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Nor tear nor smile did they employ
At news of public grief or joy.
When bells were rung and bonfires made,
If ask'd, they ne'er denied their aid :
Their jug was to the ringers carried,
Whoever either died or married.
Their billet at the fire was found,
Whoever was deposed or crown'd.

Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise ;
They would not learn, nor could advise :
Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
They led--a kind of—as it were :
Nor wish’d, nor cared, nor laugh’d, nor cried :
And so they lived, and so they died.

THE FEMALE PHAETON.

Thus Kitty,(a) beautiful and young,

And wild as colt untamed,
Bespoke the fair from whence she sprung,

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.

(a) Prior's Kitty" afterwards became the Dutchess of Queensberry, the eccentric patroness of the poet Gay.

• Must Lady Jenny frisk about,

And visit with her cousins ?
At balls must she make all the rout,

And bring home hearts by dozens ?

66 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.

CHARLES COTTON.

BORN DEC, 1630-DIED 1687.

COTTON is best known as the disciple and enthusiastic ad

mirer of Isaac Walton. In his burlesque verses, a light and happy vein is occasionally displayed. Cotton, who must not be confounded with his excellent namesake, Dr Cotton, was a Derbyshire cavalier, and having, like too many of his contemporaries, embarrassed his estate by imprudence and extravagance, ended his days in the Sanctuary of Westminster.

THE WELSH GUIDE.

FROM THE VOYAGE TO IRELAND.

But up I soon start, and was dress’d in a trice,
And call'd for a draught of ale, sugar, and spice ;
Which having turn'd off, I then call to pay,
And packing my nawls, whipp'd to horse, and

away.
A guide I had got, who demanded great vails,
For conducting me over the mountains of Wales :
Twenty good shillings, which sure very large is ;
Yet that would not serve, but I must bear his

charges ; And yet for all that, rode astride on a beast, The worst that e'er went on three legs, I protest : It certainly was the most ugly of jades, His hips and his rump made a right ace of spades; His sides were two ladders, well spur-gall’d

withal ; His neck was a helve, and his head was a mall; For his colour, my pains and your trouble I'll

spare, For the creature was wholly denuded of hair ; And, except for two things, as bare as my nail, A tuft of a mane, and a sprig of a tail ; And by these the true colour one can no more

know, Than by mouse-skins above stairs, the merkin

below.

Now such as the beast was, even such was the rider,
With a head like a nutmeg, and legs like a spider ;
A voice like a cricket, a look like a rat,
The brains of a goose, and the heart of a cat :
Even such was my guide and his beast; let them

pass,
The one for a horse, and the other an ass.

ST WINIFRED'S WELL.

FROM THE SAME.

O’er hills and o'er valleys uncouth and uneven,
Until 'twixt the hours of twelve and eleven,
More hungry and thirsty than tongue can well tell,
We happily came to St Winifred's Well :
I thought it the pool of Bethesda had been,
By the cripples lay there ; but I went to my inn
To speak for some meat, for so stomach did mo.

tion,
Before I did farther proceed in devotion :
I went into the kitchen, where victuals I saw,
Both beef, veal, and mutton, but all on't was raw ;
And some on't alive, but it soon went to slaughter,
For four chickens were slain by my dame and

her daughter ; Of which to saint Win, ere my vows I had paid, They said I should find a rare fricassée made.

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER.

BORN 1630-DIED 1680.

UPON NOTHING.

NOTHING! thou elder brother ev'n to Shade,
That hadst a being ere the world was made,
And (well fixt) art alone of ending not afraid.

Ere Time and Place were, Time and Place were

not, When primitive Nothing, Something straight be.

got, Then all proceeded from the great united—What.

Something, the general attribute of all,
Sever'd from thee, its sole original,
Into thy boundless self must undistinguish'd fall.

Yet Something did thy mighty power command,
And from thy fruitful emptiness's hand,
Snatch'd men, beasts, birds, fire, air, and land.

Matter, the wicked'st offspring of thy race,
By Form assisted, flew from thy embrace,
And rebel Light obscur’d thy reverend dusky face.

With Form and Matter, Time and Place did join,
Body, thy foe, with thee did leagues combine,
To spoil thy peaceful realm, and ruin all thy line.

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