For now each day, each hour, the cup he tries,
Till out at last th' enchanted liquor flies.
O fatal, fatal proof! O bane of reft!
Frantic he tears his hair, and beats his breast.
But to describe his anguifh, his defpair,
His furious transports, his diftracted air,
Would ask the bard, whofe lyre APOLLO ftrung,
When he the wrath of fierce ACHILLES fung;
Or him who led the pious chief to Rome,
And left poor Dy to kill herself at home.
For now he drags along the weeping fair,
Her head difhevell'd and her bofom bare.
Inftead of hiding his fad cafe,
He publishes his own difgrace.
Then in a prison fhuts her up,
And fhews to all the magic cup.
Had he himself the fecret kept,
(Since all the fhame is being known)
On either fide he might have flept,
Nor mift the bird he fancied flown.
But ALTAMONT was none of those ;
Each day he to the prifon goes,
With bitter taunts his fpoufe reviles,
And counts o'er all her tricks and wiles.

Indeed the pafs'd a wretched time.
Ah, ALTAMONT! I own my crime,
Then fhed another shower,

As confcious of her power.
For reader, be it understood,
He pay'd fometimes, in tender mood,
A vifit to the tower.

I do, the cry'd, deferve your hate,
But fure my punishment's too great.
You fay I broke my marriage vow,
And branded fhame upon your brow.
You was yourself your own undoing,
'Twas you that hurried me to ruin.

Had

Had not your jealoufy provok'd my pride,
I ne'er from virtue should have slipt aside.
Your fault is no excuse for mine,
And yet how many in your state
Wifely throw all the blame on fate,
And ne'er at cafualties repine?
Fair HELEN gain'd a thousand charms,
For having been in PARIS' arms;
SO MENELA's her husband fwore,
When after a ten years campaign,
With joy he took her back again,
And lik'd her ten times more.
It is a thing fo common grown,-
Afk all the num'rous herd you fee,
And he who knows his forehead free,
Why let him throw the stone,
And throw it if he dare at me.
That is fome comfort I must own;
And if fo many I can raise
As will a regiment make up,
Methinks my mind would be at ease.
Have you not got, faid fhe, the cup,
A tryal always at command,

To know all those that form the band?
Good ALTAMONT approves this scheme,
Keeps open house to all that came;
And after dinner every day

Produc'd the cup to make th' effay.
My wife, falfe to her marriage vows,
Forfook me for another,

If any here fufpects his spouse,

And thinks himself our brother,
This vafe will foon the point clear up.
'Tis fit to know if mifchief's brewing,
And what at home your wife's a doing.
If every drop of wine you fup
That's in this magick golden cup,
You need not fear a lover's wooing;

VOL. I.

But if your honour's bought or fold,
And under VULCAN you're enroll'd,
Spite of your care, do what you will,
Some of the wine you'll furely (pilk. ~;:
By all the guests the cup is try'd, pad
And as the liquor they were drinking,
Or more or less it flipt afide;

At which fome laught, and others. cry'd,
According to their ways of thinking.".
And now from far and near the people come,
Without the trumpet's found, or beat of drum,
To lift into the corps of CUCKOLDOM.
The different quantity of liquor fpilt,
Proclaim'd the measure of their fpoufes guilt,
And gave the ranks the heroes bore. te
All thofe, whofe very cautious prudent wives
Had only made one faux pas in their lives,

Were private foldiers, and no more, “...
The reft, by the fame rule, were all preferr'd,
From corporal, to him who gave the word,
And many a citizen, and many a lord,
The regimentals wore.

An alderman, amongst the reft,
Would try, to carry on the jeft,

He thought himself cock fure,
And boldly takes the cup to fip,
Which fudden ftarted from his lip,
And every drop fell to the floor.
In vain he cry'd, 'twas merely accident,
They made him colonel to the regiment.
Let us, faid one, have a review,
And each his exercife go thro'.
The day was fixt, the troops appear
At diftance, on the verdant plain,
Juft like a park well stock'd with deer.
When brave RINALDO and his train
Arriv'd: Nephew to CHARLEMAIGN,

}

Renown'd

Renown'd of old for feats of glory!
But that is foreign to our ftory.
He came, like others, to the treat,
And with the rest sat down to eat.
You'll not be angry if I fink

The speeches made 'twixt meat and drink.
So we'll fay grace, and clear away;
Then bring the cup to make th' effay.
How's this? RINALDO ftrait reply'd,
By me it never shall be try'd.
Pray keep your cup and liquor too;
I think my wife both chafte and true.
Befides, who knows, my hand might shake,
And then the dev'lifh cup might make

Some grofs mistake,

So might I fancy I have horns like you. Farewell, and thanks: 1 humbly kifs your hand; Except in this, your fervant to command.

My friends, quoth ALTAMONT, we are to blame,
RINALDO's wifer than us all;

Yet fince we can't the paft recall,
'Twould be but folly to exclaim.
Then all return to your own houses,
And ask forgiveness of your spouses;
Own'twas your faults they went aftray;
Come, follow me, I'll fhew the way.
He then receiv'd CALISTA as before,
And pocketed his horns like many more.

Ye hufbands all, example take,
RINALDO points out what to do.
Be wife, and think your spouses true,
If not for theirs, for your own fake,
Your happiness is all at ftake,

'Tis worth your looking to.

G

For had RINALDO dar'd to fup,

He might have faulter'd in the tryal.
Right prudent was his firm denial

For who but fools, would tafte the cup.

W

AURINDA.

HILST others flourish in the rules of art, And strive with borrow'd charms to gain the heart,

F

AURINDA'S not by foolish fashion led,
Trufts nature, and appears fincerely red,
Scorns all disguises to maintain her sway,
And fmiles at what the bufy critics fay.
Who talk-She thus her golden treffes wears,
That the may fhew her fortunes by her hairs.
Strange that this native drefs fhould cenfure find,
Is't not the colour that fubdues mankind?
For fhame, licentious tongues, your fpleen controul,
That must allure the eyes, which fires the foul.

On a young LADY dancing with a GENTLEMAN at BUXTON.

In Imitation of the eighth Ode of the firft Book of HORACE.

AY, lovely CYNTHIA, pr'ythee say, Why will those cruel charms deftroy A youth, who, 'till one hapless day, Brook'd every toil, and tafted every joy?

But