If fortune fhould please but to take fuch a crotchet (To thee I apply, great Smedley's fucceffor) To give thee laren fleeves, a mitre, and rochet,

Whom wouldst thou resemble? I leave thee a gueffer.

But I only behold thee in Atherton's * shape,
For fedomy hang'd; as thou for a rape.

Ah! dost thou not envy the brave Colonel Chartres,
Condemn'd for thy crime at threescore-and-ten?
To hang him, all England would lend him their
garters;

Yet he lives, and is ready to ravish again. Then throttle thyfelf with an ell of ftrong tape, For thou haft not a groat to atone for a rape. The Dean he was vex'd that his whores were fo willing:

[fquali;

He long'd for a girl that would firuggle and He ravish'd her fairly, and fav'd a good fhilling; But here was to pay the devil and all. His trouble and ferrows now come in a heap, And hang'd he must be for committing a rape. If maidens are ravish'd, it is their own choice: Why are they fo wilful to ftruggle with men? If they would but lie quiet, and ftifle their voice, No Devil or Dean could ravifh them then: Nor would there be need of a strong hempen cape Ty'd round the Dean's neck for committing a rape. Our Church and our State dear England maintains, For which all true Proteftant hearts should be glad: She fends us our Bifhops, and Judges, and Deans; And better would give us, if better she had. But, Lord! how the rabble will ftare, and will gape, When the good English Dean is hang'd up for a rape!

ON STEPHEN DUCK,

THE THRESHER AND FAVOURITE POET.

A Quibbling Epigram. 1730.

THE thresher Duck could o'er the Queen prevail;
The proverb fays, no fence against a flail.
From threfbing corn he turns to three his brains;
For which her Majefty allows him grains.
Though 'tis confeft, that those who ever faw
His poems, think them all not worth a firaw!
Thrice happy Duck, employ'd in threshing stubble!
Thy toil is lessen'd, and thy profits double.

THE LADY'S DRESSING-ROOM. 1730.

Five hours (and who can do it lefs in ?)
By haughty Calia fpent in dreffing;
The goddess from her chamber iffues,
Array'd in lace, brocades, and tiffues.
Strephon who found the room was void,
And Betty otherwife employ'd,
Stole in, and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay:
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.

And, first, a dirty smoke appear'd,
Beneath the arm-pits well befmear'd;

A bishop of Waterford, of infamous chara&er.

| Strephon, the rogue, display'd it wide,
And turn'd it round on every fide:
In fuch a cafe, few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guefs the reft;
But fwears, how damnably the men lic
In calling Cælia fweet and cleanly.

Now liften, while he next produces
The various combs for various ufes;
Fill'd up with dirt fo closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt ;
A paste of compofition rare,
Sweat, dandriff, powder, lead, and hair.
A forehead-cloth with oil upon't,
To fmooth the wrinkles on her front:
Here alum-flower, to stop the fteams
Exhal'd from four unfavoury ftreams;
There night-gloves made of Tripley's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripfey when he died;
With puppy-water, beauty's help,
Dittill'd from Tripfey's darling whelp.
Here gallipots and vials plac'd,
Some fill'd with wafhes, fome with pafte;
Some with pomatums, paints, and flops,
And ointments good for fcabby chops.
Hard by a filthy bafon ftands,

Foul'd with the fcouring of her hands:
'The bafon takes whatever comes,
The fcrapings from her teeth and gums,
A nafty compound of all hues,
For here fhe fpits, and here the fpues.

But, oh! it turn'd poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and fmelt the towels,
Begumm'd, bematter'd, and beflim'd,
With dirt, and fweat, and ear-wax grim'd.
No object Strephon's eye escapes;
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot,
All varnish'd o'er with snuff and fnot
The ftockings why fhould I expose,
Stain'd with the moisture of her toes;
Or greafy coifs, or pinners reeking,
Which Calia flept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found,
To pluck her brows in arches round;
Or hairs that fink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like briftles grow.

The virtues we must not let pafs
Of Calia's magnifying-glafs;
When frighted Strephon caft his cye on't,
It fhow'd the vifage of a giant :
A glafs that can to fight difclofe
The fmalleft worm in Calia's nofe,
And faithfully direct her nail
To fqueeze it out from head to tail;
For, catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out, alive or dead.

