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And bid him, this one day, at least,
For fuch a pair, at fuch a feaft,
Strip off the fable veil, and wear
His once-gay look and happier air.

But Hymen, fpeeding forward ftill,
Obferv'd* a man on Richmond-hill,
Who now first tries a country life;
Perhaps, to fit him for a wife.

But, though not much on this he reckon`d,
The paffing god look'd in and beckon'd:
He knows him rich in focial merit,
With independent tafte and spirit;

Though he will laugh with men of whim,
For fear fuch men fhould laugh at him.
But lo, already on his way,

In due obfervance of the day,
A friend and favourite of the Nine,




Who can, but feldom cares to fhine,


And one fole virtue would arrive at

To keep his many virtues private.

Who tends, well pleas'd, yet as by stealth,

His lov'd companions ease and health :

Or in his garden, barring out


The noife of every neighbouring rout,

At penfive hour of eve and prime,

Marks how the various hand of time

Now feeds and rears, now ftarves and flaughters,

His vegetable fons and daughters.



* A. Mitchell, Efq; Minifter at the court of Pruffia,

While these are on their way, behold!

Dan Cupid, from his London-fold,

Firft feeks and fends his new Lord Warden

Of all the nymphs in Covent-Garden :


Brave as the fword he wears in fight;
Sincere, and briefly in the right;
Whom never minifter or king
Saw meanly cringing in their ring.
A fecond fee! of special note,
Plump Comus † in a colonel's coat ;
Whom we, this day, expect from far,
A jolly first-rate man of war;

On whom we boldly dare repofe,

To meet our friends, or meet our foes.
Or comes a brother in his ftead?
Strong-body'd too, and ftrong of head:
Who, in whatever path he goes,

Still looks right on before his nose;



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* The late General Skelton. He had just then purchased a houfe in Henrietta-street.

The late Col. Caroline Scott; who, though extremely corpulent, was uncommonly active; and who, to much skill, fpirit, and bravery, as an officer, joined the greatest gentlenefs of manners as a companion and friend. He died a facrifice to the public, in the fervice of the Eaft-India Company, at Bengal, in the year 1755.

Laft comes a virgin—pray admire her!
Cupid himself attends, to fquire her:

A welcome gueft! we much had mist her;
For 'tis our Kitty, or his fifter.

But, Cupid, let no knave or fool


Snap up this lamb, to fhear her wool;

No teague of that unblushing band,

Juft landed, or about to land;


Thieves from the womb, and train'd at nurse,

To steal an heiress or a purse.

No fcraping, faving, sawcy cit,

Sworn foe of breeding, worth, and wit;

No half-form'd infect of a Peer,


With neither land nor confcience clear;

Who if he can, 'tis all he can do,

Juft fpell the motto on his landau.

From all, from each of these defend her ;
But thou and Hymen both befriend her,
With truth, tafte, honour, in a mate,
And much good fenfe, and fome estate.
But now, fuppose th' affembly met,

And round the table cordial fet;


While in fair order, to their wish,


Plain Neatnefs fends up every dish,

And Pleasure at the fide-board stands,

A nectar'd goblet in his hands,

To pour libations, in due measure,

As Reason wills when join'd with Pleasure➡
Let these white moments all be gay,


Without one cloud of dim allay :


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With that rich relish to each fenfe,
Which they, and they alone, difpense:
Let Mufic too their mirth prolong,
With warbled air and feftive fong:
Then, when at eve, the star of love
Glows with foft radiance from above,
And each companionable guest
Withdraws, replenish'd, not oppreft,
Let each, well-pleas'd, at parting fay
My life be fuch a wedding-day!





Written at TUNBRIDGE WELLS, 1760.


HEN Churchill led his legions on,

Succefs ftill follow'd where he shone,

And are those triumphs, with the dead,

All from his house, for ever fled ?
Not fo: by fofter furer arms,

They yet furvive in beauty's charms;
For, look on blooming Pembroke's face,

Even now he triumphs in his race.




MASQUE OF ALFRED: Sung by a SHEPHERDESS who has loft her Lover in the Wars.

A Youth, adorn'd with every art,

To warm and win the coldest heart,

In fecret mine poffeft.

The morning bud that fairest blows,

The vernal oak that traitest

His face and shape exprest.


In moving founds he told his tale,
Soft as the fighings of the gale,
That wakes the flowery year.

What wonder he could charm with ease,
Whom happy Nature taught to please,
Whom Honour made fincere.

At morn he left me-fought-and fell!
The fatal evening heard his knell,

And faw the tears I shed:
Tears that must ever, ever fall;
For ah! no fighs the past recall,

No cries awake the dead!


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