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Perfect in all the little Tricks of Love,
That charm the Sense and the quick Fancy move.
But Fate to Philis a long Reign deay'd,
She fell in all her blooming Beauty's Pride;
She conquer'd whilft the liv'd, and triumph'd as she dy'd.

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.
Uxor pauperis Ibici,
Tandem Nequitiæ fige Modum fue;
Famofifq; Laboribus, &c.



Tlength, thou antiquated Whore,

Leave Trading off, and fin no mort;:
For Shame in your old Age turn Nun,
As Whores of everlafting Memory have dones


Why should'st thou still frequent the Sporty
The Balls, and Revels of the Court ?
Or why at glittering Masks appear,
Only to fill the Triumphs of the Fair...



To Gbent or Bruffels ftrait adjourn,
The Lewdness of your former Life to mourit.
There brawny Priests in Plenty you may hire,
If Whip and wholesom Sackcloth cannot quench the Firea


Your Daughter's for the Business made,
To her, in Conscience, quit the Trade.

Thus, when bis conquering Days were done,
Victorious Charles, refign'd his Kingdom to his Son.

Alas! ne'er ehrum your long disus'd Guitcar,
Nor with Pulvilio's scent your Hair,
But in some lonely Cell abide,
Wish Rosary and Praiter dangling at your side:

A Translation of Ode xxiii. lib. I.
Vitas Hinnuleo me fimilis, Chloë,
Quærenti pavidam Montibus aviis
Matrem, &c.

HY flics Belinda from my Arms?

Or shuns my kind Embrace ?
Why does the hide her blooming Charms ?
And where I come forfake the Place.


I 1.
Like fome poor Fawn, whom every Breath:

Of Ais does to fiurprize;

In the least Wind he fancies Death,
And pants at each approaching Noife.


Alas! I never meant thee Ill,

Nor seek I to devour, thee;
Why should'st thou then with Coldness kill
The dying Slave that does adore thee,


Leave, leave thy Mother's Arms for Shame

Nor fondly hang about her
Thou're now of Age to play the Game,
And ease a Lover's Pain without her.

The xxvith Ode in Hor. 1. 3. Paraphras do

Vixi puellis nuper idoneus,
Et militavi non fine Gloria, &c.

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IS true, while active Blood my V.cins did fire;

And vigorous Youth gay. Thoughts inspire,
(By your Leave, confteous Reader, be it said
I cou'd have don't as well as moft Men did;
Blit now I am. (the more's the Pity)
The verieft Fumbler in the City.


There, honeft Harp, that haft of late
So often bore thy sinful Master's Fate,
Thou a crack'd Side, and he a broken Pateg.

Hang up, and peaceful Reft enjoy ;


Hang up, while poor dejected I,
Unmusical, un trung like thee, fit mourning by.


And likewise all ye trusty Bars,
With whofe Affitance heretoforc,

When Love engag'd me in his Wars,
I've batter'd, Heaven forgive me, many a Door ;

Lie there, 'till some more able Hand
Shall you to your old pious Use command.



But, oh kind Phaebus, lend a pitying Ear

To thy old Servaut's humble Prayer;
Let scornsul Chloe thy Resentments feel,

Lachler all o'er with Rods of Steel;.
And when the Jilt shall of her Smart complain,
This 'tis, then tell her, to difdain
Thy facred Power, and scorn a Lover's Pain.

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O fight in your Cups, and abuse the good Creature,

Believe it, my Friends, is a Sin of chat Nature,
That were you all damn'd, for a tedious long Year,
To nafty Mundungus, and heath’niNa small Beer,
Such as afcer Delauches your Sparks of che Town,
For a Penance next Morning, devoutly pour
It would not attone for fo vile a Tranfgreslion,
You're a Scandal to all of the Drinking Profession.

II. What

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

Eever. oscoocosocoooooooooooooococa

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



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