And that to towze fuch things as flutter To honest Bounce is bread and butter.

While you, and ev'ry courtly fop,
Fawn on the devil for a chop,
I've the humanity to hate

A butcher, though he brings me meat;
And, let me tell you, have a nose,
(Whatever ftinking fops fuppose)
That under cloth of gold or tiffue
Can smell a plaifter, or an iffue.

Your pilf'ring lord with fimple pride
May wear a pick-lock at his fide
My mafter wants no key of state,
For Bounce can keep his houfe and gate.

When all fuch dogs have had their days, As knavish Pams, and fawning Trays; When pamper'd Cupids, beaftly Venis, And motly, fquinting Harlequinis*, Shall lick no more their ladies br---, But die of loosenefs, claps, or itch; Fair Thames from either echoing fhore Shall hear and dread my manly roar.

Alii legunt Harvequinis.

T

See

See Bounce, like Berecynthia, crown'd With thund'ring offspring all around; Beneath, befide me, and at top, A hundred fons, and not one fop!

Before my children fet your beef, Not one true Bounce will be a thief; Not one without permiffion feed, (Though fome of J---n's hungry breed :) But, whatfoe'er the father's race, From me they fuck a little grace: While your fine whelps learn all to steal, Bred up by hand on chick and veal.

My eldeft-born refides not far, Where fhines great Strafford's glitt’ring ftar:

My fecond (child of fortune!) waits
At Burlington's Palladian gates :
A third majestically stalks

(Happieft of dogs!) in Cobham's walks: One ufhers friends to Bathurst's door; One fawns at Oxford's on the poor,

Nobles, whom arms or arts adorn, Wait for my infants yet unborn.

None

None but a peer of wit and
of wit and grace

Can hope a puppy of my race.

And O! wou'd fate the blifs decree
To mine, (a blifs too great for me!)
That two my talleft fons might grace,
Attending each with stately pace,
Iülus' fide, as erft Evander's *

To keep off flatt'rers, fpies, and panders,
To let no noble flave come near,

And scare lord Fannys from his ear:
Then might a royal youth, and true,
Enjoy at least a friend-

or two;

A treasure, which of royal kind

Few but himself deferve to find.

Then Bounce ('tis all that Bounce can crave)

Shall her tail within the grave,

wag

* On the countess of Burlington cutting

PA

paper.

ALLAS grew vapʼrifh once and odd;
She would not do the leaft right thing

Either for Goddefs or for God,

Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor fing.

Jove frown'd, and "Ufe (he cry'd) those (C eyes

"So fkilful, and thofe hands so taper; "Do fomething exquifite and wife" She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut paper.

This vexing him who gave her birth, Thought by all heav'n a burning fhame, What does the next, but bids on earth Her Burlington do juft the fame ?

Pallas, you give yourself ftrange airs
But fure you'll find it hard to spoil
The fenfe and tafte of one, that bears
The name of Savile and of Boyle,

Alas! one bad example shown,
How quickly all the sex purfue!
See, madam! fee, the arts o'erthrown
Between John Overton and you.

I

* On a certain lady at court.

Know the thing that's most uncommon, (Envy, be filent, and attend!)

I know a reasonable woman,

Handsome and witty, yet a friend.

Not

Not warp'd by paffion, aw'd by rumour
Not grave thro' pride, or gay thro' folly;
An equal mixture of good-humour,
And fenfible foft melancholy.

"Has fhe no faults then, (envy fays) fir?" Yes, fhe has one, I must aver:

When all the world confpires to praise her, The woman's deaf, and does not hear.

To Doctor DELANY,
On the Libels written against him.

S

As fome raw youth in country bred,

To arms by thirft of honour led,
When at a fkirmish firft he hears
The bullets whistling round his ears,
Will duck his head afide, will start,
And feel a trembling at his heart;
Till 'fcaping oft without a wound
Leffens the terror of the found:
Fly bullets now as thick as hops,
He runs into a cannon's chops.
An author thus, who pants for fame,
Begins the world with fear and fhame:
When firft in print, you see him dread
Each pop-gun levell'd at his head:

T 3

The