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Perfect in all the little Tricks of Love,
VII. Thou, like some old Commander in Disgraces Surviving the past Conquests of thy Face; Now the great Businefs of thy Life is done, Review'ft, with Grief, the Trophies thou hast won. Damn'd to be parch’d with Luft, tho chill'a with Age And, tho'paft Action, damn'd to tread thc Srage, That all might laugh to see that glaring Lighty Which lacely shone so fierce and brighey End with a Stink at last, and vanish into Night..
The xvth Ode in Horace Lib. 3. Imitated.
Tlength, thou antiquated Whore,
Leave Trading off, and fin no mort;:
Why should'st thou still frequent the Sporty
To Gbent or Bruffels ftrait adjourn,
Your Daughter's for the Business made,
Thus, when bis conquering Days were done,
Alas! ne'er ehrum your long disus'd Guitcar,
A Translation of Ode xxiii. lib. I.
Or shuns my kind Embrace ?
Of Ais does to fiurprize;
In the least Wind he fancies Death,
Alas! I never meant thee Ill,
Nor seek I to devour, thee;
Leave, leave thy Mother's Arms for Shame
Nor fondly hang about her
The xxvith Ode in Hor. 1. 3. Paraphras do
Vixi puellis nuper idoneus,
And vigorous Youth gay. Thoughts inspire,
There, honeft Harp, that haft of late
Hang up, and peaceful Reft enjoy ;
Hang up, while poor dejected I,
And likewise all ye trusty Bars,
When Love engag'd me in his Wars,
Lie there, 'till some more able Hand
But, oh kind Phaebus, lend a pitying Ear
To thy old Servaut's humble Prayer;
Lachler all o'er with Rods of Steel;.
Believe it, my Friends, is a Sin of chat Nature,
II. What a-pox do ye bellow, and make such a Pother, And throw Candlesticks, Bortles, and Pipes at each other Come keep the King's Peace; leave your damning and
[linking And gravely return to good Christian drinking. He that flinches his Glass, and to drink is not able, Let hint quarrel no more, but knock under she Talk.
III. Well, Faith, fince you've rais'd my ill Nature fo higi I'll drink on no other Condicion, not 1, Unless
old Friend in the Corner declares What Mistress he courts, and whose Colours he wears : You may safely acquaint me, for Pm none of those That use to divulge what's spoke under the Rose. Coinc, part with't... What she ! forbid it ye Powers, What unfortunate Planet rulod o'er thg Amours! Why, Man, the has lain (Oh thy Fate how I pity !). With half the blue Breeches and Whigs in shc Ciry. Go thank Mr. Parson, give him Thanks with a Curse, Oh those damnable Words, For better for worse. To regain your old Freedom you vainly endeavour, Your Doxy and you no Priest can dislever, You must dance in the Circle, you must dance in't for
The same de imitated. Natis in usum latitis Scypbis, &c.
? in ? Must your Quarrels as long as your Glasses con.
(tinue Give it o'er, ye dull Sots! let the dull-pated Boors, Snic or free at their Punch-Bowls, or flash for their