Why, Strephon, will you tell the reft?
And muft you needs defcribe the cheft?
That carelefs wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner!
But leave it standing full in fight,
For you to exercife your fpite?

In vain the workman fhow'd his wit,
With rings and hinges counterfeit,
To make it seem in this difguife
A cabinet to vulgar eyes,
Which Strephon ventur'd to look in,
Refolv'd to go through thick and thin.

He lifts the lid: there needs no more,
He fmelt it all the time before.
As, from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus op'd the locks,
A fudden univerfal crew
Of human evils upward flew,
He ftill was comforted to find
That be 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 hope.
Oh! ne'er may fuch a vile machine
Be once in Calia's chamber feen!
Oh! may fhe better learn to keep
Thole fecrets of the boary deep* !

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

And roaft them at the clearest fire;
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon a cinder drops,

To frking fmoke it turns the flame,
Poifoning the flesh from whence it came,
And up exhales a greasy stench,

For which you curfe the careless wench :
So things which must not be exprest,
When plumpt 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 finifhing his grand furvey,
The fwain difgufted flunk away;
Repeating in his amorous fits,

Oh! Calia, Calia, Cælia fh—!”
But vengeance, goddess never sleeping,
Soon punifh d Strephon for his peeping:
His foul imagination links

Each dane he fees with all her ftinks;
And, if unfavoury odours fly,
Conceives a lady ftanding by.
Al women his defcription fits,
And both ideas jump like wits;
By vicious fancy coupled faft,
And ftill appearing in contraft.
I pity wretched Strephon, blind
To all the charms of woman-kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refufe,
Because the rofe from ftinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene,
Statira's but fome pocky quean.
When Calia all her glory fhows,
If Strephon would but stop his nofe,
Who now fo impioufly blafphemes

Her ointments, daubs, and paints, and creams,
Her washes, flops, and every clout,
With which he makes fo foul a rout;
He foon would learn to think like me,
And blefs his ravish'd eyes to fee
Such order from confufion fprung,
Such gaudy tulips rais'd from dung.

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 lafh a fuburb-wench.
Yet ftill St. Stephen's chapel open lies
For Will to enter.-What fhall I advise?
Ev'n quit the HOUSE, for thou too long has fat in't;
Produce at last thy dormont ducal patent;
There, near thy mafter'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 he 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 mastiff of the triple head;
Away the hare with double fwiftnefs fled;
Hunted from earth, and sea, and hell, he flies
(Fear lent him wings) for fafety to the skies.
How was the fearful animal diftreft!
Behold a foe more fierce than all the reft!
Sirius, the fwifteft of the heavenly pack,
Fail'd but an inch to feize him by the back.
He fied to earth, but firft it coft 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 bell, 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 firft minifter, bat Earl of Orford; and Will was no longer bis opponent, but Earḥ of Buth.

CASSINUS AND PETER.

A TRAGICAL ELEGY. 1731.

Two college fophs of Cambridge growth,
Both fpecial 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 nofe:
But fuch a fight was never feen,
The lady lay fwallow'd up in fpleen.
He feem'd as juft crept out of bed;
One greafy Rocking round his head,
The other he fat down to dearn
With threads of different-colour'd yarn ;
His breeches torn expofing wide
A ragged fhirt 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 food 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 laft 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 bufh:

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 oppref,
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 she play'd the whore? Oh, Peter, would it were no more! Why, plague confound her sandy locks! Say, has the fmall or greater pox Sunk down her nofe, or feam'd her face? Be eafy, 'tis a common cafe.

Oh, Peter! beauty's but a varnish,
Which time and accidents will tarnish:
But Cælia has contriv'd to blaft
Thofe beauties that might ever last.
Nor can imagination guess,
Nor eloquence divine exprefs,
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 fo coy,
I know she 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 fhould hide his face!
Advice in vain you would apply-
Then leave me to despair 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 Cælia 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 cause; And Calia's horrid fact relate: Thy friend would gladly fhare thy fate.

To force it out, my heart must rend: Yet when conjur'd by fuch a friendThink, Peter, how my foul is rackt! Thefe eyes, thefe eyes, beheld the fact.

