I know the swing of sinful hack,
Where many damsels cry alack.

With a fa, la, la.

Then why to courts should I repair,

Where's such ado with Townshend ? To hear each mortal stamp and swear,

And every speech with Zounds end; To hear ’em rail at honest Sunderland, And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland."

With a fa, la, la.

Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun,

Like Grafton court the Germans; Tell Pickenbourg how slim she's grown,

Like Meadows 5 run to sermons ; To court ambitious men may roam, But I and Marlbro' stay at home.

With a fa, la, la.

In truth, by what I can discern,

Of courtiers 'twixt you three,
Some wit you have, and more may learn

From court, than Gay or me;
Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet,
Το
sup with us on milk and quiet.

With a fa, la, la.

At Leicester-Fields, a house full high,

With door all painted green, Where ribbons wave upon the tie

(A milliner I mean), There may you meet us three to three, For Gay can well make two of me.

With a fa, la, la.

But should you catch the prudish itch

And each become a coward, Bring sometimes with you lady Rich,

And sometimes mistress Howard ; For virgins to keep chaste must go Abroad with such as are not so.

With a fa, la, la.

6

And thus, fair maids, my ballad ends;

God send the king safe landing; And make all honest ladies friends

To armies that are standing; Preserve the limits of those nations, And take off ladies' limitations.

With a fa, la, la.

THE THREE GENTLE SHEPHERDS.

OF gentle Philips will I ever sing,
With gentle Philips shall the valleys ring.
My numbers too for ever will I vary,
With gentle Budgell, and with gentle Carey.
Or if in ranging of the names I judge ill,
With gentle Carey and with gentle Budgell.
Oh! may all gentle bards together place ye,
Men of good hearts, and men of delicacy.
May satire ne'er befool ye or beknave ye,
And from all wits that have a knack," God save ye.

EPIGRAM.

ENGRAVED ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG WHICH I GAVE

TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS.

I AM His Highness's dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?

THE TRANSLATOR.

OZELL,' at Sanger's call, invoked his Muse,
For who to sing for Sanger could refuse?
His numbers such as Sanger's self might use.
Reviving Perrault, murdering Boileau, he
Slander'd the ancients first, then Wycherley;
Which yet not much that old bard's anger rais’d,
Since those were slander'd most whom Ozell prais’d.
Nor had the gentle satire caus'd complaining,
Had not sage Rowe pronounc'd it entertaining;
How great must be the judgment of that writer,
Who the Plain Dealer” damns, and prints the Biter! 8

THE LOOKING-GLASS.

ON MRS. PULTENEY.4

With scornful mien, and various toss of air,
Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair,
Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain,
She looks ambition, and she moves disdain.

Far other carriage grac'd her virgin life,
But charming Gumley's lost in Pulteney's wife.
Not greater arrogance in him we find,
And this conjunction swells at least her mind.
O could the sire, renown'd in glass, produce
One faithful mirror for his daughter's use!
Wherein she might her haughty errors trace,
And by reflection learn to mend her face :
The wonted sweetness to her form restore,
Be what she was, and charm mankind once more!

AN EPISTLE TO HENRY CROMWELL, ESQ.1

DEAR MR. CROMWELL,

May it please ye,
Sit still a moment; pray, be easy;
Faith, 'tis not five; no play's begun;
No
game

at ombre lost or won.
Read something of a different nature,
Than Evening Post or Observator ;
And pardon me a little fooling,
Just while your coffee stands a cooling.

Since your acquaintance with one Brocas,”
Who needs will back the Muses' cockhorse,
I know you dread all those who write,
And both with mouth and hand recite;