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While wits and templars ev'ry fentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise-What pity, heav'n! if fuch a man there be, Who would not weep, if Addison were he!

* MACE R.

WHEN fimple Macer, now of high

renown,

First fought a poet's fortune in the town; 'Twas all th' ambition his great foul could

feel,

And gave

Towear red ftockings, and to dine with Steel. Some ends of verse his betters might afford, the harmless fellow a good word. Set up with thefe, he ventur'd on the town, And in a borrow'd play out-did poor Crown. There he ftopt short, nor fince has writ a tittle,

But has the wit to make the most of little; Like ftunted hide-bound trees, that just have got

Sufficient fap at once to bear and rot. * Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends,

Not of the wits his foes, but fools his friends.

*He requested by publick advertisements the aid of the

ingenious to make up a mifcellany in 1713.

So

So fome coarse country wench almost de

cay'd,

Trudges to town, and firft turns chambermaid:

Aukward, and fupple each devoir to pay,
She flatters her good lady twice a day;
Thought wond'rous honeft, though of
mean degree,

And strangely lik'd for her fimplicity :
In a tranflated fuit then tries the town,
With borrow'd pins, and patches not her

own ;

But juft endur'd the winter fhe began, And in four months a batter'd harridan. Now nothing's left, but wither'd pale and fhrunk

To bawd for others, and go fhares with punk,

* SYLVIA,

A FRAGMENT.

SYLVIA my heart in wondrous wife

alarm'd,

Aw'd without fenfe, and without beauty charm'd :

But fome odd graces and fine flights fhe had,

Was juft not ugly, and was juft not mad: Her tongue ftill run on credit from her

eyes,

More pert than witty, more a wit than wife:
Good-nature, fhe declar'd it, was her fcorn,
Tho' 'twas by that alone fhe could be born:
Affronting all, yet fond of a good name;
A fool to pleasure, yet a flave to fame:
Now coy, and ftudious in no point to fall,
Now all agog for D-----y at a ball:
Now deep in Taylor, and the book of mar-

tyrs,

Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres.

Men, fome to bus'nefs, fome to pleasure take;

But ev'ry woman's in her foul a rake. Frail, fev'rifh fex! their fit now chills, now burns:

Atheism and fuperftition rule by turns; And the mere heathen in her carnal part Is ftill a fad good chriftian at her heart.

* ARTE

HOUGH Artemifia talks, by fits,

TH

Of councils, clafficks, fathers, wits;
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
Yet in fome things, methinks, fhe fails;
'Twere well, if the wou'd pare her nails,
And wear a cleaner fmock.

Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride ;
Such naftiness, and fo much pride,
Are oddly join'd by fate:

On her large fquab you find her spread;
Like a fat corpfe upon a bed,

That lies and ftinks in ftate.

She wears no colours (fign of grace)
On any part, except her face;
All white and black befide:
Dauntless her look, her gefture proud,
Her voice theatrically loud,

And mafculine her ftride.

So have I feen, in black and white,
A prating thing, a magpye height,
Majestically stalk;

A ftately, worthless animal,

That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk.

* PHRYNE.

PHRYNE ha

HRYNE had talents for mankind;
Open fhe was, and unconfin'd,
Like fome free port of trade:
Merchants unloaded here their freight,
And agents from each foreign ftate
Here firft their entry made.

Her learning and good breeding fuch,
Whether th' Italian or the Dutch,
Spaniard or French came to her,
To all obliging fhe'd appear;
'Twas fi fignior, 'twas yaw mynheer,
'Twas s'il vous plait, monfieur.

Obfcure by birth, renown'd by crimes,
Still changing names, religions, climes,
At length fhe turns a bride :

In di'monds, pearls, and rich brocades,
She fhines the firft of batter'd jades,
And flutters in her pride.

So have I known those infects fair,
Which curious Germans hold fo rare,
Still vary fhapes and dyes;

Still gain new titles with new forms;
First grubs obfcene, then wrigling worms,
Then painted butterflies..

ON

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