Bless'd in his lot for other things,

The pride of wealth, the pow'r of kings,
He offers up no pray'rs ;
(2) Heroes unenvying can see,
Not Prussia's king desires to be,
Or any king-but theirs,

(3) The rapid steed he'll ne'er bestride,
With lords for wagers proud to ride,
Newmarket plains adorning:
At Arthur's he takes no delight,
To pass at dice the sleepless night,
And be undone by morning.

In senates he seeks not to sit,
And hear, amaz'd, persuasive Pitt
Govern the high debate;

In Westminster's long sounding hall
He ne'er expects a serjeant's call,
Nor hopes to rival Pratt.

Though ministers can places give
To those who in their creed believe,
No such he puts his trust in;
Content, in tatters though he goes,
Content to want a pair of shoes,
So he but wear the buskin.

Him, if his sire to mercer binds,
He gives th' indentures to the winds,
Disdaining to sell camlet;

(4) Away he hies to Drury-lane,
Calls his old father Royal Dane,

And thinks himself prince Hamlet.

(5) Where Garrick with judicious art
Charms ev'ry ear, wins ev'ry heart,
And acts like one inspir'd;
There the fond youth puts in his claim,
Aspires to reach his mighty fame,
And be, like him, admir'd.

Like him, whose skill upon the stage
(6) Can make the dullest scenes engage,
And thousands come to hear 'em;
(6) He e'en to — -s could spirit give,
Nine tedious nights could make them live;

Without him who could bear 'em?

Full

AYS Beauty to Fushion, as they sat at the toilette,

SAY

"If I give you a charm, you surely will spoil it;
When you take it in hand, there's such murth'ring and mangling,
"Tis so metamorphos'd by your fiddling and fangling,
That I scarce know my own, when I meet it again,
Such changelings you make both of women and men.
To confirm what I say, look at Phryne, or Phillis,
I'm sure that I give 'em good roses and lilies:
Now what have you done?-Let the world be the judge:
Why, you daub 'em all over with cold cream and rouge,
That, like Thisbe in Ovid, one cannot come at 'em,
Unless through a mud-wall of paint and pomatum.

And as to your dress, one would think you quite mad,
From the head to the heel it is all masquerade;
With your flounces and furbelows, sacks, trollopees,
Now sweeping the ground, and now up to your knees,
Your pinking, and crimping, and cheveux de frize,
And all the fantastical cuts of the mode,

You look like a Bedlamite, ragged and proud!

Then of late you're so fickle, that few people mind you;
For my part, I never can tell where to find you:
Now dress'd in a cap, now naked in none,
Now loose in a mob, now close in a Joan;
Without handkerchief now, and now buried in ruff,
Now plain as a quaker, now all of a puff:

Now a shape in neat stays, now a slattern in jumps,
Now high in French heels, now low in your pumps,
Now monstrous in hoop, now trapish, and walking
With your petticoats clung to your heels, like a malkin:
Like the cock on the tower, that shews you the weather,
You are hardly the same for two days together."

Thus Beauty begun, and Miss Fashion reply'd,
"Who does most for the sex ?-Let it fairly be try'd.
And they that look round 'em will presently see,
They're much less beholden to you than to me:
I grant it, indeed, mighty favours you boast,
But how scanty your favours, how scarce is a toast!

R. B.

A shape,

A shape, a complexion, you confer now and then,
But to one that you give, you refuse it to ten;
In one you succeed, in another you fail,

Here your rose is too red, there your lily's too pale;
Or some feature or other is always amiss:

And pray, let me know, when you finish'd a piece,
But what I was oblig'd to correct, or touch over,
Or you never would have either husband or lover?
For I hope, my fair lady, you do not forget,
Though you find the thread, that 'tis I make the net:
And say what you please, it must be allow'd,
That a woman is nothing, unless a-la-mode;
Neglected she lives, and no beauty avails,
For what is a ship without rigging or sails?

Like the diamonds when rough, are the charms you bestow;
But mine is the setting and polishing too.

Your nymphs, with their shapes, their complexions, and features,
What are they without me, but poor aukward creatures?
The rout, the assembly, the playhouse, will tell,

"Tis I form the beau, and I finish the belle:

"Tis by me that these beauties must all be supply'd,

Which time has withdrawn, or which you have deny'd:
Impartial to all, did not I lend my aid,

Both Venus and Cupid might throw up their trade,
And even your ladyship die an old maid."

THE PUPPET-SHOW.

}

From the posthumous Volumes of the Writings of the late Dr, SWIFT,

VOL. V,

and his Friends, lately published,

HE life of man to represent,

THE

And turn it all to ridicule,

Wit did a puppet-show invent.

Where the chief actor is a fool.

The gods of old were logs of wood,
And worship was to puppets paid;

In antic dress the idol stood,

And priests and people bow'd the head.

No wonder, then, if art began

The simple votaries to frame,

To shape in timber foolish man,

And consecrate the block to fame.

From hence poetic fancy learn'd

That trees might rise from human forms,

The body to a trunk be turn'd,

And branches issue from the arms,

Thus Dædalus, and Ovid too,

That man's a blockhead have confest ;
Powel and Stretch * the hint pursue :
Life is a farce, the world a jest.

The same great truth South-sea hath prov'd
On that fam'd theatre, the alley,
Where thousands, by directors mov'd,
Are now sad monuments of folly.

What Momus was of old to Jove,
The same a harlequin is now ;

The former was buffoon above,
The latter is a punch below.

This fleeting scene is but a ștage,
Where various images appear,

In different parts of youth and age,
Alike the prince and peasant share.

Some draw our eyes by being great,

False pomp conceals mere wood within,

And legislators rang'd in state

Are oft but wisdom in machine.

A stork may chance to wear a crown,
And timber as a lord take place;

A statue may put on a frown,

And cheat us with a thinking face.

Others are blindly led away,

And made to act for ends unknown; By the mere spring of wires they play, And speak in language not their own. Too oft, alas! a scolding wife

And

Usurps a jolly fellow's throne;
many drink the cup of life,
Mix'd and embitter'd by a Joan.

In short, whatever men pursue

Of pleasure, folly, war, or love;
This mimic race brings all to view,

Alike they dress, they talk, they move.
Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand,
Mortals to please and to deride;
And when death breaks thy vital band,
Thou shalt put on a puppet's pride.
Thou shalt in puny wood be shown,

Thy image shall preserve thy fame;
Ages to come thy worth shall own,
Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name.
*Two puppet-show men.

Tell

Tell Tom he draws a farce in vain.
Before he looks in nature's glass;
Puns cannot form a witty scene,

Nor pedantry for humour pass.

To make men act as senseless wood,
And chatter in a mystic strain,
Is a mere force on flesh and blood,

And shews some error in the brain.

He that would thus refine on thee,

And turn thy stage into a school,
The jest of punch will ever be,
And stand confess'd the greater fool.

A

PROLOGUE upon PROLOGUES.

Written by Mr. GARRICK.

N old trite proverb let me quote!
As is your cloth, so cut your coat.-

To suit our author and his farce,
Short let me be! for wit is scarce.
Nor would I shew it, had I any,
The reasons why are strong and many.
Should I have wit, the piece have none,
A flash in pan with empty gun,
The piece is sure to be undone.
A tavern with a gaudy sign,

Whose bush is better than the wine,
May cheat you once.-Will that device,
Neat as Imported, cheat you twice?

"Tis wrong to raise your expectations:
Poets be dull in dedications !
Dullness in these to wit prefer-
But there indeed you seldom err.
In prologues, prefaces, be flat!
A silver button spoils your hat.
A thread-bare coat might jokes escape,
Did not the blockheads lace the cape.
A case in point to this before ye,
Allow me, pray, to tell a story!

To turn the penny, once, a wit

Upon a curious fancy hit;

Hung out a board, on which he boasted,

Dinner for THREE-PENCE! Boil'd and roasted!

The hungry read, and in they trip,

With eager eye and smacking lip:

"Here, bring this boil'd and roasted, pray!" Enter POTATOES-dress'd each way.