Next day the postboy winds his horn, And rides through Dover in the morn Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.

Mordanto gallops on alone,

:

The roads are with his followers strewn,
This breaks a girth, and that a bone;

His body active as his mind,
Returning sound in limb and wind,
Except some leather lost behind.

A skeleton in outward figure,

His meagre corpse, though full of vigor,
Would halt behind him were it bigger.

So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you like an apparition.

Shines in all climates like a star;
In senates bold, and fierce in war;
A land commander and a tar:

Heroic actions early bred in,

Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading,
But by his namesake Charles of Sweden.

ON THE UNION.

THE queen has lately lost a part
Of her ENTIRELY-ENGLISH1 heart,
For want of which, by way of botch,
She pieced it up again with SCOTCH.
Bless'd revolution! which creates
Divided hearts, united states!
See how the double nation lies,
Like a rich coat with skirts of frize:
As if a man, in making posies,
Should bundle thistles up with roses.
Who ever yet a union saw

Of kingdoms without faith or law?
Henceforward let no statesman dare
A kingdom to a ship compare;

Lest he should call our commonweal,

A vessel with a double keel:

Which just like ours, new rigg'd and mann'd
And got about a league from land,

By change of wind to leeward side,
The pilot knew not how to guide.
So tossing faction will o'erwhelm
Our crazy double-bottom'd realm.

TO MRS. BIDDY FLOYD.

Or, the receipt to form a beauty, 1708.

WHEN Cupid did his grandsire Jove entreat
To form some beauty by a new receipt,
Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene
Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene:
From which ingredients first the dext'rous boy
Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy.
The Graces from the court did next provide
Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride:
These Venus cleans from every spurious grain
Of nice coquet, affected, pert, and vain.
Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd:
Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD

THE REVERSE

(TO SWIFT'S VERSES ON BIDDY FLOYD);
OR MRS. CLUDD.

VENUS one day, as story goes,

But for what reason no man knows,
In sullen mood and grave deport,
Trudged it away to Jove's high court;
And there his godship did entreat
To look out for his best receipt:
And make a monster strange and odd,
Abhorr'd by man and every god.
Jove, ever kind to all the fair,
Nor e'er refused a lady's prayer,
Straight ope'd 'scrutoire, and forth he took
A neatly-bound and well-gilt book;
Sure sign that nothing enter'd there
But what was very choice and rare.
Scarce had he turn'd a page or two, -
It might be more, for aught I knew;
But, be the matter more or less,
'Mong friends 'twill break no squares
Then, smiling, to the dame quoth he,
IIere's one will fit you to a T.

But, as the writing doth prescribe,

"Tis fit the ingredients we provide.
Away he went, and search'd the stews,
And every street about the Mews;
Diseases, impudence, and lies,
Are found and brought him in a trice.
From Hackney then he did provide
A clumsy air and awkward pride;
From lady's toilet next he brought

guess;

These Jove put in an old close-stool,
And with them mix'd the vain, the fool.
But now came on his greatest care,
Of what he should his paste prepare;
For common clay or finer mould
Was much too good such stuff to hold.
At last he wisely thought on mud;
So raised it up, and call'd it — Cludd.
With this, the lady, well content,
Low curtsied, and away she went.

APOLLO OUTWITTED.

TO THE HONORABLE MRS. FINCH.1

Under her name of Ardelia.

PHOEBUS, now shortening every shade,
Up to the northern tropic came,
And thence beheld a lovely maid
Attending on a royal dame.

The god laid down his feeble rays,

Then lighted from his glittering coach; But fenced his head with his own bays Before he durst the nymph approach.

Under those sacred leaves, secure

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 business ere he spoke.

He, in the old celestial cant,

Confess'd his flame, and swore by Styx, Whate'er she would desire, to grant But wise Ardelia knew his tricks.

Ovid had warn'd her to beware

Of strolling gods, whose usual 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 resolved upon a trial,
To cheat the god in his own art.

'Afterwards countess of Winchelsea.

TO MRS. BIDDY FLOYD.

Or, the receipt to form a beauty, 1708.

WHEN Cupid did his grandsire Jove entreat
To form some beauty by a new receipt,
Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene
Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene:
From which ingredients first the dext'rous boy
Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy.
The Graces from the court did next provide
Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride:
These Venus cleans from every spurious grain
Of nice coquet, affected, pert, and vain.
Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd:
Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD

THE REVERSE

(TO SWIFT'S VERSES ON BIDDY FLOYD);
OR MRS. CLUDD.

VENUS one day, as story goes,

But for what reason no man knows,
In sullen mood and grave deport,
Trudged it away to Jove's high court;
And there his godship did entreat
To look out for his best receipt:
And make a monster strange and odd,
Abhorr'd by man and every god.
Jove, ever kind to all the fair,
Nor e'er refused a lady's prayer,
Straight ope'd 'scrutoire, and forth he took
A neatly-bound and well-gilt book;
Sure sign that nothing enter'd there
But what was very choice and rare.
Scarce had he turn'd a page or two,-
It might be more, for aught I knew;
But, be the matter more or less,

'Mong friends 'twill break no squares I guess; Then, smiling, to the dame quoth he,

Here's one will fit you to a T.

But, as the writing doth prescribe,
"Tis fit the ingredients we provide.

Away he went, and search'd the stews,
And every street about the Mews;
Diseases, impudence, and lies,
Are found and trought him in a trice.
From Hackney then he did provide
A clumsy air and awkward pride;
From lady's toilet next he brought

These Jove put in an old close-stool,
And with them mix'd the vain, the fool.
But now came on his greatest care,
Of what he should his paste prepare;
For common clay or finer mould
Was much too good such stuff to hold.
At last he wisely thought on mud;
So raised it up, and call'd it- Cludd.
With this, the lady, well content,
Low curtsied, and away she went.

APOLLO OUTWITTED.

TO THE HONORABLE MRS. FINCH.'

Under her name of Ardelia.

PHOEBUS, now shortening every shade,
Up to the northern tropic came,
And thence beheld a lovely maid
Attending on a royal dame.

The god laid down his feeble rays,

Then lighted from his glittering coach; But fenced his head with his own bays Before he durst the nymph approach.

Under those sacred leaves, secure

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 business ere he spoke.

He, in the old celestial cant,

Confess'd his flame, and swore by Styx, Whate'er she would desire, to grant But wise Ardelia knew his tricks.

Ovid had warn'd her to beware
Of strolling gods, whose usual 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 resolved upon a trial,
To cheat the god in his own art.

1 Afterwards countess of Winchelsea.