To a CHILD of QUALITY,
Five Years old, 1704;
ORDS, knights, and 'fquires, the numerous band,,
That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,
Were fummon'd by her high command,
To fhew their paffions by their letters.
II.
My pen amongst the reft I took,
Left those bright eyes that cannot read
Should dart their kindling fires, and look
The power they have to be obey'd.
III.
Nor quality, nor reputation,
Forbid me yet my flame to tell,
Dear five years old befriends my passion,
And I may write till fhe can spell.
For, while fhe makes her filk-worms beds
With all the tender things I fwear;
Whilft all the house my passion reads,.
In papers round her baby's hair;
She may receive and own my flame,
For, though the ftricteft prudes fhould know it,
She 'll pass for a most virtuous dame,
And I for an unhappy poet.
Then too, alas! when the fhall tear
The lines fome younger rival fends;
She 'll give me leave to write, I fear,
And we fhall ftill continue friends.
For, as our different ages move,
'Tis so ordain'd, (would Fate but mend it !) That I fhall be past making love,
When the begins to comprehend it.
THE furdy Man, if he in love obtains,
In open pomp and triumph reigns:
The fubtile Woman, if the fhould fucceed,
Difowns the honour of the deed.
Though He, for all his boast, is forc'd to yield,
Though She can always keep the field :
He vaunts his conquefts, the conceals her shame;
How Partial is the voice of Fame !
For the PLAN of a FOUNTAIN,
The Effigies of the QUEEN on a Triumphal Arch ;
The Figure of the DUKE of MARLBOROUGH beneath;
The chief Rivers of the World round the whole Work.
E active streams, where-e'er your waters flow,
Let diftant climes and furtheft nations know,
ye from Thames and Danube have been taught, How Anne commanded, and how Marlborough fought.
Quæcunque æterno properatis, flumina, lapfu,
Divifis latè terris, populifque remotis,
Dicite, nam vobis Tamefis narravit & Ifter,
Anna quid imperiis potuit, quid Marlburus armis.
CAMELEON.
As the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own;
But borrows from his neighbour's hue
His white or black, his green or blue;
And ftruts as much in ready light,
Which credit gives him upon fight,
As if the rain-bow were in tail
Settled on him and his heirs male;
So the young fquire, when firft he comes
From country school to Will's or Tom's,
And equally, in truth, is fit
To be a statesman, or a wit;
Without one notion of his own,
He faunters wildly up and down,
Till fome acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the gang;
They jeft, reply, difpute, harangue :
He acts and talks, as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him.
Thus, merely as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances.
If haply he the fect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their myfterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace;
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have faid the week before;
His wisdom fets all Europe right,
And teaches Marlborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet
With folks who have more wealth than wit;
He loves cheap port, and double bub;
And fettles in the Hum-drum club :
He learns how ftocks will fall or rife;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation;
And fays that learning spoils a nation.
But if, at firft, he minds his hits,
And drinks champaign among the wits;
Five deep he toafts the towering laffes;
Repeats you verses wrote on glaffes;
Is in the chair; prefcribes the law;
And lies with thofe he never faw.
MERRY ANDREW.
SLY Merry Andrew, the laft Southwark-fair
(At Barthol mew he did not much appear,
So peevish was the edict of the mayor);
At Southwark therefore, as his tricks he fhow'd,
To please our mafters, and his friends the croud;
A huge neat's-tongue he in his right-hand held,
His left was with a good black-pudding fill'd.
With a grave look, in this odd equipage,
The clownish mimic traverfes the stage.
Why how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll
To-day's conceit, methinks, is fomething dull:
Come on, fir, to our worthy friends explain,
What does your emblematic worship mean?
Quoth Andrew, Honest English let us speak :
Your emble-(what d' ye call 't) is heathen Greek.
To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence:
Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense.
That bufy fool I was, which thou art now;
Defirous to correct, not knowing how;
With very good defign, but little wit,
Blaming or praifing things, as I thought fit.
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