vain empty world, farewell. But hark, The loud Cerberian triple bark. And there-behold Alecto ftand, A whip of fcorpions in her hand. Lo, Charon from his leaky wherry Beckoning to waft me o'er the ferry. I come, I come, Medufa! fee, Her ferpents hifs direct at me. Begone; unhand me, hellish fry: "Avaunt-ye cannot fay 'tis I."

Dear Caffy, thou must purge and bleed; I fear thou wilt be mad indeed. But now, by friendship's facred laws, I here conjure thee, tell the caufe; And Cælia's horrid fact relate:

Thy friend would gladly fhare thy fate.

* See Macbeth.

Now bend thine ear, fince out it muft;
But when thou fee'ft me laid in dust,
The fecret thou shalt ne'er impart,
Not to the nymph that keeps thy heart;
(How would her virgin foul bemoan
A crime to all her fex unknown!)
Nor whilper to the tattling reeds
The blackeft of all female deeds;
Nor blab it on the lonely rocks,
Where Echo fits, and listening mocks;
Nor let the Zephyrs' treacherous gale
Through Cambridge waft the direful tale;
Nor to the chattering feather'd race
Discover Calia's foul difgrace.
But, if you fail, my spectre dread,
Attending nightly round your bed;
And yet I dare confide in you:
So take my fecret, and adieu.
Nor wonder how I loft my wits:
Oh! Calia, Cælia, Cælia fh-!

A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG NYMPH
GOING TO BED.

Written for the bonour of the Fair Sex,

CORINNA, pride of Drury-lane, For whom no fhepherd fighs in vain : Never did Covent-garden boaft So bright a batter'd ftrolling toaft! No drunken rake to pick her up; No cellar, where on tick to fup; Returning at the midnight hour, Four ftories climbing to her bower; Then feated on a three-legg'd chair, Takes off her artificial hair. Now picking out a crystal eye, She wipes it clean, and lays it by: Her eye-brows, from a moufe's hide, Stuck on with art on either fide, Pulls off with care, and first displays 'em, Then in a play-book fmoothly lays 'em : Now dextroufly her plumpers draws, That ferve to fill her hollow jaws : Untwists a wire, and from her gums A fet of teeth completely comes : Palls out the rags contriv'd to prop Her flabby dags, and down they drop, Proceeding on, the lovely goddess Unlaces next her fteel-ribb'd bodice, Which, by the operator's skill, Pres down the lumps, the hollows fill, Up goes her hand, and off the flips The bolters that fupply her hips. With gentleft touch the next explores Her hankres, iffues, running fores, Efes of many a fad difafter; And then to each applies a plaster: But muft, before the goes to bed, Rub off the daubs of white and red,

And fmooth the furrows in her front

With greafy paper ftuck upon't.
She takes a bolus ere the fleeps;
And then between two blankets creeps:
With pains of love tormented lies;
Or, if the chance to close her eyes,
Of Bridewell and the Compter dreams,
And feels the lash, and faintly screams;

Or, by a faithlefs bully drawn,
At fome hedge-tavern lies in pawn;
Or to Jamaica feems transported
Alone, and by no planter courted;
Or, near Fleet-ditch's oozy brinks,
Surrounded with a hundred stinks,
Belated, feems on watch to lie,
And fnap fome cully paffing by;
Or, ftruck with fear, her fancy runs
On watchmen, constables, and duns,
From whom the meets with frequent rubs;
But never from religious clubs,
Whose favour fhe is fure to find,
Because the pays them all in kind.
Corinna awakes. A dreadful fight!
Behold the ruins of the night!
A wicked rat her plafter ftole,
Half eat, and dragg'd it to his hole.
The crystal eye, alas! was mifs'd;
And pufs had on her plumpers p-ss'd.
A pigeon pick'd her issue-peas:

And Shock her treffes fill'd with fleas.
The nymph, though in this mangled plight,
Muft every morn her limbs unite.
But how fhall I defcribe her arts
To recollect the scatter'd parts?

Or fhow the anguish, toil, and pain,
Of gathering up herself again?
The bafhful mufe will never bear

In fuch a scene to interfere.

Corinna, in the morning dizen'd,

Who fees, will fpue; who fmells, be poifon'd.

STREPHON AND CHLOE. 1731.

Or Chloe all the town has rung,
By every fize of poets fung:
So beautiful a nymph appears
But once in twenty thousand years;
By Nature form'd with niceft care,
And faultlefs to a single hair.
Her graceful mien, her fhape, and face,
Confefs'd her of no mortal race:
And then fo nice, and fo genteel;
Such cleanliness from head to heel:
No humours grofs, or frowzy fteams,
No noifome whiffs, or fweaty ftreams,
Before, behind, above, below,
Could from her taintless body flow:
Would fo difcreetly things difpofe,
None ever faw her pluck a rofe.

Her dearest comrades never caught her
Squat on her hams, to make maid's water.
You'd fwear that fo divine a creature
Felt no neceffities of nature.

