Of Mater purulent and white,
Which happen'd on the Skin to light,
And there corrupting to a Wound,
Spreads Leprofie and Baldnefs round.
So have I feen a batter'd Beau,

By Age and Claps grown cold as Snow,,
Whofe Breath or Touch, where e'er he came,
Blew out Love's Torch, or chill'd the Flame:
And fhould fome Nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like Carleton cheap, or fam'd Duruel,
Receive the Filth which he ejects,

She foon would find the fame Effects.
Her tainted Carcafe to purfue,

As from the Salamander's Spew, THI

A difmal Shedding of her Locks,
And if no Leprofie, a Pox.

Then I'll appeal to each By-ftander,
Whether this ben't a Salamander?

FIN IS.

I

sod W 79dT SIT BAUCIS

BAUCIS

AND

PHILE MON.

I

Imitated from the Eighth Book of Ovid..
Written 1706.

N Antient Times, as Story tells,

The Saints would often leave their Cells,
And ftrole about, but hide their Quality,
To try good People's Hofpitality.

Ir happen'd on a Winter Night,
As Authors of the Legend write,
Two Brother Hermits, Saints by Trade,
Taking their Tour in Masquerade;
Difguis'd in tatter'd Habits, went
To a fmall Village down in Kent
Where, in the Strolers Canting Strain,
They begg'd from Door to Door in vain;
Try'd ev'ry Tone might Pity win,
But not a Soul would let them in.
OUR wand'ring Saints in woful State,
Treated at this angodly Rate;

Having thro' all the Village pafs'd,
To a fmall Cottage came at laft;
Where dwelt a good old honeft Yeoman,
Call'd, in the Neighbourhood, Philemon.
Who kindly did the Saints invite

A

T

T

In his poor Hut to pafs the Night;
And then the Hofpitable Sire
Bid Goody Baucis mend the Fire;
While he from out of Chimney took
A Flitch of Bacon off the Hook;
And freely from the fatteft fide
Cut out large flices to be fri'd:
Then ftept afide to fetch 'm Drink,
Fill'd a large Jug up to the Brink;
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful) they found opal
'Twas ftill replenifh'd to the Top,
As if they ne'er had touch'd a Drop.
The good old Couple was amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;

For both were frighted to the Heart, d And just began to cry; What artwo

Then foftly turn'd afide to view,

Whether the Lights were burning blue."
The gentle Pilgrims foon aware on't,

Told em their Calling, and their Errand:T
Good Folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but Saints, the Hermits faid;
No Hurt fhall come to You, or Yours,
But, for the Pack of churlish Boors,
Not fit to live on Chriftian Ground,
They and their Houfes fhall be droun'd; F
Whilft you fhall fee your Cottage rife, o
And grow a Church before your Eyes.
THEY fcarce had fpoke; when fair or soft,'!
The Roof began to mount aloft;

Aloft

Aloft rofe ev'ry Beam and Rafter, t
The heavy Wall, clim'd flowly after.
THE Chimney widn'd, and grew higher,
Became a Steeple with a Spire,

THE Kettle to the Top was hoift,
And there stood faft'ned to a Joift
But with the Upfide down, to fhew
It's Inclinations far below;8
In vain; for a fuperior Force
Apply'd at Bottom, ftops its Course,
Doom'd ever in Sufpence to dwell,
'Tis now no Kettle, but a Bell.
A wooden Jack, which had almost
Loft by Difufe the Art to Roast,
A fudden Alteration, feels,

Increas'd by new Inteftine Wheels ry
And, what exalts the Wonder more
The Number made the Motion flow'r:
The Flyer tho't had Leaden Feet,,
Turn'd round fo quick, you fcarce could fee't;
But flackn'd by fome, fecret Power,
Now hardly moves an Inch an Hour!
The Jack and Chimney near ally'd, te
Had never left each other's Side;
The Chimney to a Steeple grown, sit
The Jack wou'd not be left alone,
But up again the Steeple rear'd,lot
Became a Clock, and ftill adher'd
And ftill its love to Houfhold Cares
By a fhril Voice at Noon declares,
Warning the Cook-maid not to burn
That Roaft-meat, which it cannot turn.
The groaning Chair began to crawl,
Like a huge Snail along the Wall
There ftuck aloft, in Publick View,
And with mall Change a Pulpit grew.

The

THE Porringers, that in a row
Hung high, and made a glitt'ring Show,
To a lefs noble Subftance chang'd,
Were now but Leathern Buckets rang'd.
THE Ballads pafted on the Wall,
Of Foan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood:
Now feem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in Picture, Size, and Letter;
And high in Order plac'd, defcribe
The Heraldry of ev'ry Tribe.

A Bedstead of an Antique Mode,
Compact of Timber many a Load,
Such as our Ancestors did ufe,
Was Metamorphos'd into Pews;
Which ftill their antient Nature keep;
By lodging Folks difpos'd to Sleep.
THE Cottage by fuch Feates as these,
Grown to a Church by juft Degrees,
The Hermits then defir'd their Hoft
To afk for what he fancy'd moft:
Philemon, having paus'd a while,
Return'd 'em Thanks in homely Stile;
Then faid; my Houfe is grown fo fine,.
Methinks, I ill would call it mine:
I'm Old, and feign wonld live at Eafe,
Make me the Parfon, if you please.
HE fpoke, and prefently he feels
His Grazier's Coat fall down his Heels ;
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each Arm a Pudding-fleeve;
His Waftcoat to a Caffock grew,
And both affum'd a Sable Hue;
But being old, continu'd just
As Thread-bare, and as full of Duft.

P

His