With simile to illustrate it; We have our similes cut short, For matters of more grave import. That Matthew's numbers run with ease Where then the preference shall we place, "Matthew," says Fame, "with endless pains That while the language lives shall last." "Sure so much labour, so much toil, Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed Who both write well and write full speed; Who throw their Helicon about As freely as a conduit spout! Friend Robert thus, like chien sçavant, Lets fall a poem en passant, Nor needs his genuine ore refine; 'Tis ready polished from the mine." TO JOSEPH HILL IF I write not to you To a Man of your Mettle and Sense, For which I'll attone When I take my Departure from hence. To tell you the Truth I'm a queer kind of Youth, And I care not if all the world knows it; In Square, Alley, or Row, At Whitehall, in the Court or the Closet. Having written thus much I must now take a nobler stile up: My Invention a Flick, And my genius a pretty smart Fillip. For the Bus'ness in Hand Is indeed neither trifling nor small : As well as the best of them all. And so may your Dear Wife Be the Joy of your Life, And of all our brave Troops the Commandress, What herein I say To the very fair Lady, my Laundress. That to Town I shall Trot (No I Lie, I shall not, For to Town I shall Jog in the stage) So bid her prepare Every Table and Chair, And warm well my Bed by the Fire, I shall break her Back bone As sure as I ever come nigh her. I am Jovial and Merry, Have writ till I'm weary, Am become, with a great deal of Talking, hoarse; OF HIMSELF WILLIAM was once a bashful youth; That one might say (to say the truth) Some said that it was want of sense, But some a different notion had, Howe'er, it happened, by degrees, Nay, now and then would look quite gay, And sometimes said, or tried to say, He eyed the women, and made free So that there was, or seemed to be, The women said, who thought him rough "The creature may do well enough, But wants a deal of polish." At length, improved from head to heel, 'Twere scarce too much to say, No dancing bear was so genteel, Or half so dégagé. Now that a miracle so strange May not in vain be shown, Let the dear maid who wrought the change E'en claim him for her own. TO DELIA AN APOLOGY FOR NOT SHOWING HER WHAT I HAD WROTE DID not my Muse (what can she less?) Could she by some well-chosen theme At the same place DELIA, the unkindest girl on earth, Refused that instant to comply Trust me, my dear, however odd I sought it merely to defraud The spoiler of his prey. Yet when its sister locks shall fade, Ah then! if haply to my share Nor age usurp them all ; When you behold it still as sleek, As when it left thy snowy neck,— Then shall my Delia's self declare At Catfield THIS evening, Delia, you and I Yet, well as each performed their part, We might perceive it was but art; And that we both intended To sacrifice a little ease; For all such petty flaws as these Are made but to be mended. You knew, dissembler! all the while, That we should gain by this allay When next we met, and laugh away The care we never felt. Happy! when we but seek to endure A little pain, then find a cure By double joy requited; For friendship, like a severed bone, |