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The PRETTY BAR-KEEPER of the MITRE.

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BALLAD XIV.

Written at College, 1741.

I.

RELAX, fweet girl, your wearied mind,

"And to hear the poet talk,

"Gentleft creature of your kind,

"Lay afide your fponge and chalk; "Ceafe, cease the bar-bell, nor refuse

"To hear the jingle of the Muse.

II.

"Hear your numerous vot'ries prayers,
"Come, O come, and bring with thee
"Giddy whimfies, wanton airs,

"And all love's foft artillery;

"Smiles and throbs, and frowns, and tears, "With all the little hopes and fears.

III.

She heard-fhe came-and e'er she spoke,
Not unravish'd you might fee

Her wanton eyes that wink'd the joke,
Ee'r her tongue could fet it free.
While a forc'd blush her cheeks inflam'd,
And feem'd to fay fhe was afham'd.

IV.

No handkerchief her bofom hid,

No tippet from our fight debars
Her heaving breasts with moles o'erspread,
Mark'd, little hemifpheres, with stars;
While on them all our eyes we move,
Our eyes that meant immoderate love.
V.

In every gefture, every air,

Th' imperfect lifp, the languid eye, In every motion of the fair

We awkward imitators vie,

And forming our own from her face,
Strive to look pretty, as we gaze.

VI.

If e'er the fneer'd, the mimic crowd

Sneer'd too, and all their pipes laid down ;
If fhe but stoop'd, we lowly bow'd,
And fullen if the 'gan to frown

In folemn filence fat profound

But did fhe laugh !—the laugh went round.

VII.

Her fnuff-box if the nymph pull'd out,
Each Johnian in refponfive airs
Fed with the tickling duft his fnout,
With all the politesse of bears.

Dropt fhe her fan beneath her hoop,
Ev'n ftake-ftuck Clarians ftrove to stoop.

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VIII

The tons of culinary Kays

Smoaking from the eternal treat, Loft in extatic tranfport gaze,

As tho' the fair was good to eat ; Ev'n gloomiest King's men, pleas'd awhile, "Grin horribly a ghaftly fmile."

IX.

But hark, fhe cries," my mama calls," And ftrait fhe's vanish'd from our fight; "Twas then we saw the empty bowls,

'Twas then we first perceiv'd it night; While all, fad Synod, filent moan,

Both that fhe went-and went alone.

The WIDOW's RESOLUTION. A Cantata.

BALLAD XV.

RECITATIVE.

SYLVIA, the most contented of her kind,

Remain'd in joylefs widowhood refign'd :
In vain to gain her every fhepherd strove,
Each paffion cbb'd, but grief, which drowned love..
AIR.

Away, the cry'd, ye fwains, be mute,

Nor with your odious fruitlefs fuit

My loyal thoughts contrcul;

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My grief on Resolution's rock
Is built, nor can temptation fhock
The purpofe of my foul.

Tho' blith content with jocund air
May balance comfort against care,

And make me life sustain;
Yet ev'ry joy has wing'd its flight,
Except that penfive dear delight

That takes it's rife from pain.

RECITATIVE.

She faid:A youth approach'd of manly grace,.
A fon of Mars, and of th' Hibernian race :-
In flow'ry rhetorick he no time employ'd,
He came―he woo'd-he wedded and enjoy'd..
AIR.

Dido thus of old protested,

Ne'er to know a fecond flame ;:

But alas fhe found fhe jefted,

When the stately Trojan came..

Nature a disguise may borrow,

Yet this maxim true will prove, Spite of pride, and spite of forrow, She that has an heart muft love. What on earth is fo enchanting

As beauty weeping on her weeds! Thro' flowing eyes on bofom panting

What a rapturous ray proceeds?

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Since from death there's no returning,
When th' old lover bids adieu,
All the pomp and farce of mourning
Are but fignals for a new.

IT

EPISTLE to MRS. TYLER.

T ever was allow'd, dear Madam,
Ev'n from the days of father Adam,
Of all perfection flesh is heir to,
Fair patience is the gentleft virtue;
This is a truth our grandames teach,
Our poets fing, and parfons preach;
Yet after all, dear Moll, the fact is
We feldom put it into practice;
I'll warrant (if one knew the truth)
You've call'd me many an idle youth,
And ftyled me rude ungrateful bear,
Enough to make a parfon fwear.

I fhall not make a long oration
In order for my vindication,
For what the plague can I fay more
Than lazy dogs have done before;
Such ftuff is naught but mere tautology,
And fo take that for my apology.

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