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Here alum-flower, to stop the steams
Exhal'd from sour unsavoury streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripsey's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripsey when she died;
With puppy-water, beauty's help,
Distilla from Tripsey's darling whelp.
Here gallipots and vials plac'd,
Some filld with washes, some with paste;
Some with pomatums, paints, and slops,
And ointments good for scabby chops.
Hard by a filthy basin stands,
Fould with the scouring of her hands:
The basin takes whatever comes,
The scrapings from her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spews.

But, oh! it turn'd poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begumm'd, bematter'd, and beslim'd,
With dirt, and sweat, and earwax grim'd;
No object Strephon's eye escapes ;
Her petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot,
All varnish'd o'er with snuff and snot.
The stockings why should I expose,
Stain'd with the moisture of her toes *,
Or greasy coifs, or pinners reeking,
Which Cælia slept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found,
To pluck her brows in arches round;
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles grow.

The virtues we must not let pass Of Cælia's magnifying-glass; When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't, It show'd the visage of a giant:

* Var. " marks of stinking toes," H.

A glass that can to sight disclose
The smallest worm in Cælia's nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
For, catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out, alive or dead.

Why, Strephon, will you tell the rest?
And mąst you needs describe the chest ?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner!
But leave it standing full in sight,
For you to exercise your spite ?
In vain the workman show'd his wit,
With rings and hinges counterfeit,
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes :
Which Strephon ventur'd to look in,
Resolv'd to go through thick and thin,
He lifts the lid : there needs no more,
He smelt it all the time before.

As, from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus op'd the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of human evils upward flew.
He still was comforted to find
That hope at last remain'd behind:
So Strephon, lifting up the lid,
To view what in the chest was hid,
The
vapours

few from out the vent;
But Strephon, cautious, never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope,
And foul his hands in search of hope.

0! ne'er may such a vile machine
Be once in Cælia's chamber seen!
O!
niay

she better learn to keep Those is secrets of the hoary deep

* Milton,

As mutton-cutlets, prime of meat,
Which, though with art, you salt and beat,
As laws of cookery require,
And roast them at the clearest fire;
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon the cinder drops,
To stinking smoke it turns the flame,
Poisoning the flesh from whence it came,
And up exhales a greasy stench,
For which you curse the careless wench:
So things which must not be exprest,
When plump'd into the reeking chest,
Send up an excremental smell
To taint the parts from whence they fell:
The petticoats and gown perfume,
And waft a stink round every room.

Thus finishing his grand survey,
Disgusted Strephon stole away ;
Repeating in his amorous fits,
“ Oh! Cælia, Cælia, Cælia sh!"
But Vengeance, goddess never sleeping,
Soon punish'd Strephon for his peeping:
His foul imagination links
Each dame he sees with all her stinks;
And, if unsavoury odours fly,
Conceives a lady standing by.
All women his description fits,
And both ideas jump like wits;
By vicious fancy coupled fast,
And still appearing in contrast.

I pity wretched Strephon, blind
To all the charms of woman kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refuse,
Because she rose from stinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene,
Statira's but some pocky quean.

When Cælia all her glory shows, If Strephon would but stop his nose,

(Who now so impiously blasphemes
Her ointments, daubs, and paints, and creams,
Her washes, slops, and every clout,
With which he makes so foul a rout;)
He soon will learn to think like me,
And bless his ravish'd eyes to see
Such order from confusion sprung,
Such gaudy tulips rais'd fron dung.

THE POWER OF TIME. 1730.

POWE If neither brass nor marble can withstand The mortal force of Time's destructive hand; If mountains sink to vales, if cities die, And lessening rivers mourn their fountains dry; When my old cassock (said a Welsh divine) Is out at elbows; why should I repine ?

ON MR. PULTENEY'S BEING PUT OUT OF

THE COUNCIL. 1731.

Sir Robert, weary'd by Will Pulteney's tearings,
Who interrupted him in all his leasings,
Resolv'd that Will and he should meet no more,
Full in his face Bob shuts the council door;
Nor lets him sit as justice on the bench,
To punish thieves, or lash a suburb-wench.
Yet still St. Stephen's chapel open lies
For Will to enter -What shall I advise?
Ev'n quit the House, for thou too long has sat in't,
Produce at last thy dormant ducal patent;

There, near thy master's throne in shelter placd,
Let Will unheard by thee his thunder waste.
Yet still I fear your work is done but half:
For, while he keeps his pen, you are not safe.

Hear an old fable, and a dull one too;
It bears a moral, when apply'd to you.

A hare had long escap'd pursuing hounds
By often shifting into distant grounds;
Till, finding all his artifices vain,
To save his life he leap'd into the main.
But there, alasl he could no safety find,
A pack of dogfish had him in the wind.
He scours away; and, to avoid the foe,
Descends for shelter to the shades below:
There Cerberus lay watching in his den,
(He had not seen a bare the Lord knows when)
Out bounc'd the mastiff of the triple head;
Away the hare with double swiftness filed;
Hunted from earth, and sea, and Hell, he flies/
(Fear lent him wings) for safety to the skies.
How was the fearful animal distrest!
Behold a foe more fierce than all the rest :
Sirius, the swiftest of the heavenly pack,
Faild but an inch to seize him by the back.
He fed to earth, but first it cost him dear :
He left his scut behind, and half an ear.

Thus was the hare pursu'd, though free from guilt;
Thus, Bob, shalt thou be maul'd, fly where thou wilt.
Then, honest Robin, of thy corpse beware;
Thou art not half nimble as a hare :
Too ponderous is thy bulk to mount the sky:
Nor can you go to Hell, before you

die. So keen thy hunters, and thy scent so strong, Thy turns and doublings cannot save thee long *.

* This hunting ended in the promotion of Will and Bob. Bobo was no longer first minister, but earl of Orford ; and Will was ao longer his opponent, but earl of Bath. H.

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