But, let the caufe be what it will,

In half a month fhe looks fo thin, That Flarnfteed + can, with all his skill, See but her forehead and her chin.

Yet, as she wastes, the grows difcreet,
Till midnight never fhows her head:
Se rotting Celia ftrolls the street,
When fober folks are all a-bed:

For fure, if this be Luna's fate, Poor Celia, but of mortal race, In vain expects a longer date

To the materials of ber face.

When Mercury her treffes mows,
To think of black-lead combs is vain;
No painting can reftore a nofe,
Nor will her teeth return again.

Ye powers, who over love prefide!
Since mortal beauties drop fo foon,
If ye would have us well fupply'd,
Send us new nymphs with each new moon }

THE PROGRESS OF POETRY.

THE farmer's goofe, who in the ftubble
Mas fed without restraint or trouble,
Grown fat with corn, and fitting ftill,
Can fcarce get o'er the barn-door fill;
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her belly in the neighbouring pool;
Nor loudly cackles at the door;
For cackling shows the goofe is poor.
But, when she must be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren common ftrays,
Hard exercife and harder fare

Soon make my dame grow lank and spare:
Her body light, fhe tries her wings,
And fcorns the ground, and upward springs;
While all the parish, as the flies,

Hear founds harmonious from the fkies.
Such is the
fresh in pay
poet
(The third night's profits of his play);
His morning-draughts till noon can fwill
Among his brethren of the quill:
With good roast 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 ftuff'd with phlegm up to the throat,
What poet e'er could ing a note?
Nor Pegafus could bear the load
Along the high celestial road;
The feed, opprefs'd, would break his girth,
To raife the lumber from the earth.

But view him in another scene, When all his drink is Hippocrene, His money fpent, his patrons fail, His credit out for cheese and ale; His two-years coat fo smooth and bare, Through every 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 lucumbrances of food and clothes;

And up he rifes, like a vapour,
Supported high on wings of paper;
He finging flies, and flying fings,
While from below all Grub-street rings.

THE SOUTH SEA PROJECT. 1721.

"Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto, "Armavirum, tabula que, et Troïa gaza per undas."

VIRG

YE wife philofophers, explain

What magic makes our money rise, When dropp'd into the Southern main; Or do thefe jugglers cheat our eyes? Put in your money fairly told;

Prefto! be gone-'Tis here again : Ladies and gentlemen, behold,

Here's every piece as big as ten. Thus in a bafon drop a fhilling

Then fill the veffel to the brim; You fhall obferve, as you are filling, The ponderous metal feems to fwint. It rifes both in bulk and height,

Behold it fwelling like a fope; The liquid medium cheats your fight; Behold it mounted to the top!

In flock three hundred thousand pound;
I have in view a lord's eftate;
My manors all contiguous round;
A coach and fix, and ferv'd in plate!
Thus, the deluded bankrupt raves;

Pute all upon a defperate bet;
Then plunges in the Southern waves,
Dipt over head and ears-in debt.
So, by a calenture misled,

The mariner with rapture fees, On the smooth ocean's azure bed,

Enamel'd fields and verdant trees: With eager hafte he longs to rove

In that fantaftic scene, and thinks It must be fome enchanted grove;

And in he leaps, and down he finks. Five hundred chariots, juft befpoke,

Are funk in thefe devouring waves, The horfes drown'd, the harnefs broke, And here the owners find their graves. Like Pharaoh, by directors led;

They with their spoils went fafe before; His chariots, tumbling out the dead, Lay fhatter'd on the Red-Sea fhore. Rais'd up on Hope's afpiring plumes,

The young adventurer o'er the deep An eagle's flight and ftate affumes, And fcorns the middle-way to keep. On paper wings he takes his flight,

.

