I bless my chain, I hand my oar,
Nor think on all I left on shore.
'But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
When the big lip and watery eye
Tell me the rising storm is nigh;
'Tis then thou art yon angry main,
Deform'd by winds and dash'd by rain,
And the poor sailor that must try
Its fury, labours less than I.
'Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make, While Love and Fate still drive me back; Forced to dote on thee thy own way,
I chide thee first, and then obey :
Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh,
I with thee, or without thee, die,'
WHO OFFERS HER LOOKING-GLASS TO VENUS.
VENUS take my votive glass,
Since I am not what I was;
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.
THE CAMELEON.
As the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own,
But borrows from his neighbours' hue
His white or black, his green or blue,
And struts as much in ready light,
Which credit gives him upon sight,
As if the rainbow were intail
Settled on him and his heirs male;
So the young squire, when first he comes
From country-school to Will's or Tom's,
And equally, in truth, is fit
To be a statesman or a wit;
Without one notion of his own,
He saunters wildly up and down,
Till some acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the gang;
They jest, reply, dispute, harangue;
He acts and talks as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him.
Thus merely as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances.
If, haply, he the sect pursues
That read and comment upon news,
He takes up their mysterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace:
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have said the week before;
His wisdom sets all Europe right,
And teaches Marlborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet
With folks who have more wealth than wit,
He loves cheap port and double bub,
And settles in the Hum-drum club:
He learns how stocks will fall or rise;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation,
And says that learning spoils a nation.
But if, at first, he minds his hits,
And drinks Champagne among the wits;
Five deep he toasts the towering lasses,
Repeats you verses writ on glasses;
Is in the chair, prescribes the law,
And lies with those he never saw.
'SAY, sire of insects, mighty Sol,
(A fly upon the chariot pole
Cries out) what blue-bottle alive
Did ever with such fury drive?'
Tell, Beelzebub, great father, tell,
(Says t' other, perch'd upon the wheel)
Did ever any mortal fly
Raise such a cloud of dust as I?'
My judgment turn'd the whole debate.' My valour saved the sinking state.'
So talk two idle buzzing things,
Toss up their heads, and stretch their wings.
But let the truth to light be brought,
This neither spoke, nor t' other fought;
No merit in their own behaviour;
Both raised, but by their party's favour.
THE FEMALE PHAETON.
THUS Kitty, beautiful and young,
And wild as colt untamed,
Bespoke the fair from whence she
With little rage inflamed:
Inflamed with rage at sad restraint,
Which wise mamma ordain'd,
And sorely vex'd to play the saint,
Whilst wit and beauty reign'd.
Shall I thumb holy books, confined
With Abigails, forsaken?
Kitty's for other things design'd,
Or I am much mistaken.
Must Lady Jenny frisk about,
And visit with her cousins?
At balls must she make all the rout,
And bring home hearts by dozens?
'What has she better, pray, than I?
What hidden charms to boast,
That all mankind for her should die,
Whilst I am scarce a toast?
'Dearest mamma, for once let me,
Unchain'd, my fortune try:
I'll have my earl as well as she,
Or know the reason why.
I'll soon with Jenny's pride quit score,
Make all her lovers fall:
They'll grieve I was not loosed before;
She, I was loosed at all.'
Fondness prevail'd, mamma gave way:
Kitty, at heart's desire,
Obtain'd the chariot for a day,
And set the world on fire.
SIR THOMAS FRANKLAND, BART.
Postmaster and Paymaster General to Queen Anne.
WILL Pigot must to Coxwould1 go,
To live, alas! in want,
Unless Sir Thomas say, 'No, no,
The' allowance is too scant.'
The gracious knight full well does weet,
Ten farthings ne'er will do
To keep a man each day in meat;
Some bread to meat is due.
A Rechabite poor Will must live,
And drink of Adam's ale;
Pure element no life can give,
Or mortal soul regale.
Spare diet, and spring-water clear,
Physicians hold are good;
Who diets thus need never fear
A fever in the blood.
Gra'mercy, sirs, ye're in the right;
Prescriptions all can sell ;
But he that does not eat can't sh—,
Or p-s, if good drink fail.
But pass-The Esculapian crew,
Who eat and quaff the best,
They seldom miss to bake and brew,
Or lin to break their fast.
1 Twelve miles north of the city of York.
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