A MAN OF WIT.
A, they say, has wit; for what?
For writing?-No; for writing not.
ON A LITTLE HOUSE,
BUILT BY A POETICAL GENTLEMAN.
A Bard grown desirous of saving his pelf,
Built a house he was sure would hold none but
This enrag'd god Apollo, who Mercury sent,
And bid him go ask, what his votary meant.
Some foe to my empire has been his adviser;
'Tis of dreadful portent, when a poet turns miser:
Tell him, Hermes, from me, tell that subject of mine,
I have sworn by the Styx to defeat his design;
For, wherever he comes, the muses shall reign;
And the muses, he knows, have a numerous train,
IN UXOREM OPTATAM.
A Bachelor would have a wife, that's wise,
Fair, rich, and young, a maiden, for his bed,
Nor proud, nor churlish, but of faultless size,
A country housewife, in the city bred.
But he's a fool, and long in vain hath staid;
He should bespeak ber; there's none ready made.