MACER. FIRST PRINTED IN 1727. [There is some dispute for whom this character was intended. Dr Warton thought James Moore Smith was designed, but Mr Bowles inclines, with more apparent reason, to suppose that Philips was attacked under the title of Macer.] WHEN Simple Macer, now of high renown, * Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends, Not of the wits his foes, but fools his friends. So some coarse country wench, almost decay'd, Trudges to town, and first turns chambermaid: Awkward and supple each devoir to pay, She flatters her good lady twice a-day; Thought wond'rous honest, tho' of mean degree, And strangely lik'd for her simplicity: He requested, by public advertisements, the aid of the inge. nious, to make up a Miscellany, in 1713.-H. In a translated suit then tries the town, With borrow'd pins, and patches not her own; And in four months a batter'd harridan. Now nothing's left; but wither'd, pale, and shrunk, To bawd for others, and go shares with punk. SYLVIA, A FRAGMENT. SYLVIA, my heart in wondrous wise alarm'd, Now deep in Taylor, and the Book of Martyrs, Frail, fev'rish sex; their fit now chills, now burns: * I have been informed, on good authority, that this character was designed for the then Duchess of Hamilton.-Dr WARTON. Swift describes this lady as handsome, airy and violent-tempered, with abundance of wit and spirit. See Vol. III. p. 118. IMPROMPTU. TO LADY WINCHELSEA. OCCASIONED BY FOUR SATIRICAL VERSES ON WOMEN In vain you boast poetic names of yore, EPIGRAM. A BISHOP by his neighbours hated I'll lay my life I know the place: TO MRS MARTHA BLOUNT. SENT ON HER BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 15TH. O, BE thou blest with all that Heaven can send, Let joy or ease, let affluence or content, *The six following lines are thus varied in Pope's Works: With added years of life bring nothing new, But like a sieve let every blessing thro'; Some joy still lost, as each vain year runs o'er, And all we gain, some sad reflection more: Is that a Birth-day? 'tis alas! too clear, "Tis but the funeral of the former year. SONG. BY A PERSON OF QUALITY.* I SAID to my heart between sleeping and waking, Thou wild thing, that always art leaping or aching, What black, brown, or fair, in what clime, in what nation, By turns has not taught thee a pit-a-pat-ation? Thus accus'd, the wild thing gave this sober reply: See the heart without motion, tho' Celia pass by! Not the beauty she has, or the wit that she borrows, Gives the eye any joys, or the heart any sorrows. When our Sappho appears, she whose wit's so refin'd, I am forc'd to applaud with the rest of mankind; Prudentia as vainly would put in her claim, But Cloe so lively, so easy, so fair, Her wit so genteel, without art, without care; When she comes in my way, the motion, the pain, The leapings, the achings, return all again. * The Earl of Peterborow.-H. |