75

Such tattle often entertains
My lord and me as far as Stains,
As once a week we travel down
To Windfor, and again to town,
Where all that paffes inter nos
Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross.80
Yet fome I know with envy fwell,
Because they see me us'd fo well:
"How think you of our friend the dean?
"I wonder what some people mean;
"My lord and he are grown fo great, 85
Always together, tête à tête

90

"What, they admire him for his jokes "See but the fortune of fome folks!" There flies about a strange report Of fome express arriv'd at court, I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet, And catechis'd in ev'ry street. "You, mr. dean, frequent the great; "Inform us, will the emp'ror treat? "Or, do the prints and papers lye?" 95 Faith, fir, you know as much as I. "Ah! doctor, how you love to jeft! ""Tis now no fecret"---I proteft

81. Subjectior in diem et horam

Invidia.

89. Frigidus à roftris manat per compita rumor; Quicunque obvius eft, me confulit.

"Tis

'Tis one to me.

"Then tell us, pray,

"When are the troops to have their pay?"

And though I folemnly declare

100

I know no more than my lord-mayor, They stand amaz'd, and think me grown The closeft mortal ever known.

Thus in a sea of folly tofs'd

105

My choiceft hours of life are loft;
Yet always wishing to retreat,
Oh, could I fee my country-feat!
There leaning near a gentle brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient book! 110
And there in fweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town!

101. Jurantem me fcire nihil, mirantur, ut unum Scilicet egregii mortalem altique filenti.

108. O rus, quando ego te afpiciam, quandoque licebit Nunc veterum libris, nunc fomno, et inertibus boris Ducere follicite jucunda oblivia vitæ ?

* THE

HAPPY LIFE

OF A

COUNTRY PARSON.

In Imitation of MARTIAL.

PARSON, these things in thy poffeffing

Are better than the bishop's bleffing. A wife that makes conferves; a freed That carries double when there's need; October ftore, and beft Virginia, Tythe-pig, and mortuary guinea; Gazettes fent gratis down, and frank'd, For which thy patron's weekly thank'd; A large concordance, bound long fince; Sermons to Charles the firft, when prince; A chronicle of ancient standing; A Chryfoftom to fmooth thy band in; The Polyglott,---three parts,---my text, Howbeit,---likewife ---now to my next, Lo here the Septuagint, ---and Paul, To fum the whole, the clofe of all.

He that has thefe, may pafs his life, Drink with the 'fquire, and kifs his wife; On Sundays preach, and eat his fill; And faft on Fridays--- if he will;

Toaft

Toaft church and queen, explain the news,
Talk with church-wardens about pews,
Pray heartily for fome new gift,
And shake his head at doctor Swift.

* A

TALE OF CHAUCER,

Lately found in an Old Manufcript.

WOMEN, though nat fans leacherie,

Ne fwinken but with fecrecie:

This in our tale is plain y-fond,
Of clerk that wonneth in Ireland;
Which to the fennes hath him betake
To filch the gray ducke fro the lake.
Right then there paffen by the way
His aunt, and eke her daughters tway:
Ducke in his trowzes hath he hent,
Not to be fpied of ladies gent.
"But ho! our nephew, (crieth one,)
"Ho! quoth another, couzen John ;'
And stoppen, and lough, and callen out,--
This fely clerk full low doth lout.
They afken that, and talken this,
"Lo here is coz, and here is miss."

But,

But, as he gloz'd with speeches foote, The ducke fore tickleth his erfe roote: Fore-piece and buttons all to-breft, Forth thrust a white neck and red creft. Te-he, cry'd ladies; clerke nought spake; Mifs ftar'd; and gray ducke crieth quaake. "O moder, moder, (quoth the daughter) "Be thilke fame thing maids longen a'ter? "Bette is to pyne on coals and chalke, "Then trufton mon, whofe yerde can talke.

* THE ALLEY.

An Imitation of SPENCER.

I.

IN ev'ry town where Thamis rolls his tide A narrow pass there is, with houses low; Where ever and anon the ftream is ey'd, And many a boat foft fliding to and fro: There oft' are heard the notes of infant woe, The short thick fob, loud fcream, and fhriller fquall:

How can ye, mothers, vex your children fo? Some play, fome eat, fome cack against the wall,

And, as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.

2

II. And