ROBIN and HARR Y*.

ROBIN, to beggars, with a curse,

Throws the last fhilling in his purse ; And, when the coachman comes for pay, The rogue muft call another day.

Grave Harry, when the poor are preffing, Gives them a penny, and God's bleffing; But, always careful of the main, With two-pence left, walks home in rain.

Robin, from noon to night, will prate Runs out in tongue, as in estate; And, ere a twelvemonth and a day, Will not have one new thing to fay. Much talking is not Harry's vice; He need not tell a story twice ; And, if he always be fo thrifty, His fund may laft till five and fifty.

It fo fell out, that cautious Harry, As foldiers ufe, for love muft marry, And, with his Dame, the ocean croft, All for Love, or the World well Loft.

* These gentlemen were fons of the famous Dr. Leflie, and one of them was a colonel in the Spanish service. See Vol. Vil. p. 168.

Repairs a cabin gone to ruin,
Just big enough to shelter two in;
And in his house, if any body come,
Will make them welcome to his modicum.
Where Goody Julia milks the cows, mo
And boils potatoes for her fpoufe;
Or darns his hofe, or mends his breeches,
While Harry's fencing up his ditches.

Robin, who ne'er his mind could fix To live without a coach and fix, To patch his broken fortunes, found A mistress worth five thousand pound; Swears he could get her in an hour, If Gaffer Harry would endow her; And fell, to pacify his wrath, A birth-right for a mefs of broth.

Young Harry, as all Europe knows, Was long the quinteffence of beaux; But, when efpous'd, he ran the fate That must attend the marry'd ftate; From gold brocade and fhining armour, Was metamorphos'd to a farmer; His grazier's coat with dirt besmear'd, Nor twice a week will have his beard.

Old

Old Robin, all his youth a floven,
At fifty-two, when he grew loving,
Clad in a coat of paduafoy,

A flaxen wig, and waistcoat gay,
Powder'd from fhoulder down to flank,
In courtly style addreffes Frank;
Twice ten years older than his wife,
Is doom'd to be a beau for life:
Supplying those defects by drefs,
Which I must leave the world to guefs.

THE

THE

FIVE LADIES ANSWER

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BEAU with the WIG and WINGS at his Head. *

You little fcribbling Beau,

What Damon made

you write?

Because to write you know
As much as you can fight.

For compliment fo fcurvy,
I wish we had you here;
We'd turn you topsy-turvy
Into a mug of beer.

You thought to make a farce on
The man and place we chose;
We're fure a fingle Parson

Is worth a hundred Beaux.

And you would make us vaffals,
Good Mr. Wig and Wings,

To filver-clocks and taffels ;

You wou'd, you Thing of Things!

See a poem on the Five Ladies at Sots-Hole, Vol. VII.

p. 125, to which this poem is an answer.

Because

Because around your cane

A ring of diamonds is fet;
And you, in fome bye-lane,
Have gain'd a paultry grizette:

Shall we, of fense refin’'d,
Your trifling nonfenfe bear,

As noify as the wind,

As empty as the air?

We hate your empty prattle,

And vow and fwear 'tis true; There's more in one child's rattle Than twenty fops like you.

THE