And my Landlady too fhe's a Teazer,

At least four Times a Day

She warns me away,

And what can a Man do to pleafe her?

Here's the Victualler and Vintner,

The Cook and the Printer,

With their Myrmidons hovering about, Sir:

The Taylor and Draper,

With the Cur that fells Paper,

That, in fhort, I dare not stir out, Sir.
But Books fure may go,
my

My Master Ovid's did fo,.

And tell how doleful the Cafe is;

If it don't move your Pity,

To make short of my Ditty,

Twill ferve you to wipe your Arfses.

Mart. Epig. 5. 1. 2.

Ne valeam, fi nom totis, Deciane, diebus,
Et tecum totis Noctibus effe velim.

N fome vile Hamlet let me live forgot,

I Small Beer my Portion, and no Wine my Lot:

To fome worse Fiend in Church-Indentures bound,
Than ancient Job or modern Sherlock found;
And with more Aches plagu'd, and Pains, and Ills,
Than fill our Salmon's Works, or Tilburgh's Bills;
If 'tis not ftill the Burden of my Prayer,

The Night with you,, with you the Day to share.
But Sir, (and the Complaint you know is true)
Two damn'd long Miles there lie 'twixt me and you;
And these two Miles, by help of Calculation,
Make four, by that I've reach'd my Habitation.
You're near Sage Will's, the Land of Mirth and Claret ;
I live flow'd up in a White-Chapel Garret :

Vol. IV.

C

Ofc

Oft when Iv'e walk'd fo far, your Hands to kifs,
Flatter'd with Thoughts of the fucceeding Blifs,
I'm told you're gone to the vexatious Hall,
Where with eternal Lungs the Lawyers baw!:
Or elfe ftole out, fome Female Friend to fee;
Or, what's as bad, you're not at Home for me.
Two Miles I've at your Service, and that's Civil;
But to trudge four, and mifs you, is the Devil.

The Hint taken from Quid te, Tucca, juvat.

W

Hat Planer diftracts thee, what damnable Star, To dash honest Bourdeaux with vile Bar-a-Bar? Why should innocent Claret be murder'd by Port, Thou'lt furely be fentenc'd in Bacchus's Court. As for us drunken Rakes, if we hang, or we drown, Or are decently poifond, what Lofs has the Town; But to kill harmless Claret, that does fo much Good, Is downright Effufion of true Chriftian Blood: Ne'er think what I tell you is Matter of Laughter, Thou'lt be curs'd for't in this World, and damn'd fort

Chereafter.

Mart. Epig. 23. 1. 1.

Si memini, fuerant tibi quatuor, Elia, dentes.

W

1.

Hen Gammer Gurton first I knew,
Four Teeth in all the reckon'd:

Comes a damn'd Cough, and whips out two,
And t'other two, a fecond.

II. Courage,

*

II..

Courage, old Dame, and never fear
The third, when e'er it comes;
Give me but other Jugg of Beer,
And I'll enfure your Gums.

An Imitation of Epigram 44. in Mart. Lib. 3. Occurrit tibi nemo quod libenter, &c.

Hat Coufins, Friends, and Strangers fly thee,

Thay, thy own seiner and

That all Men thy Acquaintance fun,
And into Holes and Corners run,

Like Irish Beau from English Dun,

The Reason's plain, and if thou'd'st know it,
Thou'rt a anoft damn'd repeating Poet.
Not Bayliff fow'r, with horrid Beard,
Is more in poor Alfatia fear'd,
Since the ftern Parliament of late

Has fript of ancient Rights their State: dm
Not Tygers, when their Whelps are mifting,
Nor Serpents in the Sun-fhine hifting,
Nor Snake in Tail that carries Rattle,
Nor Fire, nor Plague, nor Blood, nor Battle,
Is half fo dreaded by the Throng,
As thy vile perfecuting Tongue.

If e'er the reftlefs Clack that's in it
Gives thy Head leave to think a Minute,
Think what a Penance we must bear,
Thy damn'd Impertinence to hear.

Whether I ftand, or run, or fit,
Thou still art i'th' repeating Fit;
Weary'd, I feek a Nap to take,

But thy curst Muse keeps me awake.g
At Church too, when the Organ's blowing,
Thy louder Pipe is ftill a going.

C 21

}

Nor

Nor Park, nor Bagnio's from thee free,
All Places are alike to thee.

Learn Wisdom once, at a Friend's Instance,
From the two Fellows at St. Dunstan's,
Make not each Man thou meet'st a Martyr;
But ftrike, like them, but once a Quarter.

The 63d Epigram in Martial, Lib. 3.
Cotile, Bellus homo es, &c.

H! Femmy, you're a Beau: Not I alone
Say this, but 'tis the Talk of all the Town.
Prithee be free, and to thy Friend impart

What is a Beau

Ay, Sir, with all my Heart.
He's one, who nicely curls and combs his Hair,
And vifits Sedgwick monthly all the Year':
Sings bawdy Songs, and humms them, as along
Flanting he walks thro' the admiring Throng;
All the Day long fits with the charming Fair,
And whispers pretty Stories in their Ear.
Writes Billets-doux; fhuns all Men as he goes,
Left their unhallow'd Touch fhou'd daub his Cloaths,
He knows your
Miftrefs: : Nay, at every Feast
He'll tell the Pedigree of every Gueft.

Is this a Beau? Faith, Jemmy, I'll be plain,
A Beau's a Bawble, deftitute of Brain.

The Contented WHORE.

An Imitation of Epig. 66. in Mart. 1. 12.
Formofa Phillis no&e cum mihi tota.

I.

"O Charming Calia's Arms I flew,

and there all Night I feafted; No God fuch Transports ever knew, Nor Mortal ever tafted.

II.