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 whisper to the tattling reeds The blackeft of all female deeds; Nor blab it on the lonely rocks, Where Echo fits, and liftening 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 lost 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. New picking out a crystal eye, She wipes it clean, and lays it by: Her eye-brows, from a mouse's hide, Stick on with art on either fide, Pa off with care, and firft difplays 'em, Then in a play-book fmoothly lays 'em : Now dextroudy her plumpers draws, That Erve to fill her hollow jaws : Carwits a wire, and from her gums Alt of teeth completely comes : Pals out the rags contriv'd to prop Her flabby dugs, and down they drop. Proceeding on, the lovely goddess Unlaces next her fteel-ribb'd bodice, Which, by the operator's skill, Prefs down the lumps, the hollows fill. T'p goes her hand, and off the fips The bolters that fupply her hips. With gentleft touch the next explores Her hankres, iffues, running fores, Ffects of many a fad difafier; And then to each applies a plafter : 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 cre 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 tranfported
Alone, and by no planter courted;
Or, near Fleet-ditch's oozy brinks,
Surrounded with a hundred flinks,
Belated, feems on watch to lie,
And inap fome cully pafling by;
Or, ftruck with fear, her fancy runs
On watchmen, conftables, and duns,
From whom the meets with frequent rubs;
But never from religious clubs,
Whofe 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 iffue-peas:

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

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

In fuch a fcene 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 fingle hair.
Her graceful mien, her fhape, and face,
Confefs'd her of no mortal race:
And then fo nice, and fo genteel;
Such cleanlinefs from head to heel:
No humours grofs, or frowzy feams,
No noifome whiffs, or fweaty ftreams,
Before, behind, above, below,
Could from her taintlefs 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 the walk'd the town,
Her arm-pits would not ftain her gown:
At country-dances not a nofe

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

Her hands, the fofteft ever feit,

Though cold would burn, though dry would melt.
Dear Venus, hide this wondrous maid,

Nor let her loofe to fpoil your trade.
While fhe engroffes every fwain,
You but o'er half the world can reign

Think what a cafe all men are now in,
What ogling, fighing, toafting, vowing!
What powder'd wigs! what flames and darts!
What hampers full of bleeding hearts!
What fword-knots! what poetic strains!
What bill t-doux, and clouded canes!

But Stephon figh'd so 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,
Becaufe her dear papa commands.
The charming couple now unites :
Proceed we to the marriage-rites.

Imprimis, at the temple-porch
Stocd 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, goddefs ever young.
Behold, the bridegroom and his bride
Walk hand in hand, and fide by side;
She by the tender Graces dreft,
But he by Mars, in fcarlet veft.

The nymph was cover'd with her flammeum,
And Phoebus fung th' epithalamium.
And laft, to make the matter fure,
Dame Juno brought a prieft demure.
Luna was abfent, on pretence

Her time was not till nine months hence.
The rites perfeim'd, the parfon paid,
In flate return'd the grand parade;
With loud huzza's from all the boys,
That now the pair must crown their joys.
But fill 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 vicw'd his perfon round,
Mere mortal flefh was all he found:
His hand, his neck, his mouth, his feet,
Were duly wash'd, to keep them fweet
(With other parts that fhall be nameless,
The ladics elfe might think me fhameless).
The weather and his love were hot;
And, fhould he ftruggle, I know what--
Why, let it go, if I must tell it--

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

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 breaft!
His night-cap, border'd round with lace,
Could give no foftness to his face.

Yet, if the goddefs 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:
A 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 thefe 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 must in evil plight
Be often forc'd to rife at night.
Keep them to wholefome food confin'd,
Nor let them tafte what caufes wind:
("Tis this the fage of Samos means,
Forbidding his difciples beans.)
Oh! think what evils muft 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 paffion fympathetic:
And love fuch nicety requires,
One blaff will put out all his fires.
Since hufbands get behind the scene,
The wife fhould study to be clean;
Nor give the fmallest room to guess
The time when wants of nature prefs;
But after marriage practife more
Decorum than fhe did before;
To keep her spouse deluded still,
And make him fancy what the 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 aflifts the bold,
Refolv'd to make the first attack;
But Chloe drove him fiercely back.
How could a nymph fo chaste as Chloe,
With conftitution cold and fnowy,
Permit a brutish man to touch her?
Ev'n lambs by instinct 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 chofe no proper season.

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