"Tis but the funeral of the former year.

Let joy or ease, let affluence or content,
And the gay conscience of a life well spent,
Calm every thought, inspirit every grace,
Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear;
Till death unfelt that tender frame destroy,
In some soft dream, or ecstacy of joy,
Peaceful sleep out the Sabbath of the tomb,
And wake to raptures in a life to come.

THE CHALLENGE.

A COURT BALLAD.

ΙΟ

20

To the tune of "To all you Ladies now at Land," &c. By Dorset. Written anno 1717— Warton.

I.

To one fair lady out of court,

And two fair ladies in,

Who think the Turk1 and Pope 2 a sport,

And wit and love no sin!

Come, these soft lines, with nothing stiff in,
To Bellenden,3 Lepell, and Griffin.5

With a fa, la, la. ·

II.

What passes in the dark third row,
And what behind the scene,
Couches and crippled chairs I know,

1 Ulrick, the little Turk.

2 The author.

3 Mary, youngest daughter of the second Lord Bellenden, afterwards married to Colonel Campbell,

Miss Mary Lepell, and afterwards married to Lord Hervey.
Sister to Lady Rich.

And garrets hung with green;
I know the swing of sinful hack,
Where many damsels cry alack.
With a fa, la, la.

III.

Then why to courts should I repair,
Where's such ado with Townshend ?1
To hear each mortal stamp and swear,
And every speech with "zounds" end;
To hear them rail at honest Sunderland,2
And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland.
With a fa, la, la.

IV.

Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun,

Like Grafton court the Germans;
Tell Pickenbourg how slim she's grown,
Like meadows run to sermons;
To court ambitious men may roam,
But I and Marlborough 3 stay at home.
With a fa, la, la.

V.

In truth, by what I can discern,

Of courtiers, 'twixt you three,
Some wit you have, and more may learn
From court, than Gay or me:
Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet,
To sup with us on milk and quiet.

With a fa, la, la.

1 Lord Townshend was dismissed from office in 1716.

2 Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.

3 Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, is believed to be the "Flavia" of Moral Essays, Ep. ii.

VI.

At Leicester Fields, a house full high,
With door all painted green,
Where ribbons wave upon the tie,
(A milliner, I mean ;)

There may you meet us three to three,
For Gay can well make two of me.
With a fa, la, la.

VII.

But should you catch the prudish itch,
And each become a coward,
Bring sometimes with you Lady Rich,
And sometimes Mrs. Howard;
For virgins, to keep chaste, must go
Abroad with such as are not so.
With a fa, la, la.

VIII.

And thus, fair maids, my ballad ends;
God send the king safe landing;
And make all honest ladies friends
To armies that are standing;
Preserve the limits of those nations,
And take off ladies' limitations.

With a fa, la, la.

ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION OF. MRS. HOWE.

WHAT is prudery?

'Tis a beldam,

Seen with wit and beauty seldom.

'Tis a fear that starts at shadows.

'Tis (no, 'tisn't) like Miss Meadows.
'Tis a virgin hard of feature,

Old, and void of all good-nature;
Lean and fretful; would seem wise;
Yet plays the fool before she dies.
'Tis an ugly envious shrew,

That rails at dear Lepell and you.

SONG, BY A PERSON OF QUALITY.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1733.

I.

FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions,
Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart;
I a slave in thy dominions;
Nature must give way to art.

II.

Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
See my weary days consuming,
All beneath yon flowery rocks.

III.

Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping,
Mourned Adonis, darling youth:

Him the boar in silence creeping,
Gored with unrelenting tooth.

IV.

Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers;
Fair Discretion, string the lyre;
Soothe my ever-waking slumbers:
Bright Apollo, lend thy choir.

V.

Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors,

Armed in adamantine chains, Lead me to the crystal mirrors,

Watering soft Elysian plains.

ΤΟ

VI.

Mournful cypress, verdant willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus hovering o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows.

VII.

Melancholy smooth Maander,
Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander,

With thy flowery chaplets crowned.

VIII.

Thus when Philomela drooping,
Softly seeks her silent mate,
See the bird of Juno stooping;
Melody resigns to fate.

ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT.1

I KNOW the thing that's most uncommon;
(Envy, be silent, and attend!)

I know a reasonable woman,

Handsome and witty, yet a friend.

Not warped by passion, awed by rumour,

Not grave through pride, or gay through folly,

An equal mixture of good humour,

And sensible soft melancholy.

"Has she no faults then" (Envy says), "sir?"
Yes, she has one, I must aver;
When all the world conspires to praise her,

The woman's deaf, and does not hear.

ΙΟ

1 Mrs. Howard, afterwards Countess of Suffolk, and mistress of George II.