'Tis then no matter how things go,

Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.
With a fa, &c.

To pass our tedious hours away,

We throw a merry main;

Or else at serious ombre play;

But why should we in vain
Each other's ruin thus pursue ?

We were undone when we left you.
With a fa, &c.

But now our fears tempestuous grow,

And cast our hopes away; Whilst you, regardless of our wo,

Sit careless at a play:

Perhaps permit some happier man

To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan.
With a fa, &c.

When any mournful tune you hear,

That dies in every note,

As if it sigh'd with each man's care

For being so remote:

Think then how often love we've made

To you, when all those tunes were play'd.

With a fa, &c.

In justice you cannot refuse

To think of our distress,

When we for hopes of honour lose

Our certain happiness;

All those designs are but to prove

Ourselves more worthy of your love. With a fa, &c.

And now we've told you all our loves,

And likewise all our fears,

In hopes this declaration moves

Some pity for our tears;

Let's hear of no inconstancy,

We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa la, la, la, la.

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

BY JOHN PHILIPS.

[JOHN PHILIPS was born at Bampton, in Oxfordshire, in 1676, and was educated at Oxford.

He died in 1708.

He is remarkable for his attachment to tobacco, which he mentions in all his pieces but one. His best poem is written "On Cyder," in imitation of the Georgics of Virgil; the following, which is a parody on the style of Milton, has always been very popular.]

HAPPY the man, who, void of care and strife,

In silken or in leathern purse retains

A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain
New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale;
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall repairs :
Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye
Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames,
Chloe or Phillis, he each circling glass

Wishes her health, and joy, and equal love.
Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tale,

Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.
But I, whom griping penury surrounds,

And hunger, sure attendant upon want,

With scanty offals, and small acid tiff,
Wretched repast! my meagre corpse sustain :

Then solitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff

Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black
As winter-chimney, or well-polish'd jet,
Exhale mundungus, ill-perfumèd scent:
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
Smokes Cambro-Britain (versed in pedigree,

Sprung from Cadwallader and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale) when he
O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,
Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese,
High over-shadowing rides, with a design
To vend his wares, or at th' Avonian mart,
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
Yclept Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!

Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie

With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.

Thus, while my joyless minutes tedious flow With looks demure, and silent pace, a dun, Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, To my aërial citadel ascends :

With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate; With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. What should I do? or whither turn? Amazed, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly

Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect Through sudden fear: a chilly sweat bedews My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!) My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;

So horrible he seems! His faded brow Intrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admired by modern saints, Disastrous acts forebode; in his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves,