Ye drums and rattles, rend the ears,
Like twenty thoufand Southwark fairs;
Bellow ye bulls, and bawl ye bats,
Encore, encore, ye amorous cats;
In vain poor things ye fqueak and fquall,
Soft Sylvia fhall out-tongue you all :
But here fhe comes-there's no relief,
She comes, and bleffed are the deaf.
"A Magpie! why, you're mad, my dear,
"To bring a chattering Magpie here.
"A prating play thing, fit for boys-
"You know I can't endure a noise.-
"You brought this precious present sure,
"My headach and my cough to cure.
"Pray hand him in and let him stain
"Each curtain, and each counterpane;
"Yes, he shall rooft upon my toilet,
"Or on my pillow-he can't spoil it:
"He'll only make me catch my death.-
"O heavens! for a little breath!-
"Thank God, I never knew refentment,.
"But am all patience and contentment,
"Or elfe, you paltry knave, I fhou'd
"(As any other woman wou'd)

Wring off his neck, and down your gullet "Cram it, by way of chick or pullet."Well, I must lock up all my rings,. "My jewels, and my curious things:

My Chinese toys must go to pct ; "My dear, my pinchbecks-and what not? "For all your Magpies are, like lawyers, "At once thieves, brawlers, and deftroyers."You for a wife have fearch'd the globe, "You've got a very female Job, "Pattern of love, and peace and unity, "Or how cou'd you expect impunity? "O Lord! this nafty thing will bite, "And scratch and clapper, claw and fight. "O monstrous wretch, thus to devife, "To tear out your poor Sylvia's eyes. "You're a fine Popish plot pursuing, By prefents to affect my ruin;

And thus for good are ill retorting

"TO ME, who brought you fuch a fortune; "To ME, you low-liv'd clown, to ME,

"Who came of such a family;

"ME, who for age to age poffefs'd

"A lion rampant on my crest;

"ME, who have fill'd your empty coffers,

"ME, who'd fo many better offers;
And is my merit thus regarded,
"Cuckold, my virtue thus rewarded.
"O'tis past fufferance-Mary-Mary,
"I faint-the citron, or the clary.

The poor man, who had bought the creature,
Out of pure conjugal good-nature,

Stocd

Stood at this violent attack,
Like ftatufes made by ROUBILLIAC,
Tho' form'd beyond all skill antique,
They can't their marble filence break ;
They only breathe, and think, and start,
Aftonish'd at their maker's art.

Quoth Mag, fair Grizzle, I must grant, "Your ipoufe a magpye cannot want : "For troth (to give the dev'l his due) "He keeps a rookery in you. "Don't fear I'll tarry long, fweet lady,. Where there is din enough already, "We never shou'd agree together,

66

Although we're so much of a feather ;: "You're fond of peace, no man can doubt it, "Who make fuch wond'rous noife about it; "And your tongue of immortal mould. "Proclaims in thunder you're no fcold. "Yes, yes, you're fovereign of the tongue, “And, like the king, can do no wrong;

Juftly your spouse restrains his voice,

"Ner vainly anfwers words with noise; "This ftorm, which no foul can endure,

66

Requires a very different cure ;

"For fuch four verjuice difpofitions,
"Your crabsticks are the best physicians.

The

The BLOCKHEAD and BEEHIVE.

FABLE X.

THE fragrance of the new-mown hay

Paid incenfe to the god of day;
Who iffuing from his eastern gate,
Refplendent rode in all his ftate,
Rous'd by the light from foft repose,
Big with the Mufe, a Bard arose,
And the fresh garden's ftill retreat
He measur'd with poetic feet.

The cooling, high, o'er-arching shade,
By the embracing branches made,

The smooth fhorn fod, whofe verdant glofs,

Was check'd with intermingled mofs,
Cowflips, like topazes that thine,

Close by the filver ferpentine,

Rude ruftics which affert the bow'rs,
Amidst the educated flow'rs.

The lime tree and fweet-fcented bay,
(The fole reward of many a lay)
And all the poets of the wing,
Who fweetly without falary fing,
Attract at once his obfervation,

Peopling thy wilds, Imagination!
"Sweet nature, who this turf bedews,
"Sweet nature, who's the thrush's muse!

"How

"How the each anxious thought beguiles, "And meets me with ten thousand smiles!

"O infinite benignity!

"She fmiles, but not alone on me ;

"On hill, on dale, on lake, on lawn,
"Like Celia when her picture's drawn ;
Affuming countless charms and airs,
" "Till HAYMAN's matchless art despairs,
Paufing like me he dreads to fall
"From the divine original."

More had he faid-but in there came
A lout Squire Booby was his name.—
The bard, who at a diftant view,
The bufy prattling blockhead knew,
Retir'd into a fecret nook,

And thence his obfervations took.

Vex'd he cou'd find no man to teize,
The fquire 'gan chattering to the bees,
And pertly with officious mien,

He thus addrefs'd their humming queen:
"Madam, be not in any terrors,

"I only come t'amend your errors;

My friendship briefly to display, "And put you in a better way. "Cease, Madam, (if I may advise) "To carry honey on your thighs,

Employ ('tis better, I aver)

"Old Grub the fairies coach-maker;

For