ESSAY S.

MAID of BATH.

WRITTEN by D. GARRICK, Efq;

Spouses,

For you, as well as they, have PIDGEONHoufes !

To change the Figure--formerly I've been

read at all,

Of one, they JACK THE GIANT-KIL. LER call:

He was a bold, ftout, able-bodied man, To clear the world of FEE, FAW, FUM, his plan.

Whene'er a MONSTER had within his power

A young and tender VIRGIN to devour, To cool his Blood, JACK, like a skilful Surgeon,

Bled well the MONSTER, and released the VIRGIN:

Like the best Doctors, did a method learn Of curing Fevers, never to return. Mayn't this GIANT-KILLING Trade (too. I fave my VIRGIN, and my MONSTER Though I can't boast, like JACK, a List of Slain,

renew?

I wield a Lancet, and can breathe a Vein; To his Herculean Arm my Nerves are weak,

He cleft his foes, I only make mine squeak; As Indians wound their Slaves to please

the Court,

I'll tickle mine, GREAT SIRS, to make you port.

To prove myself an humble Imitator, GIANTS are VICES, and JACK stands

for Satire:

By Tropes and Figures, as it Fancy fuits, Paffions rife Moniters, Men fink down to Brutes;

All talk and write in allegorick Diction,
Court, City, Town and Country run to
Fiction!

Each daily paper Allegory teaches-
PLACEMEN are LOCUSTS, and CON-
TRACTORS LEECHES;
Nay e'en CHANGE- ALLEY, where no
Bard repairs,

Deals much in Fiction to pass off their
Wares;

For whence the Roaring there?-From
BULLS and BEARS?

The gaming Fools are DoVES, the
KNAVES are Rooks,
CHANGE-ALLEY Bankrupts waddle out

LAME DUCKS!

VOL. VI.

By royal Bounty rais'd, Í mount the Back Of my own Hunter, and I keep the PACK: Tallyo!-a rank old Fox we now pursue, So ftrong the Scent, you'll run him full in View:

If we can't kill fuch BRUTES in human Shape,

Let's fright 'em, that your CHICKENS may escape;

Roufe 'em, when o'er their tender Prey they're Grumbling,

And rub their Gums at least, to mar their Mumbling.

EPILOGUE to the new Comedy of the MAID of BATH.

Written by Mr. CUMBERLAND.

Spoken by Mrs. JEWELL.

CONFI

ONFIDING in the Justice of the
Place,

To you the Maid of Bath fubmits her
Cafe:

Wrong'd, and defeated of three several Spouses,

She lays her damages for nine full Houses. Well, Sirs, you've heard the Parties, pro and con.

Do the Pro's carry it? Shall the Suit go on? Speak Hearts for us, to them we make Appeal:

Tell us not what you think but what you feel.

Ask us, why bring a private Cause to View? ('tis true: We answer, with a Sigh becaufe For tho' Invention is our Poet's Trade, Here he but copies parts, which others play'd.

Side,

For on a Ramble, late one ftarry Night,
With Amodeo, his familiar Sprite,
High on the Wing, by his Conductor's
scry'd:
Soaring in Air, his ready Pen he drew,
This guilty Scene the indignant bard de-
And dafh'd the glowing Satire as he flew:

For

274

For in thefe rank luxuriant times there needs

Some strong bold Hand to pluck the noxious Weeds.

The Rake of Sixty, crippl'd Hand and
Knee,

Who fins on Claret, and repents on Tea:
The witle's Maccaroni, who purloins
A few cant Words, which fome pert
Gambler coins.

The undomeftic Amazonian Dame,
Staunch to her Coterie, in despite of
Fame:

These are the Victims of our Poet's Plan, But moft, that Monfter an unfeeling

Man.

When fuch a Foe provokes him to the

Fight,

(Knight:

Guarded by providence,
And multitudes immenfe

Of loyal hearts around;
If flaves thy worth confefs,
Can freedom well do lefs

Than make thy praise refound? Hail, London, nurse of arts, Imperial Queen of marts,

In Wilkes, and Bull rejoice.
May peace and plenty reign,
And liberty remain

Within thy walls by choice!

T. S.

ous Strife,

And only yields his Laurels with his Life.

A new SON G,

Addreffed to John Wilkes, Efq; Member of Parliament for Middlefex, Alderman of Farringdon Ward Without, and who was July 1, 1771, with Frederick Bull, Efq; elected Sheriff of London and Middlesex, by a respectable majority of the Livery.

To the tune of Blow, blow thou Winter's Wind, &c.

