II.

Loft in the fweet tumultuous Joy, (4274
And pleas'd beyond expreffing;
How can your Slave, my Fair, faid I,
Reward fo great a Bleffing?

III.

The whole Creation's Wealth furvey ;
Thro' both the Indies wander :
Afk what brib'd Senates give away,
And fighting Monarchs fquander.

iv.

The richest Spoils of Earth and Air;
The rifled Ocean's Treasure ;

'Tis all too poor a Bribe by far
To purchase fo much Pleasure.

She blushing cry'd

V.

My Life, my Dear,

Since Calia thus you fancy,

Give her, but 'tis too much, I fear,

A Rundlet of right Nancy.

An Imitation of Uxor vade foras.
In Mart. 1. ii. Ep. 105.

I.

Weet Spoufe, you muft prefently troop and be gone, (Or fairly fubmit to your Betters ;) Unless for the Faults that are past, you atone, I must knock off my conjugal Fetters.

II.

When at Night I am paying the Tribute of Love,
(You know well enough what's my Meaning,)
You fcorn to affift my Devotion, or move
As if all the while you were dreaming.

III.

At Cribbage, and Put, and All-Fours, I have feen
A Porter more Paffion exprefling,

Than thou, wicked Kate, in the rapturous Scene,
And the Height of the amorous Bleffing.

C 3

IV. Then

IV.

Then fay I to my felf, Is my Wife made of Stone,
Or does the old Serpent poffefs her;:

Better Motion and Vigor by far might be showA
By dull Spouse of a German Profeffor?

V.

So, Kate, take Advice, and reform in good Time,
And while I'm performing my Duty,

Come in for your Club, and repent of the Crime.
Of paying old Scores with your Beauty...

VI.

All Day thou may'ft Cant, and look grave as a Nun,
And run after Burgess the furly;

Or fee that the Family Bufinefs be done,
And chide all thy Servants demurely.
VII.

But when you're in Bed with your Mafter and King,
That Tales out of School ne'er does trumpet,
Move, riggle, heave, pant, clip me round like a Ring,
In fhort, be as lewd as a Strumpet.

Mart. Epig. 61. 1. 11.

Sit Phlogis, an Chione Veneri magis apta requiris ?

No Nymph alive, with fo much Art,
Receives her Shepherd's Firing,
Or does fuch Cordial Drops impart
To Love when juft expiring.

III. Cold

Cold niggard Age, that does elsewhere

At one poor Offering falter,
To her whole Hetacombs wou'd spare,
And pay them on her Altar.
IV,

But Chloe to Love's great Difgrace,
In Bed nor falls, nor rifes:

And too much trufting to her Face,
All other Arts defpifes.

V.

No half-form'd Words, nor murm'ring Sighs,
Engage to fréfh Performing

Her breathlefs Lover, when he lies

Difabled after Storming.

VI.

Dull as a Prelate when he prays,

Or Cowards after Lifting,

The fair Infenfible betrays

Loves Rites, by not Affifting.

VII.

Why thus, ye Powers, that caufe our Smart,

Do ye Love's Gifts diffever;

Or why thofe happy Talents part,
That fhou'd be join'd for ever.

For once perform an Act of Grace,1-
Implor'd with fuch Devotion,
And grant my Calia Chloe's Face,.
Or Chloe Calia's Motion.

T

To a Gentleman that cut off his Hair, and fer up for a Spark in his old Age. Out of Martial. Epig, 43 lib. 3. Mentiris Jurenem, &c.

◄Hou, that not a Month ago

T

Waft white as Swan, or driven Snow,

Now blacker far than fop's Crow,
Thanks to thy Wig, fer'ft up for Beans

C 4

Faith,

Faith, Harry, thou'rt in the wrong Box, Old Age these vain Endeavours mocks, ́ ́ And Time, that knows thou'ft hoary Locks, Will pluck thy Mask off with a Pox.

The 50th Epigram of Martial imitated.

Queris folicitus diu, rogafq;

Cui tradas, Lupe, filium Magiftro, &c.

WH

7Hen e'er I meet you, ftill you cry,
What fhall I do with Bob, my Boy.
Since this Affair you'll have me treat on,
Ne'er fend the Lad to Paul's or Eaton.
The Mufes let him not confide in,
But leave those Jilts to Tate or Dryden.
If with damn'd Rhimes he racks his Wits,
Send him to Mevis or St. Kit's.

Wou'd you with Wealth his Pockets store well,
Teach him to pimp, or hold a Door well?
If he has a Head not worth a Stiver,

Make him a Curate, or Hog-driver..

An Epigram out of Martial imitated,,
Book 3. Epig. 54.

IR Fopling, you're a Man of Fashion grown; The molt accomplish'd Blade in all the Town, 'Tis all the Ladies Talk; but tell me this, What a fine Man of Mode and Fashion is? 'Tis he that's all the Morning at the Glass, To put each Curl in its most proper Place, And in affected Forms to fet his Face,

That fmells of Effence, and the best Perfume,

Which does from India or Arabia come.

That when one fpeaks (as if he did not hear)

Humms o'er fome wanton Song, or modish Air;

}

That

That Legs and Arms in various Poftures throws,
And seems to dance at every Step he goes;
That fits among the Women in the Pit;
And that he may be thought a Man of Wit,
He whispers to the next as to a Friend,

That in loud Laughter does his Whispering end;
That reads and writes Love-Letters to and fro,
And does each Gallant's Wench and Mistress know.
Who, tho' unbidden, is a conftant Guest

At ev'ry Maik, at ev'ry Treat and Feast.
But fits in Pain for Fear the next should stir,
And fo difplace his Drefs, or Garniture.
Who knows New-Market Breed, fo well, that he
Can tell you Jack-a-Dandy's Pedigree;

And down from long Defcent pretends to trace
The famous Swallows, or fleet Dragon's Race.
How, Sir, what's this you fay; Is this Buffoon
Admir'd fo for a Spark throughout the Town?
Believe me, Sir, on Earth there cannot be
A more ridiculous triffing Thing than he.

T

EPIGRAM S.

An Epigram under the Picture of a Beat.

HE vain Thing, fet up for Man,

But fee what Fate attends him; my

The poud'ring Barber first began,

The Barber-Surgeon ends him.

An extempore Epigram on Death.

F Death does come as foon as Breath departs,
Then he out often die, who often farts.
And if to die, be but to lofe one's Breath,
Then Death's a Fart, and fo a Fart for Death.
G5