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She had run on I think till now, but Meat
Rágous and Fricasses, introth we’ave none: Here's a good Dinner toward, thought I, when
ftrait, Upcame a piece of Beef, full Horse-man weight; Hard as the Arse of M-, under which The Coach-man sweats, asriden by a Witch ; A Difh of Carrets, each of 'em as long As T- that to fair Countess did belong; Which her small Pillow could not so well hide, But visters his flaming Head espy'd: Pig, Goofe, and Capon follow'd in the Rear, With all thatCountry Bumpkins call goodCheer; Serv'd up with Sauces all of Eighty Eight, When our Tough Youth, wrestled, and threw
Each Man had as much Room as Porter Blunt,
G---ds---żns, Etheridg writes Airy Songs, and Soft Lampoons, The best of any Man; as for
your Nouns, L 2
Grammar, and Rules of Art, he knows’ém not,
Whose broad built Bulks the boystrous Billows
bear, Zaphee, and Sally, Mugadore, Oran, The fam'd Arzile, Alcazer, Tituan; Was ever braver Language writ by Man?. Kickum for Crown declar'd, said in Romance, He had out done the very wits of France : Witnefs Pandion; and his Charles the Eight, Where a young Monarch, careless of his Fate, Tho’ Foreign Troops, and Rebels shock his
State; Complains another Sight affli&s him more, (Viz.). The Queen's Galleys rowing from the
Shore, Fitting their Oars, and Tacking to be gon, Whilst Sporting Waves (mild on the Rising Sun. Waves smiling on the Sun! I am sure that's And, 'twas well thought on, give the Devil
his Due. My Host, who had said nothing in an hour, Rose up, and prais'd the Indian Emperor: As if our Old World modestly withdrew, And here, in private, had brought forth a New. These are two Lines, who but he durst presume To make th' Old World a new Withdrawing Room?
Where of another World she's brought to Bed; What a brave Midwife is a Laureat's Head!
But Pox upon theseScriblers, What d'ye think, Will Zouches this Year any Champain drink? Will Turene fight him? Without doubt, says
Huff, If they two meet, their Meeting will be rough. D--mme (lays Dingboy) the French Cowards are, They Pay, but th English, Scots, and Switzs
make War: In Gawdy Troops, at a Review they shine, But dare not with the Germans Battle joyn: What now appears like Courage, is not so, 'Tis a short Pride which from Success does grow. On their first Blow, they'll shrink into those
Fears They shew'd at Cresy, Agin-Court, Poitiers; Their Loss was infamous, Honour so stain'd Is by a Nation not to be regain'd. What they were then, I know not, now they're
brave, He that denies it, lies, and is a Slave (Says Huff, and frown'd ;) Says Dingboy, that
And at that word, at t'others Head let fly
Their Rage once over, they begin to treat, And fix fresh Bottles must the Peace compleat; I ran down Stairs, with a vow never more, To drink Beer-Glasses, and hear Hectors roar.
Madam Nelley's Complaint: A SATIR.
By Sir George Etheridge.
F Sylla's Ghost made bloody Catline start,
And shook the Fabrick of his Marble Heart: If Samuel's shade could wicked Saul affright When Endor rais d him from the Depthof
Night, Pity poor Nell that's haunted by Moll Knight: You that have seen me in my Youthful Age, Preferr d from Stall of Turnips to the Stage, Those sympathetick Griefs you did bestow, And Tears to Scenic Sufferings once allow, Employ 'em on my real Torments now. Knight, cruel Knight, that once lay in my
Breast, My Constant Crony and eternal Guest, Th’Applauder of my Beauty and my Jest ; She, She, that cruel She to France is fled, Yet lets me not enjoy my quiet Bed; When e'er I lay' me down to love, or Sleep, She thro’ the opening Curtains seems to peep, Dreadful as Gorgon, turning all to Stone, Unpainted, and without her Plumpers on ;