O

Liberty, e'er while

The glory of our ifle,
By ancient heroes won,
Preferve each true born heir
From ev'ry hell-plann'd fnare,
Laid by a baftard fon.
Tho' H-e has loft his fame,
Eclips'd and veil'd with shame,
In honour's coat a blot;

Yet Patriots ftill there be,
Who ne'er will bow the knee
To Baal, Be the Scot.

Retire, ye flavish fools,
And Minifterial tools,

Back to your latitude.
Our choice has fallen free,
On Wilkes, and Bull, whom we
Prefer with gratitude.

Stand firm, thou Wilkes fo bold,
As Hampden did of old,

Intrepid for the laws.
Go lead up treedom's van,
Og Magna Charta's plan

Affert thy conntry's cause.

the Spring.

fcene

Burft into flowers, & brighten into green. No more the streams the freezing North obey;

Their captive waters freely wind away. With joy, with love, the winged worlds are bleft,

And strain to melody each little breast.

O, yield thy hours, to this fair seafon yield! Leave the funn'd city for the ftrifeles field:

Their early race'twas there thy fathers ran; The only dwelling nature meant for man. If pleas'd with virtues, genuine though obfcure,

Charms that are guiltless, pleasures that are pure,

In nature's pointed eloquence to trace Her mighty Maker's wildom, and his grace;

If fcenes like these may purer pleasures (field. Leave the ftunn'd city for the ftrifeless

yield,

No pale chagrin fhall plains or groves

impart,

For nature bears no hatred in her heart: With her the lover feeks the lonely vale, Breathes his fond vows, and trufts his

tender tale.

While every charm that every sense can know,

The mingled bounties of her hand bestow. Health,

Health, freedom, fragrance in the pregnant sky,

The green's mild freshness opening on the eye;

And, oh! the founds that melt, that

melt away,

When Philomela pours her liquid lay! To mufic's voice, to Mufic's foft controul, Yield the rapt ear, and render all the foul: Love, grief, and rage, her various notes infpire;

The poet peaks not plainer then the lyre. Seiz'd are his honours, and excell'd his art, While the rapt ear holds commerce with the heart.

A POEM on the prefent Times. OR fome great curse executive as dread,

FOR

Hot hiffing inftant from the starry throne, To ftrike the villain's execrable head,

Who first destroy'd our title to our own. Hear, ye mad factions of the prefent race, Who wildly rage with difcord's dang'rous brand,

And call a fhameless enmity for place
A gen'rous ftruggle for your native land!
But chiefly hear, ye celebrated few,

Who nobly ficken at a country's groan, And, acting always from the wifeft view, Have fought from honeft principle alone! Let ftar-eyed juftice ever be your rule,

Which all of felf indignantly difowns; And fcorns as much to be a party's too! As crouch the fervile fycophant of

thrones.

275

276

What, though beneath the everlasting

breeze,

With fcarce a pittance of the meaneft bread,

Through life's long round you miserably freeze,

And none e'er find a shelter, but the dead: Yet fate, in all it's bitterness, was kind, And thew'd fome marks of tenderness and care;

Beftow'da blefs'd unthinkingness of mind, And gave a happy promptitude to bear. But Britons, form'd of very different mould,

At ev'ry touch intuitively fmart, And, greatly juft, as generously bold, The imal ett dagger pierces to the heart, How then must Britons murmur at their fate,

If candid fenfe decides upon the cause; When ev'n the mere amufements of the

great

Can tab the vital effence of our Laws? When ev'n the hand of Legiflative rule, Which once stood guardian at diftreis's door,

Extends the pow'r of ev'ry wealthy fool, And nobly makes it guilty to be poor? INDIGNANS RUSTICUS.

An original ESSAY on WOMAN, in four Epifles, written by a Lady.

T

HE fair Author of thefe Epiftles, whofe name is faid to be Montague, endeavours in a pleating manner to vindicate the honour of her Sex against the unjuft farcasms that have been thrown upon them by the Men. The Epiftles are addrefled to the Coterie, and are particularly calculated for the entertainment and inftruction of the female Reader.

The following are fome of our Author's directions for the choice of a Hufband:

Let not a Perfon render prudence vain ; For fairest bodies foulett minds contain. But if a worthy Man, with beauty blett, Gains the receffes of your tender breast; Curb ev'ry thought that iprings from youthful blood,

And think it but an accidental good:
Yet let no reason win you to comply
To wed a Man, where form difgufts
your eye,

With fuch, goid cannot give you solid joy,
Its hard fuch prepoffellion to destroy.
Let neither pride nor avarice then move
Towed the man your foul cannot approve;
In either cale, beneath the bridal mien,
A vain or venal prostitute is feon.