In fummer had she walk'd the town,

Her arm-pits would not stain her gown:
At country-dances not a nofe

Could in the dog-days smell her toes.
Her milk-white hands, both palms and backs,
Like ivory dry, and foft as wax,

Her hands, the fofteft ever felt,

Though cold would burn, though dry would melt.
Dear Venus, hide this wondrous maid,
Nor let her loose to spoil your trade.
While the engroffes every fwain,
You but o'er half the world can reign.

Think what a cafe all men are now in,
What ogling, ghing, toafting, vowing!
What powder'd wigs! what flames and darts!
What hampers full of bleeding hearts!
What fword-knots! what poetic strains!
What billet-doux, and clouded canes!

But Strephon figh'd fo loud and strong,
He blew a fettlement along;

And bravely drove his rivals down
With coach and fix, and house in town.
The bashful nymph no more withstands,
Because her dear papa commands.
The charming couple now unites:
Proceed we to the marriage-rites.

Imprimis, at the temple-porch
Stood Hymen with a flaming torch:
The fmiling Cyprian goddefs brings
Her infant-loves with purple wings;
And pigeons billing, fparrows treading,
Fair emblems of a fruitful wedding.
The mufes next in order follow,
Conducted by their fquire, Apollo:
Then Mercury with filver tongue;
And Hebe, goddess ever young.
Behold, the bridegroom and his bride
Walk hand in hand, and fide by fide;
She by the tender Graces dreft,
But he by Mars, in fcarlet vest.
The nymph was cover'd with her flammeum,
And Phabus fung th' epithalamium.
And laft, to make the matter fure,
Dame Juno brought a priest demure.
Luna was abfent, on pretence

Her time was not till nine months hence.
The rites perform'd, the parfon paid,
In ftate return'd the grand parade;
With loud huzza's from all the boys,
That now the pair muft crozon their joys.
But ftill the hardest part remains:
Strephon had long perplex'd his brains,
How with fo high a nymph he might
Demean himself the wedding-night:
For, as he view'd his perfon round,
Mere mortal flefh was all he found:
His hand, his neck, his mouth, his feet,
Were duly wafh'd, to keep them fweet
With other parts that fhall be nameless,
The ladies elfe might think me shameless).
'The weather and his love were hot;
And, fhould he ftruggle, I know what-
Why, let it go, if I muft tell it-

He'll fweat, and then the nymph may fmell it;
While fhe, a goddefs dy'd in grain,
Was unfufceptible of stain,

And, Venus-like, her fragrant skin
Exhal'd ambrofia from within.
Can fuch a deity endure

A mortal human touch impure!
How did the humbled fwain deteft
His prickly beard, and hairy breast!
His night-cap, border'd round with lace,
Could give no foftness to his face.

Yet, if the goddess could be kind,
What endless raptures must he find!
And goddeffes have now and then
Come down to vifit mortal men;
To vifit, and to court them too :

certain goddess, God knows who,

(As in a book he heard it read)
Took Colonel Peleus to her bed.
But what if he fhould lofe his life
By venturing on his heavenly wife?
(For Strephon could remember well,
That once he heard a school-boy tell,
How Semele of mortal race

By thunder died in Jove's embrace,)
And what if daring Strephon dies
By lightning fhot from Chloe's eyes?
While these reflections fill'd his head,
The bride was put in form to bed:
He follow'd, ftript, and in he crept
But awfully his distance kept.

Now ponder well ye parents dear;
Forbid your daughters guzzling beer
And make them every afternoon
Forbear their tea, or drink it foon;
That, ere to bed they venture up,
They may discharge it every fup:
If not, they muft in evil plight
Be often forc'd to rife at night.
Keep them to wholefome food confin'd,
Nor let them tafte what causes wind:
('Tis this the fage of Samos means,
Forbidding his disciples beans.)
Oh! think what evils must enfue;
Mifs Moll the jade will burn it blue :
And, when the once has got the art,
She cannot help it for her heart;
But out it flies, ev'n when the meets
Her bridegroom in the wedding-fheets
Carminative and diuretic

Will damp all passion sympathetic :
And love fuch nicety requires,
One bleft will put out all his fires.
Since hufbands get behind the scene,
The wife fhould ftudy to be clean;
Nor give the smallest room to guess
The time when wants of nature prefs;
But after marriage practife more
Decorum than fhe did before;
To keep her fpoufe deluded ftill,
And make him fancy what fhe will.

In bed we left the married pair:
'Tis time to fhow how things went there.
Strephon, who had been often told
That fortune ftill affifts the bold,
Refolv'd to make the first attack;
But Chloe drove him fiercely back.
How could a nymph fo chafte as Chloe,
With conftitution cold and fnowy,
Permit a brutish man to touch her?
Ev'n lambs by inftinct fly the butcher.
Refiftance on the wedding-night

Is what our maidens claim by right:
And Chloe, 'tis by all agreed,

Was maid in thought, and word, and deed.
Yet fome affign a different reafon ;
That Strephon chose no proper season.

Say, fair-ones, muft I make a paufe,
Or freely tell the fecret caufe?
Twelve cups of tea (with grief I fpeak)
Had now constrain'd the nymph to leak.
This point must needs be fettled first:
The bride must either void or burft.
Then fee the dire effects of peafe;
Think what can give the colic eaf