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Burnish and make a gaudy Show,
Become a General, Peer, and Beau;
Till Peace hath made the Sky ferene,
Then fhrink into its Hole again.

All this we grant-why then look yonder,
Sure that must be a SALAMANDER.

FARTHER we are by Pliny told,
This Serpent is extremely cold;
So cold, that put it in the Fire,
Twill make the very Flames expire:
Befides it fpues a filthy Froth,

(Whether thro' Rage, or Luft, or both,)
Of Matter purulent and white,
Which, happening on the Skin to light,
And there corrupting to a Wound,
Spreads Leprofy and Baldness round.

So, have I seen a batter'd Beau,
By Age and Claps grown cold as Snow,
Whose Breath, or Touch, where'er he came,
Blew out Love's Torch, or chill'd the Flame;
And should fome Nymph, who ne'er was cruel,
Like Carleton cheap, or fam'd Du-Ruel,

Receive the Filth which he ejects;
She foon would find the fame Effects
Her tainted Carcafs to purfue,

As from the Salamander's Spue:

A

A difmal Shedding of her Locks,
And, if no Leprofy, a Pox.

Then I'll appeal to each By-ftander,
If this be not a SALAMANDER?

On Mrs. BIDDY FLOYD.

WH

Written in the Year 1707.

HEN Cupid did his Grandfire Jove intreat, To form fome Beauty by a new Receipt; Jove fent and found far in a Country Scene, Truth, Innocence, Good-Nature, Look ferene; From which Ingredients, firft the dex'trous Boy Pick'd the Demure, the Aukward, and the Coy! The Graces from the Court did next provide Breeding, and Wit, and Air, and decent Pride. These Venus cleans'd from ev'ry fpurious Grain Of Nice, Coquet, Affected, Pert, and Vain. Jove mix'd up all, and his best Clay employ'd; Then call'd the happy Compofition FLOYD.

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APOLLO outwitted.

To the Hon. Mrs. FINCH, (fince Countess of WINCHELSEA,) under the Name of AR

DELIA.

Written in the Year 1707.

PHEBUS

HOBUS now fhort'ning every Shade,
Up to the Northern Tropick came,

And thence beheld a lovely Maid
Attending on a Royal Dame.

The God laid down his feeble Rays;
Then lighted from his glitt'ring Coach;
But fenc'd his Head with his own Bays,
Before he durft the Nymph approach.

Under thofe facred Leaves, fecure
From common Lightning of the Skies,
He fondly thought he might endure
The Flashes of Ardelia's Eyes.

The Nymph, who oft had read in Books,
Of that bright God, whom Bards invoke,

Soon knew Apollo by his Looks,

And guess'd his Bufinefs, 'ere he spoke.

He

He in the old Celestial Cant,

Confefs'd his Flame, and fwore by Styx, Whate'er she would defire, to grant;

But wife Ardelia knew his Tricks.

Ovid had warn'd her to beware/

Of ftroling Gods, whofe ufual Trade is,
Under Pretence of taking Air,
To pick up Sublunary Ladies.

Howe'er, she gave no flat Denial,
As having Malice in her Heart;
And was refolv'd upon a Tryal,

To cheat the God in his own Art.

Hear my Request, the Virgin said;

Let which I please of all the Nine Attend whene'er I want their Aid, Obey my Call, and only mine.

By Vow oblig'd, by Paffion led,

The God could not refuse her Prayer: He wav'd his Wreath thrice o'er her Head, Thrice mutter'd fomething to the Air.

And now he thought to feize his Due,
But the the Charm already try'd,
Thalia heard the Call, and flew
To wait at bright Ardelia's Side.

On

On Sight of this celestial Prude,
Apollo thought it vain to stay,
Nor in her Presence durft be rude;
But made his Leg, and went away.

He hop'd to find fome lucky Hour,
When on their Queen the Mufes wait;
But Pallas owns Ardelia's Power!
For Vows divine are kept by Fate.

Then full of Rage Apollo fpoke,
Deceitful Nymph! I fee thy Art ;
And though I can't my Gift revoke,
I'll disappoint its nobler Part.

Let stubborn Pride poffefs thee long,
And be thou negligent of Fame;
With ev'ry Muse to grace thy Song,
May'st thou defpife a Poet's Name.

Of modeft Poets be thou firft,

To filent Shades repeat thy Verfe,
Till Fame and Eccho almoft burst,
Yet hardly dare one Line rehearse.

And laft, my Vengeance to compleat;
May you defcend to take Renown,
Prevail'd on by the Thing you hate,
A Whig, and one, that wears a Gown.

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