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one of the Chichester Graces.
Written in Goodwood Gardens, September 1750.
E hills that overlook the plains,
" Where wealth and Gothic greatness reigns,
" Where Nature's hand by Art is check’d,
- And Taste herself is architect;
“ Ye fallows grey, ye forests brown,
“ And seas that the vast prospect crown,
“ Ye freight the soul with fancy's store,
« Nor can she one idea more !"
I said --when dearest of her kind
(Her form the picture of her mind)
Chloris approach’d----The landskip few !
All nature vanish'd from my view !
She seem'd all Nature to comprize,
Her lips! her beauteous breasts ! her eyes !
That rous'd, and yet abash'd desire,
With liquid, languid, living fire !
But then---her voice l---how fram'd tendear!
The music of the Gods to hear !
Wit that so pierc’d, without offence,
So brac'd by the strong nerves of sense !
Pallas with Venus play'd her party
To rob me of an honest heart;
Prudence and Passion jointly strove,
And Reason was th' ally of Love.
Ah me! thou sweet, delicious maid,
From whence shall I sollicit aid ?
Hope and despair alike destroy,
One kills with grief, and one with joy.
Celestial Chloris! Nymph divine !
To save me, the dear task be thine.
Tho' conquest be the woman's care,
The angel's glory is to spare.
The PHYSICIAN and the MONKEY.
L'ADY sent lately to one Doctor Drug,
To come in an instant, and clyfter poor Pug---As the fair one commanded he came at the word, And did the grand office in tie-wig and sword.
The affair being ended, so sweet and so nice! He held out his hand with---"You know, ma'am, my
“ price." « Your price,” says the lady---- - Why, Sir, he's your
s brother, " And doctors must never take fees of each other.”
HEN Phoebus was am’rous, aud long’d to be
Miss Daphne cry'd Pish! and ran swift to the wood,
And rather than do such a naughty affair,
She became a fine laurel to deck the God's hair.
The nymph was, no doubt, of a cold constitution ;
For sure to turn tree was an odd resolution !
Yet in this she behav'd like a true modern spouse,
For she fled from his arms to distinguish his brows.
The BAG-WIG and the TOBACCO-PIPE.
Bag-wig of a jauntee air,
with all a barber's care,
Loaded with powder and perfume,
Hung in a spendthrift's dressing-room ;
Close by its fide, by chance convey'd,
A black Tobacco-pipe was laid ;
And with its vapours far and near,
Outstunk the essence of Monsieur ;
At which its rage, the thing of hair,
Thus, bristling up, began declare.
" Bak'd dirt ! that with intrusion rude os Breaks in upon my solitude, “ And with thy fetid breath defiles “ The air for forty thousand miles .-
“ Avaunt---pollution's in thy touch--“ O barb'rous English ! horrid Dutch ! " I cannot bear it---Here, Sue, Nan,
Go call the maid to call the man,
« And bid him come without delay,
« To take this odious pipe away.
“ Hideous ! sure fome one smoak'd thee, Friend,
“ Reversely, at his t'other end.
« Oh! what mix'd odours ! what a throng
« Of salt and sour, of stale and strong!
" A most unnatural combination,
“ Enough to mar all perspiration--
" Monstrous ! again---'twou'd vex a saint !
Susan, the drops---or else I faint !''
The pipe (for 'twas a pipe of soul)
Raising himself upon his bole,
In smoke, like oracle of old,
Did thus his sentiments unfold.
Why, what's the matter, Goodman Swagger, « Thou flaunting French, fantastic bragger ? " Whose whole fine speech is (with a pox) " Ridiculous and heterodox. “ 'Twas better for the English nation « Before such scoundrels came in fashion, “ When none fought hair in realms unknown, “ But every blockhead bore his own.