A SIMILE. DEAR Thomas, didst thou never pop A squirrel spend his little rage, Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes, So fares it with those merry blades, They tread on stars, and talk with gods; Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound; THE FLIES. SAY, sire of insects, mighty Sol, Raise such a cloud of dust as I? My judgment turn'd the whole debate: Toss up their heads, and stretch their wings. A PARAPHRASE FROM THE FRENCH. IN grey-hair'd Celia's wither'd arms As mighty Lewis lay, She cried, "If I have any charms, For you, my love, is all my fear, Alas, sir! what should you do here Not to expose your person: You ought to leave so mean a care They know how heroes may be made 'Tis best to leave them fairly; Put six good horses in your coach, And carry me to Marly. Let Boufleurs, to secure your fame, Go take some town, or buy it; Whilst you, great sir, at Nostredame, Te Deum sing in quiet!" FROM THE GREEK. GREAT Bacchus, born in thunder and in fire, EPIGRAM. FRANK carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats: He eats more than six; and drinks more than he eats. Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes; And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes. Yet sighing, he says, we must certainly break; And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak; For of late I invite him-but four times a week. ANOTHER. To John I ow'd great obligation; To publish it to all the nation: Sure John and I are more than quit. ANOTHER. YES, every poet is a fool: By demonstration Ned can show it: ANOTHER. THY nags, (the leanest things alive) TO A PERSON WHO WROTE ILL, LIE, Philo, untouch'd on my peaceable shelf; Nor take it amiss, that so little I heed thee: I've no envy to thee, and some love to myself: Then why should I answer; since first I must read thee? Drunk with Helicon's waters and double-brew'd bub, Be a linguist, a poet, a critic, a wag; |