Yet, as she wastes, fhe grows difcreet,

Till midnight never thews her head: So rotting Celia frolls the street,

When fober folks are all abed.

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When Mercury her treffes mows,

To think of black-lead combs is vain :

No painting can restore a nose,

Nor will her teeth return again.

Ye pow'rs who over love prefide!

Since mortal beauties drop fo foon,

If you would have us well fupply'd,

Send us new nymphs with each new moon.

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PETHOX THE GREAT.

FR

Written in the year 1723.

ROM Venus born, thy beauty fhows;
But who thy father, no man knows :

Nor can the skilful herald trace

The founder of thy antient race:
Whether thy temper, full of fire,
Discovers Vulcan for thy fire;
The god who made Scamander boil,
And round his margin fing'd the foil,
From whence, philofophers agree,
An equal pow'r defcends to thee:
Whether from dreadful Mars you
The high defcent from whence you came;

claim

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And, as a proof, fhew num'rous scars
By fierce encounters made in wars,
Those honourable wounds you bore
From head to foot, and all before ;
And ftill the bloody field frequent,
Familiar in each leader's tent:

Or whether, as the learn'd contend,
You from the neighb'ring Gaul descend;
Or from Parthenope the proud,

Where numberléss thy vot ries croud :

Whether thy great forefathers came

From realms that bear Vesputio's name ;
For fo conject'rers would obtrude,
And from thy painted skin conclude:
Whether, as Epicurus fhows,
The world from juftling feeds arose,
Which, mingling with prolific ftrife
In chaos, kindled into life;
So your production was the fame,
And from contending atoms came.

THY fair indulgent mother crown'd
Thy head with fparkling rubies round:
Beneath thy decent steps the road
Is all with precious jewels ftrow'd.
The bird of Pallas † knows his poft,
Thee to attend, where-e'er thou go'st.
BYZANTIANS boaft, that on the clod
Where once their Sultan's horfe hath trod,
Grows neither grass, nor shrub, nor tree :
The fame thy fubjects boast of thee.

THE greatest lord, when you appear,
Will deign your livery to wear,

In all the various colours feen

Of red, and yellow, blue, and green.

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WITH half a word, when you require, The man of bus'nefs must retire.

THE haughty minister of state

And well thy fcholars are endu'd
With temp'rance, and with fortitude;
With patience, which all ills fupports;
And fecrecy, the art of courts.

THE glitt'ring beau could hardly tell,
Without your aid, to read or spell;
But, having long convers'd with you,
Knows how to write a billet-doux.

WITH what delight, methinks, I trace
Your blood in ev'ry noble race!

In whom thy features, shape, and mien
Are to the life distinctly seen.

THE Britons, once a favage kind,
By you were brighten'd and refin'd,
Defcendents of the barb'rous Huns,
With limbs robuft, and voice that stuns :
But you have molded them afresh,
Remov'd the tough fuperfluous flesh,
Taught them to modulate their tongues,
And ipeak without the help of lungs.
PROTEUS on you bestow'd the boon
To change your visage like the moon ;

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You fometimes half a face produce,
Keep t'other half for private ufe.

How fam'd thy conduct in the fight
With Hermes, fon of Pleias bright!
Out-number'd, half encompafs'd round,
You ftrove for ev'ry inch of ground;
Then, by a foldierly retreat,
Retir'd to your imperial feat.

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The victor, when your fteps he trac❜d,

Found all the realms before him wafte:

You, o'er the high triumphal arch
Pontific, made your glorious march;
The wondrous arch behind you fell,
And left a chafm profound as hell:
You, in your capitol fecur'd,
A fiege as long as Troy endur'd..

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The LAMENTATION of GLUMDAL
CLITCH for the lofs of GRILDRIG +.

A PASTORAL.

SOON as Glumdalclitch mifs'd her pleafing care,

She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair:

No British Mifs fincerer grief has known,

Her fquirrel miffing, or her fparrow flown..
She furl'd her fampler, and hawl'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then fpread her hands, and with a bounce let fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.

In peals of thunder now she roars, and now
She gently whimpers like a lowing cow;

Yet lovely in her forrow ftill appears :
Her locks difhevell'd, and her flood of tears,
Seem like the lofty barn of fome rich swain,
When from the thatch drips faft a show'r of rain.

In vain fhe fearch'd each cranny of the house,
Each gaping chink, impervious to a moufe.
"Was it for this" (fhe cry d)" with daily care,
"Within thy reach 1 fet the vinegar,

"And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide,

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"While pepper-water worms thy bait supply'd; 20 " Where twin'd the filver eel around thy hook, "And all the little monsters of the brook!

"Sure in that lake he dropt; my Grilly's drown'd !”She dragged the cruet, but no Grildrig found.

"VAIN is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boaft; 25 "But little creatures enterprife the moft.

"Trembling, I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw,

Nay, mix with children, as they play'd at taw, "Nor fear the marbles, as they bounding flew; "Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you.

“Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? "Who from a page can ever learn the truth? "Vers'd in court tricks, that money-loving boy "To fome lord's daughter fold the living toy, "Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, "As children tear the wings of flies away. "From place to place o'er Brobdingnag I'll roam, "And never will return, or bring thee home.

But who hath eyes to trace the paffing wind? "How then thy fairy footsteps can I find? "Doft thou bewilder'd wander all alone "In the green thicket of a mossy stone: "Or, tumbled from the toadstool's flipp'ry round, "Perhaps all maim'd lie grov'ling on the ground? "Doft thou, imbofom d in the lovely rofe, "Or funk within the peach's down, repofe?

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