Thro' all the town his praifes rung,
His fonnets at the playhouse fung;
High waving o'er his lab'ring head,
The goddess Want her pinions spread,
And with poetic fury fir'd,

What Phoebus faintly had inspir'd.
A noble youth, of taste and wit,
Approv'd the sprightly things he writ,
And fought him in his cobweb dome,
Discharg'd his rent, and brought him home.
Behold him at the stately board;

Who, but the Poet, and my Lord!
Each day, deliciously he dines,

And greedy quaffs the gen'rous wines;
His fides were plump, his fkin was fleek,
And plenty wanton'd on his cheek;
Astonish'd at the change fo new,
Away th' infpiring goddess flew.

Now, dropt for politics, and news,
Neglected lay the drooping mufe;
Unmindful whence his fortune came,
He ftifled the poetic flame;

Nor tale, nor fonnet, for my lady,
Lampoon, nor epigram, was ready.
With juft contempt his patron faw,
(Refolv'd his bounty to withdraw)
And thus, with anger in his look,
The late-repenting fool befpoke.

Blind to the good that courts thee grown;
Whence has the fun of favour fhone?

It happen'd, as, at early dawn,

He folitary cross'd the lawn,
Stray'd from the fold, a sportive lamb
Skipp'd wanton, by her fleecy dam;
When Cupid, foe to man and beast,
Difcharg'd an arrow at his breaft.

The tim'rous breed the robber knew,
And, trembling, o'er the meadow flew ;
Their nimbleft speed the Wolf o'ertook,
And, courteous, thus the dam bespoke.
Stay, faireft, and fufpend your fear;
Truft me, no enemy is near:

Thefe jaws, in flaughter oft imbru'd,
At length, have known enough of blood;
And kinder bufinefs brings me now,
Vanquifh'd, at beauty's foot to bow.
You have a daughter Sweet, forgive
A Wolf's addrefs- -In her I live;
Love from her eyes like lightning came,
And fet my marrow all-on flame;
Let your confent confirm my choice,
And ratify our nuptial joys.

Me ample wealth and pow'r attend,
Wide o'er the plains my realms extend;
What midnight robber dare invade
The fold, if I the guard am made?
At home the fhepherd's cur may fleep,
While I fecure his mafter's fheep.
Difcourfe like this attention claim'd;
Grandeur the mother's breaft inflam'd;

Now,

Now, fearlefs, by his fide fhe walk'd,
Of fettlements and jointures talk'd;
Propos'd, and doubled her demands,
Of flow'ry fields, and turnip-lands.
The wolf agrees. Her bofom fwells;
To mifs her happy fate fhe tells ;
And, of the grand alliance vain,-
Contemns her kindred of the plain.

The loathing lamb with horror hears,,
And wearies out her dam with pray'rs;
But all in vain; mamma beft knew
What unexperienc'd girls should do;
So, to the neighb'ring meadow carry'd,
A formal afs the couple marry'd.

Torn from the tyrant mother's fide,
The trembler goes, a victim-bride,
Reluctant meets the rude embrace,
And bleats among the howling race.
With horror oft her eyes behold
Her murder'd kindred of the fold;
Each day a fifter lamb is ferv❜d,
And at the glutton's table carv'd;
The crashing bones he grinds for food,
And flakes his thirst with streaming blood.
Love, who the cruel mind detefts,
And lodges but in gentle breafts,
Was now no more. Enjoyment past,
The favage hunger'd for the feast;
But (as we find in human race,
A mafk conceals the villain's face)

Justice muft authorize the treat;

Till then he long'd, but durft not eat.
As forth he walk'd, in queft of prey,
The hunters met him on the way;

Fear wings his flight; the marfh he fought;
The fnuffing dogs are set at fault.

His ftomach baulk'd, now hunger gnaws;
Howling, he grinds his empty jaws;
Food must be had- -and lamb is nigh;
His maw invokes the fraudful lye.
Is this (diffembling rage) he cry'd,
The gentle virtue of a bride?

That, leagu'd with man's destroying race,
She fets her husband for the chace ?
By treach❜ry prompts the noify hound
To fcent his footsteps on the ground ?
Thou trait'ress vile! for this thy blood
Shall glut my rage, and dye the wood!
So faying, on the lamb he flies;
Beneath his jaws the victim dies.

THE

THE

FEMALE SEDUCERS.

IS faid of widow, maid, and wife,

'T' That Honour is a woman's life;

Unhappy fex! who only claim

A being, in the breath of fame;
Which tainted, not the quick'ning gales,
That sweep Sabæa's spicy vales,
Nor all the healing fweets restore,
That breathe along Arabia's fhore.

The trav'ler, if he chance to stray,
May turn, uncenfur'd, to his way;
Polluted streams again are pure,
And deepest wounds admit a cure;
But woman! no redemption knows ;
The wounds of honour never close.

Tho' distant ev'ry hand to guide,
Nor skill'd on life's tempeftuous tide,
If once her feeble bark recede,
Or deviate from the courfe decreed,
In vain fhe feeks the friendly shore;
Her fwifter folly flies before;
The circling ports against her close,
And shut the wand'rer from repofe;
Till, by conflicting waves opprefs'd,
Her found'ring pinnace finks to reft.
€ 5