The Turner fhapes the useless Log with Care,
And forces it a Human Form to wear:
With the sharp Steel he works the Wooden Race,
And lends the Timber an adopted Face.
Tenacious Wires the Legs and Feet unite,
And Arms connected keep the Shoulders right.
Adapted Organs to fit Organs join,
And Joints with Joints, and Limbs with Limbs combine.
Then adds he active Wheels and Springs unfeen,
By which he after turns the fmall Machine,
That moves at Pleasure by the fecret Wires;
And last his Voice the fenfelefs Trunk infpires.
FROM fuch a Union of Inventions came,
And to Perfection grew the Puppet Frame
The Workman's Mark its Origin reveal,
And own the Traces of the forming Steel.
Hence are its Dance, its Motions, and its Tone,
Its fqueaking Voice, and Accents not its own.
A Preacher, and a Family of his Flock, upon
OOD Morrow to thee: how doft do?
I only just call'd in to fhow
My Love, upon this bleffed Day,
As I by chance, came by this way.
Grace, Peace, and Faith be unto thee,
And all this chofen Family.
My Soul does very much rejoyce
To fee thee, and to hear thy Voice:
I blefs the Lord to find thee thus
Abound in Health as well as us,
And hope thou art difpos'd to_ftay
A while, and comfort us this Day.
Preacher.
I think, I fhall not ftay to dine,
But the Lord's. Will be done, not mine,
Where's thy good Wife? methinks I want
To fee her, fhe's a pious Saint;
In Wedlock thou art truly blefs'd,
Of Women fhe's the very best.
Pray let her know that I am here,
And tell her I defire to fee her.
The Lord preferve her! here fhe comes,
Sh'as just been fweeping out her Rooms,
You must excufe her Hufwifes Dress,
She's always doing, I profess.
I'm very happy, worthy Sir,
To fee fo great a Stranger here.
I hope good Madam Cant is well,
And pritty Mrs. Abigall.
Dear Sir, I wifh, I could have feen
Them here, how blefs'd fhould I have been; Tho' I'm afham'd, I must confefs,
T'appear in fuch a homely Dress.
Thou'rt a Good Woman, thou haft Grace,
That beft adorns a beauteous Face;
1 think thy Weeds become thee well,
Thou wouldst not drefs like Jezabel.
To tell the Truth, I've feldom feen
A Wite more lovely or more clean.
T 2
Give me thy Hand thou fruitful Bride;
The Lord at all times be thy Guide;
How do thy little Comforts fare.
Thofe tender Twigs, their Parents Care
Pray call 'em hither, let me bless
Those pritty hopeful Babes of Grace.
Wife.
Here, Aram, come, my little Saint,
Where's your low Bow to Mr. Cant?
Daughter! Where art? Come hither Ruth,
Fie, pull your Fingers from your Mouth.
Look up, my Dear, hold up your Head.
Where's your fine Courtefy? There's my Maid.
Lord fanctifie thefe Lambs, and grant
That they thy Grace may never want:
Shew'em thy Way, that they may be
A Comfort to thy Spoufe and thee;
The Lord fufficiently hath fhew'd
His Love to both in fuch a Brood.
May they ftill greater Bleffings grow
To thee, that brought 'em forth in Woe,
And as their Years encreafe, inherit
A double portion of the Spirit.
Thanks to you, rev'rend Sir, may Heaven
Reward the Bleffing you have given.
Rebecca, take my Clofet Key
And fetch that Bottle unto me
Thy Mafter brought me home laft Night
For Palm, and faid, he knew 'twas right;
And with the Bottle pray bring in
A Glafs, take care you wash it clean.
I hope thou dost not think, that I
Drink Wine, except I'm fick or dry;
I ne'er take any thing that's Strong,
One Glafs, I fear, will do me wrong.
E'en let it reft upon the Shelf,
Thou'dft better keep it for thy felf.
Good Sir, vouchfafe at my Requeft,
To drink this Glafs, 'tis but a tafte,
It holds but half a Pint at moft,
Will you be pleas'd to have a Toaft?
No, by no means, if I muft take
So large a Dofe, 'tis for thy fake.
Good Lord give thou a Bleffing to it,
That when it's down I may not rue it.
Well, 'tis exceeding good indeed,
I wish it mayn't offend my Head.
May'ft thee, at all times, for thy eafe,
Abound in Comforts, fuch as these.
'Tis a prime Cordial, I proteft,
This ought not to be drank in Wafte.
Alas, one Glafs, Sir, will not warm ye,
I'm fure a fecond cannot harm ye;
Cold Weather does ftrong Wine require,
Fill out my Dear, A little higher,
Pray give the Glafs to Mr. Cant.
So long a Walk may make him faint.
Thou beft of all good Women! hold
Thy Hand, confider, I am old.
Thou art too bountiful, I vow,
Thy Love is too abounding now,
Lord fanctify this Cordial Juice,
And make it wholefome for our Ufe.
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