Meantime thy pain is gracious Anna's care: Our queen, our saint, with sacrificing breath, Softens thy anguish : in her powerful prayer

She pleads thy service, and forbids thy death.

Great as thou art, thou canst demand no more,
O breast bewail'd by earth, preserv'd by heaven!
No higher can aspiring virtue soar:

Enough to thee of grief, and fame is given.

OUR weekly friends to-morrow meet
At Matthew's palace, in Duke-street,
To try for once, if they can dine
On bacon-ham, and mutton-chine.
If wearied with the great affairs,
Which Britain trusts to Harley's cares,
Thou, humble statesman, mayst descend,
Thy mind one moment to unbend,
To see thy servant from his soul

Crown with thy health the sprightly bowl:

Among the guests, which e'er my house
Receiv'd, it never can produce

Of honour a more glorious proof-
Though Dorset us'd to bless the roof.

END OF VOL. I.