There practis'd how to place her head,
And bit her lips to make them red;
Or, on the mat devoutly kneeling,
Wou'd lift her eyes up to the cieling,
And heave her bofom unaware,
For neighb'ring beaux to fee it bare.
At length a lucky lover came,
And found admittance to the dame.
Suppose all parties now agreed,
The writings drawn, the lawyer fee'd,
The vicar and the ring befpoke:
Guefs, how could fuch a match be broke?
See then what mortals place their bliss in!
Next morn betimes the bride was miffing:
The mother scream'd, the father chid;
Where can this idle wench be hid?

No news of Phil! the bridegroom camé,
And thought his bride had fculk'd for shame;
Beaufe her father us'd to say
The girl had such a bashful way:

Now John the butler must be sent
To learn the road that Phillis went.
The groom was wish'd to faddle Crop;
For John muft neither light, nor stop,
But find her, wherefoe'er fhe fled,
And bring her back, alive or dead.

See here again the devil to do; For truly John was miffing too:

The

The horse and pillion both were gone!
Phillis, it feems, was fled with John.
Old madam, who went up to find
What papers Phil had left behind,
A letter on the toilet fees,

To my much honour'd father---thefe,
('Tis always done, romances tell us,
When daughters run away with fellows)
Fill'd with the choiceft common-places,
By others us'd in the like cafes.

That long ago a fortune-teller Exactly faid what now befel her; "And in a glass had made her fee "A ferving-man of low degree. "It was her fate, muft be forgiven; "For marriages were made in heaven: "His pardon begg'd; but, to be plain, "She'd do't, if 'twere to do again: "Thank'd God, 'twas neither fhame nor fin; "For John was come of honeft kin. "Love never thinks of rich and poor: "She'd beg with John from door to door. "Forgive her, if it be a crime; "She'll never do't another time. "She ne'er before in all her life "Once difobey'd him, maid nor wife. "One argument fhe fumm'd up all in, "The thing was done, and past recalling;

" And

"And therefore hop'd the fhould recover
"His favour, when his paffion's over.
"She valu'd not what others thought her,
"And was--- his moft obedient daughter.
Fair maidens, all attend the mufe,
Who now the wand'ring pair purfues:
Away they rode in homely fort,
Their journey long, their money fhort ;
The loving couple well bemir'd;
The horfe and both the riders tir'd;
Their victuals bad, their lodging worse;
Phil cry'd, and John began to curfe:
Phil wifh'd, that fhe had ftrain'd a limb,
When firft fhe ventur'd out with him;
John with'd, that he had broke a leg,
When firft for her he quitted Peg.

But what adventures more befel 'em,
The mufe hath now no time to tell 'em:
How Johnny wheedled, threaten'd, fawn'd,
Till Phillis all her trinkets pawn'd:
How oft fhe broke her marriage vows
In kindness to maintain her fpoufe,
Till fwains unwholefome fpoil'd the trade;
For now the furgeons must be paid,
To whom those perquifites are gone,
In chriftian justice due to John.
When food and raiment now grew fcarce,
Fate put a period to the farce,

And

And with exact poetick juftice;
For John is landlord, Phillis hoftess:
They keep at Staines the Old Blue Boar,
Are cat and dog, and rogue and whore.

THE

PROGRESS OF POETRY.

THE farmer's goofe, who in the

ftubble

Has fed without restraint or trouble,
Grown fat with corn, and fitting still,
Can scarce get o'er the barn-door fill;
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her belly in the neighb'ring pool;
Nor loudly cackles at the door;
For cackling fhews the goofe is poor.
But, when she must be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren common ftrays,
Hard exercise and harder fare

Soon make my dame grow lank and spare :
Her body light, she tries her wings,
And fcorns the ground, and upward fprings;
While all the parish, as the flies,
Hear founds harmonious from the skies.
Such is the poet fresh in pay,

(The third night's profits of his play ;)

His morning-draughts 'till noon can fwill
Among his brethren of the quill:
With good roaft beef his belly full,
Grown lazy, foggy, fat, and dull,
Deep funk in plenty and delight,
What poet e'er could take his flight?
Or, stuff'd with phlegm up to the throat,
What poet e'er could fing a note ?
Nor Pegafus could bear the load
Along the high celestial road;

The steed, opprefs'd would break his girth
To raise the lumber from the earth.
But view him in another scene,
When all his drink is Hippocrene,
His money spent, his patrons fail,
His credit out for cheese and ale;
His two-years coat so smooth and bare,
Through ev'ry thread it lets in air;
With hungry meals his body pin'd,
His guts and belly full of wind;
And, like a jockey for a race,
His flesh brought down to flying cafe:
Now his exalted spirit loaths
Incumbrances of food and cloaths;
And up he rifes, like a vapour,
Supported high on wings of paper;
He finging flies, and flying fings,
While from below all Grubftreet rings.

THE