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Devotion seiz'd the pair, to see the feast
With wine, and of no common grape, increas'd;
And up they held their hands, and fell to pray'r,
Excusing, as they could, their country fare.

One goose they had ('twas all they could allow),
A wakeful sentry, and on duty now;
Whom to the gods for sacrifice they vow:
Her with malicious zeal the couple view'd;
She ran for life, and limping they pursu'd:
Full well the fowl perceiv'd their bad intent,
And would not make her master's compliment;
But, persecuted, to the Pow'rs she flies,

And close between the legs of Jove she lies;
He, with a gracious ear, the suppliant heard,
And sav'd her life; then what he was declar'd,
And own'd the god. The neighbourhood (said he)
Shall justly perish for impiety:

Ye stand alone exempted: but obey

With speed, and follow where we lead the way:
Leave these accurst; and to the mountain's height
Ascend; nor once look backward in your flight.
They haste, and, what their tardy feet denied,
The trusty staff (their better leg) supplied.
An arrow's flight they wanted to the top,
And there secure, but spent with travel, stop;
Then turn their now no more forbidden eyes;
Lost in a lake the floated level lies:

A wat'ry desert covers all the plains;

Their cot alone, as in an isle, remains.

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Wond'ring with weeping eyes, while they deplore Their neighbours' fate, and country now no more, Their little shed, scarce large enough for two, Seems, from the ground increas'd, in height and bulk

to grow.

A stately temple shoots within the skies,

The crotchets of their cot in columns rise:

The pavement polish'd marble they behold,

The gates with sculpture grac'd, the spires and tiles of gold.

Then thus the sire of gods, with looks serene:

Speak thy desire, thou only just of men ;
And thou, O woman, only worthy found
To be with such a man in marriage bound.

Awhile they whisper; then, to Jove address'd,
Philemon thus prefers their joint request:
We crave to serve before your sacred shrine,
And offer at your altars rites divine :
And since not any action of our life
Has been polluted with domestic strife;
We beg one hour of death, that neither she,
With widow's tears, may live to bury me,
Nor weeping I, with wither'd arms, may bear
My breathless Baucis to the sepulchre.

The godheads sign their suit. They run their race In the same tenour all th' appointed space :

Then, when their hour was come, while they relate
These past adventures at the temple gate,
Old Baucis is by old Philemon seen -

Sprouting with sudden leaves of sprightly green :
Old Baucis look'd where old Philemon stood,
And saw his lengthen❜d arms a sprouting wood;
New roots their fasten'd feet begin to bind,
Their bodies stiffen in a rising rind :

Then, ere the bark above their shoulders grew,
They give, and take, at once, their last adieu,
At once, Farewell, O faithful spouse, they said;
At once th' encroaching rinds their closing lips
invade.

Ev'n yet an ancient Tyanæan shows

A spreading oak, that near a linden grows ;
The neighbourhood confirm the prodigy,
Grave men, not vain of tongue, or like to lie.

I saw myse f the garlands on their boughs,
And tablets hung for gifts of granted vows;
And off'ring fresher up with pious pray'r,
The good (said I) are God's peculiar care,

And such as honour Heav'n shall heav'nly honour GARTH'S OVID.

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THE FEMALE COTERIE.

BY nature turn'd to play the rake well
(As we shall show you in the sequel),
The modern dame is wak'd by noon
(Some authors say not quite so soon).
Because, though sore against her will,
She sat all night up at quadrille.
She stretches, gapes, unglues her eyes,
Aud asks if it be time to rise;

Of headach and the spleen complains ;
And then, to cool her heated brains,
Her night-gown and her slippers brought her,
Takes a large dram of citron water.
Then to her glass; and "Betty, pray.
Don't I look frightfully to day?
But was it not confounded hard ?
Well, if I ever touch a card!
Four mattadores and lose codill!
Depend upon't, I never will.
But run to Tom, and bid him fix
The ladies here to night by six."
"Madam, the goldsmith waits below:
He says, his business is to know,

If you'll redeem the silver cup

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He keeps in pawn?"-" Why show him up."
"Your dressing plate he'll be content

To take, for interest cent. per cent.
And, madam, there's my lady Spade
Hath sent this letter by her maid."

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Well, I remember what she won;
And hath she sent so soon to dun?
Here, carry down those ten pistoles
My husband left to pay for coals:
I thank my stars they are all light,
And I may have revenge to night."
Now, loit'ring o'er her tea and cream,
She enters on her usual theme;
Her last night's ill success repeats,
Calls lady Spade a hundred cheats:
"She slipp'd spadillo in her breast,
Then thought to turn it to a jest:
There's Mrs. Cut and she combine,
And to each other give the sign."
Through ev'ry game pursues her tale,
Like hunters o'er their ev❜ning ale.

Now to another scene gives place:
Enter the folks with silk and lace:
Fresh matter for a world of chat,
Right India this, right Mechlin that:
"Observe this pattern; there's a stuff;
I can have customers enough."

"Dear madam, you are grown so hard-
This lace is worth twelve pounds a yard."
"Madam, if there be truth in man,
I never sold so cheap a fan."

This business of importance o'er,
And madam almost dress'd by four,
The footman, in his usual phrase,
Comes up with, madam, dinner stays?
She answers in her usual style
"The cook must keep it back awhile:
I never can have time to dress :
No woman breathing takes up less;
I'm hurried so, it makes me sick;
I wish the dinner at old Nick."

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At table now she acts her part,
Has all the dinner cant by heart :
"I thought we were to dine alone,
My dear; for sure, if I had known
This company would come to day-
But really 'tis my spouse's way;
He's so unkind, he never sends
To tell when he invites his friends;
I wish ye may but have enough."
And while with all this paltry stuff
She sits tormenting ev'ry guest,
Nor gives her tongue one moment's rest,
In phrases batter'd, stale, and trite,
Which modern ladies call polite;
You see the booby husband sit
In admiration at her wit!

But let me now a while survey
Our madam o'er her ev'ning tea;
Surrounded with her noisy clans
Of prudes, coquets, and harridans;
When, frighted at the clam'rous crew,
Away the god of silence flew.
And fair Discretion left the place,
And Modesty, with blushing face :
Now enters overweening Pride,
And Scandal, ever gaping wide;
Hypocrisy with frown severe,
Scurillity with gibing air;

Rude Laughter, seeming like to burst,
And Malice always judging worst;
And Vanity with pocket-glass,
And Impudence with front of brass;
And studied Affectation came,
Each limb and feature out of frame;
While Ignorance, with brain of lead,
Flew hov'ring o'er each female head.

SWIFT.

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