With wax the father bound them fast The wax is melted by the height,

And down the towering boy is caft.

moralift might here

rafhnels of the Cretan

Defcribe his fall into the main,'
And from a fable form a truth.
His wings are his paternal rent,

He melts the wax at every flame;
His credit funk, his money spent,

In Southern Seas he leaves his name. Inform us, you that best can tell,

Why in yon' dangerous gulph profound, Where hundreds and where thoufands fell, Fools chiefly float, the wife are drown'd? So have I feen from Severn's brink

A flock of geefe jump down together; Swim, where the bird of Jove would fink, And, fwimming, never wet a feather. But, I affirm, 'tis falfe in fact,

Directors better knew their tools; We fee the nation's credit crack'd, Each knave hath made a thousand fools.

One fool may from another win,

And then get off with money ftor'd; But, if a fharper once comes in,

He throws at all, and fweeps the board.

As fifhes on each other prey,

The great ones fwallowing up the small; So fares it in the Southern Sea;

The whale directors eat up all.

When flock is high, they come between, Making by fecond-hand their offers; Then cunningly retire unfeen,

With each a million in his coffers.

So when upon a moon-fhine night

An afs was drinking at a ftream; A cloud arofe, and ftopp'd the light, By intercepting every beam :

The day of judgment will be foon

(Cries out a fage among the crowd); An afs hath fwallow'd up the moon!

(The moon lay fafe behind a cloud). Each poor fubfcriber to the fea

Sinks down at once, and there he lies; Directors fall as well as they,

Their fall is but a trick to rife.

So fishes, rifing from the main,

Can foar with moiften'd wings on high; The moisture dry'd, they fink again, And dip their fins again to fly. Undone at play, the female troops

Come here their loffes to retrieve; Ride o'er the waves in fpacious hoops, Like Lapland witches in a fieve. Thus Venus to the fea defcends,

As poets feign; but where's the moral ? It shows the Queen of love intends

To fearch the deep for pearl and coral. The fea is richer than the land,

I heard it from my grannam's mouth; Which now I clearly understand,

For by the fea fhe meant the South.

Thus by directors we are told,

"Pray, Gentlemen, believe your eyes;

Directors! for 'tis you I warn,

By long experience we have found What plannet rul'd when you were born: We fee you never can be drown'd.

Beware, nor over-bulky grow,

Nor come within your cully's reach;
For, if the fea fhould fink fo low

To leave you dry upon the beach,
You'll owe your ruin to your bulk:
Your foes already waiting stand,
To tear you like a founder'd hulk,

While you lie helpless on the fand.
Thus, when a whale has loft the tide,
The coafters crowd to feize the spoil;
The moniter into parts divide,
And trip the bones, and melt the oil.

Oh!

may fome western tempeft sweep Thefe locuts whom our fruits have fed, That plague Directors to the deep,

Driv'n from the Soutb-Sea to the Red!

May be, whom Nature's laws obey,
Who lift: the poor and finks the proud,
Quiet the raging of the fea,

.

64

And fill the madnefs of the crowd!"

But never shall our isle have rest,

Till thofe devouring fine run down, (The devils leaving the poffeft) And headlong in the waters drown. The nation then too late will find, Computing all their coft and troub', Diretor promifes but wind, South-Sea at beft a mighty bullits

VOL. IX.

THE DOG AND SHADOW.

ORE cibum portans catulus dum fpectat in undis,
Apparet liquido prædæ melioris imago:
Dum fpeciofa diu damna admiratur, et alte
Ad latices inhiat, cadit imo vortice præceps
Ore cibus, nec non fimulachrum corripit una.
Occupat ille avibus deceptis faucibus umbram;
Illudit fpecies, ac dentibus aëra mordet.

TO A FRIEND,

Who had been much abused in many different Libels

THE greatest monarch may be stabb'd by night,
And fortune help the murderer in his flight;
The vileft ruffian may commit a rape,
Yet fafe from injur'd innocence escape;
And calumny, by working under ground,
Can, unreveng'd, the greatest merit wound.
What's to be done? Shall wit and learning choofe
To live obfcure, and have no fame to lofe?
By cenfure frighted out of honour's road,
Nor dare to ule the gifts by Heaven bestow'd?
Or fearless enter in through virtue's gate,
And buy diftinction at the dearest rate?

THE PROLOGUE.

OUR fet of strollers, wandering up and down, Hearing the houfe was empty, came to town; And, with a licence from our good Lord Mayor, Went to one Griffith, formerly a player; Him we perfuaded, with a moderate bribe, To speak to Erlington and all the tribe, To let our company fupply their places, And hire us out their fcenes, and clothes, and faces. Is not the truth the truth? Look full on me; I am not Erlington, nor Griffith he. When we perform, look fharp among our crew, There's not a creature here you ever knew. The former folks were fervants to the king; We, humble ftrollers, always on the wing. Now, for my part, I think upon the whole, Rather than ftarve, a better man would firol'.

Stay, let me fee-Three hundred pounds a year, For leave to act in town! 'Tis plaguy dear. Now, here's a warrant; Gallants, piefe so mark, For three thirteens and fixpence to the clerk. Three hundred pounds! Were I the price to fix, The public fhould beftow the actors fix. A fcore of guineas, given underhand, For a good word or fo, we understand.

To help an honeft lad, that's out of place,
May coft a crown or so; a common case :
And, in a crew, 'tis no injuftice thought
To fhip a rogue, and pay him not a groat.
But, in the chronicles of former ages,
Who ever heard of fervants paying wages?

I pity Erlington with all my heart; Would he were here this night to act my part! I told him what it was to be a stroller; How free we acted, and had no comptroller: In every town we wait on Mr. Mayor, First get a licence, then produce our ware; We found a trumpet, or we beat a drum; Huzza! the (school-boys roar) the players are come! And then we cry, to fpur the bumpkins on, Gallants, by Tuesday next we must be gone. 3 told him, in the smootheft way I could, All this and more, yet it would do no good. But Erlington, tears falling from his cheeks, He that has fhone with Betterton and Wilks, To whom our country has been always dear, Who chose to leave his dearest pledges here, Owns all your favours, here intends to stay, And, as a ftroller, act in every play: And the whole crew this refolution takes, To live and die all ftrollers for your fakes; Not frighted with an ignominious name, For your displeasure is their only shame.

A pox in Elrington's majestic tone! Now to a word of bufinefs in our own.

Gallants, next Thursday night will be our laft; Then, without fail, we pack up for Belfast. Lofe not your time, nor our diverfions mifs, The next we act shall be as good as this.

EPIGRAM.

GREAT folks are of a finer mold;
Lord! how politely they can fcold!
While a coarfe English tongue will itch
For whore and rogue, and dog and bitch.

PROLOGUE

TO A PLAY FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE DISTRES-
SED WEAVERS, BY DR. SHERIDAN.
Spoken by Mr. Erlington, 1721.

GREAT ery and little wool-is now become
The plague and proverb of the weaver's loom :
No wool to work on, neither weft nor warp;
Their pockets empty, and their ftomach's fharp.
Provok'd, in loud complaints to you they cry:
Ladies, relieve the weavers, or they die!
Forfake your filks for ftuffs; nor think it strange
To fhift your clothes, fince you delight in change.
One thing with freedom I'll prefume to tell-
The men will like you every bit as well.

See, I am drefs'd from top to toe in stuff;
And, by my troth, I think I'm fine enough:
My wife admires me more, and fwears the
In any drefs, beheld me look fo clever.
And, if a man be better in fuch ware,
What great advantage muft it give the fair!
Our wool from lambs of innocence proceeds:
Silks come from maggots, callicoes from weeds:
Hence 'tis by fad experience that we find
Ladies in filks to vapours much inclin'd-
And what are they but maggots in the mind?

never,

For which I think it reafon to conclude
That clothes may change our temper like our food.
Chintzes are gaudy, and engage our eyes
Too much about the party-colour'd dyes:
Although the luftre is from you begun,
We fee the rainbow, and neglect the fun.

How fweet and innocent's the country maid, With fmall expence in native wool array'd; Who copies from the fields her homely green, While by her fhepherd with delight fhe's feen! Should our fair ladies drefs like her in wool, How much more lovely, and how beautiful, Without their Indian drapery, they'd prove, Whilft wool would help to warm us into love! Then, like the famous Argonauts of Greece, We'd all contend to gain the Golden Fleece!