If in your smiles we approbation read,
'Tis done already—I'm a MAN indeed.

Ti

EPIGRA

M.

pray

O CHURCHILL the bard, cries the W-r DEAN, Leathern breeches, white stockings! pray what do you mean !

'Tis fhameful, irrev'rent-You must keep to churchrules,

If wife ones I will — and if not, they're for fools; If reafon don't bind me, I'll fhake off all fetters, To be black and all black I fhall leave to my betters.

The

MAGP Y E.

A

A FABLE

Magpye once, by birth a cit,

Affected fashion, noife and wit. She fcorn'd her family and neighbours, Who flourish'd by their honest labours; Her plodding mate was deem'd a fool, A ufeful, defpicable tool,

Whom heav'n had doom'd to toil and cares,

That madam might fupport her airs.
She deck'd herself in courtly plumes,

The peacock's dress and air affumes,
Runs ev'ry scene of folly o'er,
As ladies did
in times of yore

But

But pleasure is not purchas'd cheap,
So mark the fruits her vot'ries reap;
The hufband fails, the wife's diftrefs'd,
By anxious thoughts and want opprefs'd.
Then ftripp'd of all her fancy'd state,
Reflection comes but comes too late ;
Her flatt'rers now turn up their nose;
Her modifh friends become her foes;
About the court, throughout the city,
'Tis all contempt, no grain of pity.
Thus play'd the bird, her foolish part,
And clos'd the scene, with broken heart.

On GOTHAM, by C. CHURCHILL, being advertised within the laft MAGAZINE.

Y

OUR friend, master Lloyd!

Laft ftage within fide

Of your coach took a place, there's no doubt:

But furely your friend

Can never intend

Only just to flep in, to come out.

VERSES to Mifs JENNY GAY.

A

T length efcap'd, I've gain'd this calm retreat,
Far from the dazling fplendors of the great;
Adieu the town's falfe pleafures, and its noife,
This bow'r be mine, be mine thefe tranquil joys.

Here

Here all the landscape fmiles upon the eye;
Th' embroider'd flope, the green-wood waving high,
The golden harvest, and the funny mead,
And pureft ftreams by bright-hair'd Naiads led.
Yet ah! ev'n here ftill fomething not poffeft,
Mingles a figh, and makes the fcene unbleft.
Should fome kind God (for Gods of old have been,
As bards relate, the guests of mortal men)
O fhould fome God, defcending to my aid,
Once with his prefence grace this humble fhade,
Then at the parting hour, demand my care,
Thus from the heart would flow its warmeft pray'r:

Know, gueft divine, a nymph adorns our plains,
Whose name ador'd, infpires my artless ftrains,
Whose sweetness wins me, and whofe charms controul,

I love! I love! and fhe has all my foul.

If e'er this rural fcene thine eye furvey'd,

It must, it must have mark'd the beauteous maid.
Lo! graceful where the treads yon mountain's brow,
Shedding new funfhine o'er the vale below.
Were it my lot (what joy would then betide!)
To walk for ever by the fair one's fide!
Again that well-known voice of love to hear,
Which vibrates ftill upon her fhepherd's ear!
O could I call the youthful charmer mine!
Would fate in one our deftinies entwine!
How should I blefs each moment as it paft,
And hail the next ftill happier than the laft!
For oh what raptures muft their fouls employ,
Who unreftrain'd confefs a mutual joy;
Whofe growing love increafing blifs imparts,
And clofer draws the tie that join'd their hearts.
But ah! I mufe upon a tranfient gleam.
Of flatt'ring hope, a fond, illufive dream.
Mine is a paffion that I dare not plead;
Another fortune waits the charming maid.

She'll

She'll blefs the arms (and all my fighs are vain)
Of fome more wealthy, but lefs faithful fwain.

Yet go, kind deity, who hear'ft this pray'r,
Go! waft at least these wishes to the fair,
Breathe soft these accents in fome tender hour,
That her and her alone, I must adore:

If 'tis a crime, let this her pity move,
I own the guilt, but cannot cease to love;

I cannot cease this ftrain to utter ftill,

Be dear Paftora mine, and take the world who will.

Upon the numberlefs Advertisements of new Comments, &c. upon the BIBLE.

Graculus efuriens ad cœlum jufferis, ibit.

TE

ELL us, ye paraphrafts, whofe zeal
The facred text explains,

Not to promote religious weal,

But for your private gains;

Who feize the toil, with boldness rude,

Of STACKHOUSE, PATRICK, HAMMOND,

Can you that facred text elude,

And ferve both GOD and MAMMON?

No while ye write for lucre's fake,
E'en TRUTH will be profane;

If e'er men did, ye furely take

The name of God in vain.

Juv.

VOL. I.

Iii

MYRA.

M Y

R A.

Non bene junctarum difcordia femina rerum! OVID.

TR

ARUE! MYRA boafts each blooming grace,
That can adorn the fair,

For beauty revels in her face,

Her fhape, her mein, he air.

And when this nymph in humour kind,

Engaging, gay, and free,

Attunes the charms of form and mind,

To fweeteft harmony,

Such mufic might the fenfe of love
In Stoic's breaft infpire;

As fympathetic brutes could move

To Orpheus' magic lyre.

But foon the airs of spleen and pride,

The melody confound;

Too foon the unifon's destroy'd

By paffion's ill-tim'd found.

Thus the fame God, who mufic's lore
Firft fram'd by happy art,

Was wont to ftrike, with horrid roar,

A PANNIC in the heart.

The LION and F O X.

TH

HERE was a lion good and gracious, A generous beaft, and not rapacious ; As great ones go, you'll scarcely find

More virtue e'en amongst mankind. ›

Yet