MACER.1 A CHARACTER. WHEN Simple Macer, now of high renown, Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends, So some coarse country wench, almost decay'd, Trudges to town and first turns chambermaid; Awkward and supple each devoir to pay, She flatters her good lady twice a day; Thought wondrous honest, though of mean degree, And strangely lik'd for her simplicity: 1 Either James Moore Smith, or, more probably, Ambrose Philips. 2 John Crowne, the author of various dramas, contemporary with Dryden. In a translated suit then tries the town, With borrow'd pins and patches not her own; But just endur'd the winter she began, And in four months a batter'd harridan: Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk, To bawd for others, and go shares with punk. SONG, BY A PERSON OF QUALITY. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1733. FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions, Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping, Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, Mournful cypress, verdant willow, Melancholy smooth Maander Thus when Philomela drooping ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT.1 I KNOW the thing that's most uncommon; (Envy, be silent, and attend!) I know a reasonable woman, Handsome and witty, yet a friend: Not warp'd by passion, aw'd by rumour, And sensible soft melancholy. 1 Mrs. Howard, afterwards Countess of Suffolk. “Has she no faults then (Envy says), sir?" When all the world conspires to praise her, ON HIS GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM, AND MINERALS. THOU who shalt stop where Thames' translucent wave Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave; Approach. Great nature studiously behold! Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor, VERSES TO MR. C. ST. JAMES'S PLACE. London, Oct. 22. well; Few words are best; I wish you Bethel, I'm told, will soon be here; If, in this interval, between The falling leaf and coming frost, For three whole days you here may rest TO MR. GAY, WHO HAD CONGRATULATED POPE ON FINISHING HIS Aн, friend! 'tis true-this truth you lovers know In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens : |