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The ALLE Y.
A narrow Pass there is, with Houses low ;
5 The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and fhriller
Squall: How can ye, Mothers, vex your children so? Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall, And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
hood I ween.
30 Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice: There learn'd she speech from tongues that never
cease. Slander beside her, like a Mag-pie, chatters, With Envy, (spitting Cat) dread foe to peace; Like a curs'd Cur, Malice before her clatters, 33 Andvexing ev'ry wight, tearsclothes and all to tatters.
Her dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's hand,
Nay, e'en the parts of shame by name would call:
who turn'd him to the Wall, And by his hand obscene the porter took, Nor ever did aikance like modeft Virgin look. 45
VI. Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town, Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch; Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown, And Twick'nam such, which fairer scenes enrich, Grots, ftatues, urns, and Jo-n's Dog and Bitch, Ne village is without, on either side, All up the silver Thames, or all adown; Ne Richmond's felf, from whose tall front are ey'd Vales, spires, meandring streams, and Windfor's
W ALL E R.
Of a Lady singing to her Lute.
a FA AIR Charmer, cease, nor make your voice's
prize A heart resignd the conquest of your eyes: Well might, alas ! that threatned vessel fail, Which winds and lightning both at once affail. We were too bleft with these inchanting lays, 5 Which must be heav'nly when an Angel plays: But killing charms your lover's death contrive, Left heav'nly music should be heard alive. Orpheus could charm the trees, but thus a tree, Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he: A poet made the filent wood pursue, This vocal wood had drawn the Poet too.
On a fan of the Author's design, in
which was painted the story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, AURA VENI.
OME, gentle Air! th’Æolian fhepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret ihade; Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her swain expiring lies. Lo the glad gales o’er all her beauties stray, Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play! In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found, Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound: Both gifts destructive to the givers prove; Alike both lovers fall by those they love. Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives, At random wounds, nor knows the wounds the gives : She views the story with attentive eyes, And pities Procris, while her lover dies,