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"Twas thus. The Graces held the lyre,

Th' harmonious frame the mufes ftrung, The loves and fmiles compos'd the choir, And Gay tranfcrib'd what Phoebus fung.

To the merry Poetafter at Sadlers-Hall in Cheapfide.

Unwieldy praife, with flatteries abufe.

Nwieldy pedant, let thy auk ward mufe

To lash, and not be felt, in thee's an art;
Thou ne'er mad'ft any, but thy fchool-boys, fmart.
Then be advis'd, and fcribble not agen;
Thour't fashion'd for a flail, and not a pen.
If Bl's immortal wit thou would'ft defcry,
Pretend 'tis he that writ thy poetry.

Thy feeble fatire ne'er can do him wrong;
Thy poems and thy patients live not long.

ADDITIONS

ADDITIONS

TO THE

WORKS

OF

WILLIAM WALSH, Efq;

On the Author of a Dialogue concerning Women, pretended to be writ in Defence of the Sex.

N

EAR Covent-Garden theatre, where

you know

Poets their fenfe, players their fhapes do fhew,

There is a club of critics of the pit,

Who do themselves admire for men of wit;
And lo! an arbitrary power affume

On plays and ladies both to pass their doom;
Cenfure all things and perfons, priest and prince,
And judge them by the ftandard of their sense:
But scan these sparks, or by their words and mien,
You'll find them fop without, and fool within.
One of these brats drefs'd up in shape of satire,
Comes forth to be the ladies vindicator:

And

And fince for chivalry he claims no warrant,
Inftead of knight fets up for poet-errant.
Blefs us! faid I, what mighty hero's here?
He thunders fo, 'tis dangerous to come near.
The beauteous fex may set their hearts at rest ;
Of all their patrons, fure this is the best.
This great dead doing champion of the quill,
Will all the fry of leud lampooners kill;
Then to begin with Dryden's dreadful name,
Shou'd mark out fomething of no common fame.
But when the boasted matter I had read,
I found my expectation was misled,
And that the poet, though he does pretend
To do them juftice, is no woman's friend.
Misogynes is made to fhoot with ball,
Philogynes allow'd no charge at all.
And howfoever he disguise the matter,
To publish the first part, he writ the latter.
He that but ftrictly marks the whole defign,
May trace the prefacer in every
line;
And tho' he did not own the wanton ape,
He nurs'd the cub, and lick'd it into shape.
And, ladies, now without the help of day,
You difcern who does the weapon fway,
And brandishes his pen against your credit;
To Mr. Eat-finger himself that did it.
He that fits filent in his wits defence,
Whofe mouth is fill'd with fift instead of sense;
Or else he crams his hand into his jaws,
Like Ruffian bears that live upon their paws.
At coffee-house among the men of worth,
He goggles like a quaker holding forth.
Like an Endymion he can court the moon,
And bark at her bright glories when h'as done;
Or like the mouse in fable he can plead,
He has deferv'd t'aspire to princess' bed,

may

Till for his daring arrogance he's fpurn'd,"
And all his fop pretenfions over-turn'd;
Then like the little vermin fpeaks and dies,
Or prints a book of ladies cruelties.

This is the fool, fair ladies, that does haunt you,
That will from dreffing-room or play gallant you.
W- he is call'd, what name so much renown'd,
Through all the realms of nonfenfe can be found?

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To a Lady who fent him the foregoing Verfes into the Country.

I

Receiv'd a copy of verfes from you last post, with a command (for the requests of fair ladies are always commands to me) that I fhou'd answer 'em. I wou'd ferve you, madam, you may be fure, in any thing that was in my power, but this I must own is quite beyond it; and after having read them over, I found myself utterly unable to cope with fo dead-doing an author: I fent therefore immediately to the clerk of the parish (a very honeft man, a good weaver, and no ill critick I can affure you, as criticks go) to beg the favour of him, that he wou'd come and affift me in the thing. With his help, madam, I read 'em over again: We both agreed, that there were never words better chofen, verse more delicately turn'd, fatire more fine, or raptures more poetical. As for example:

Blefs us faid I, what mighty hero's here?
He thunders fo, 'tis dangerous to come near.
The beauteous fex may set their hearts at rest;
Of all their patrons, fure this is the best.

・. The

The clerk indeed made fome exceptions to the lines that follow:

But when the boasted matter I had read,

I found my expectation was misled.

He faid he cou'd not imagine, that fo wife a perfon as the author of those verses cou'd be misled in any thing.

And, ladies, now

(An apoftrophé to the ladies :)

without the help of day,

O God, madam, by a rush-light as plain as can be,

You may difcern who does the weapon fway.

If it were not too great a trouble to the author, I wou'd defire to know of him who it is that does fway the weapon; for fometimes he makes us believe it is the prefacer, and sometimes the pretended author:

And brandishes his pen against your credit,
To Mr. Eat-finger himself that did it.

This laft was so very good a conceit, and fo very new, that I thought the clerk wou'd have died with laughing at it. Well, faid he, (when he had a little recover'd himself) that Eat-finger is fo ingenious, that a man might have made five or fix very good verses of that one thought. Set your heart at reft, faid I, and fee if this author has not as much management as he has wit.

He that fits filent in his wit's defence,

I warrant this poet never fat filent in his life,

Whofe

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