And you fhall find by this device,
The other will be ftronger twice;
For ev'ry day you fhall be gaining
New vigour to the leg remaining..
So, when an eye hath loft its brother,.
You fee the better with the other.
Cut off your hand, and you may do
With t'other hand the work of two:
Because the foul her power contracts,
And on the brother limb re-acts.
BUT, yet the point is not fo clear in
Another cafe, the fense of hearing:
For tho' the place of either ear
Be diftant as one head can bear ;
Yet Galen moft acutely fhews you,
(Confult his book de partium ufu)
That from each ear, as he obferves,
There creep two auditory nerves,
(Not to be feen without a glass)
Which near the os petrosum pass ;
Thence to the neck; and, moving thorow there;
One goes to this, and one to t'other ear.
Which made my grand-dame always ftuff her ears,
Both right and left, as fellow-fufferers.
You fee my learning; but to fhorten it,
When my left ear was deaf a fortnight,
To t'other ear I felt it coming on,
And thus I folve this hard phænomenon.
'Tis true, a glass will bring fupplies To weak, or old, or clouded eyes.
Your arms, tho' both your eyes were loft,
Would guard your nofe against a poft...
Without your legs, two legs of wood
Are ftronger, and almoft as good,
And, as for hands, there have been those,
Who, wanting both, have us'd their toes.
But no contrivance yet appears,
To furnish artificial ears.
Written in the Year 1724.,›
S, when a beauteous nymph decays,
We fay, fhe's paft her dancing days;
So, Poets lofe their feet by time,
And can no longer dance in rhyme.
Your annual bard had rather chofe
To celebrate your birth in profe.
Yet, merry folks, who want by chance,
A pair to make a country-dance,
Call the old house-keeper, and get her
To fill a place, for want of better.
While Sheridan is off the hooks,
And friend Delany at his books,
That Stella may avoid difgrace,
Once more the Dean fupplies their place
BEAUTY and wit, too fad a truth, Have always been confin'd to youth;
The God of wit, and beauty's Queen,
He twenty one, and she fifteen:
No Poet ever fweetly fung,
Unless he were, like Phœbus, young;
Nor ever nymph inspir'd to rhyme,
Unless, like Venus, in her prime.
At fifty fix, if this be true,
Am I a Poet fit for you?
Or at the age of forty three
Are you a fubject fit for me?
Adieu bright wit, and radiant eyes;
You must be grave, and I be wise.
Our fate in vain we would oppose,
But I'll be fill your friend in profe;
Esteem and friendship to express
Will not require poetick dress;
And, if the Muse deny her aid
To have them fung, they may be faid.
BUT, Stella fay, what evil tongue
Reports you are no longer young?
That time fits with his fcythe to mow,
Where erft fat Cupid with his bow;
That half
your locks are turn'd to grey:
I'll ne'er believe a word they fay.
'Tis true, but let it not be known,
My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown :
For nature, always in the right,
To your decays adapts my fight?
And wrinkles undiftinguish'd pafs,
For I'm asham'd to use a glass;
And, till I fee them with these eyes,
Whoever fays you have them, lies.
No length of time can make you quit,
Honour and virtue, fenfe, and wit:
Thus you may ftill be young to me,
While I can better hear than fee;
Oh, ne'er may fortune fhew her spight,
To make me deaf, and mend my fight.
A quiet LIFE, and a good NAME.
To a Friend who married a SHREW.
Written about the Year 1724.
ELL fcolded in fo loud a din,
That Will durft hardly venture in:
He mark'd the conjugal difpute;
Nell roar'd inceffant, Dick fat mute":
But when he faw his friend Sappear,
Cry'd bravely, patience, good my dear.
At fight of Will the bawl'd no more,
But hurry'd out, and clapt the door.
WHY Dick! the devil's in thy Nell, Quoth Will; thy houfe is worfe than hell:
Why, what a peal the jade has rung!
Damn her, why don't you flit her tongue.?
For nothing elfe will make it ceafe..
Dear Will, I fuffer this for peace;
I never quarrel with my wife;
I bear it for a quiet life.
Scripture, you know, exhorts us to it;
Bids us to feek peace and enfue it.
WILL went again to visit Dick ; And ent'ring in the very nick,
He faw virago. Nell belabour,
With Dick's own ftaff, his peaceful neighbour.
Poor Will, who needs must interpofe,
Receiv'da brace or two of blows.
BUT, now, to make my story short;
Will drew out Dick to take a quart.
Why Dick, thy wife has dev'lish whims;
Od's-buds, why don't you break her limbs ?.
If he were mine, and had fuch tricks,
I'd teach her how to handle sticks:
Z-ds, I would fhip her to Jamaica,
And truck the carrion for Tobacco;
I'd fend her far enough away
Dear Will; but, what would people say?
Lord! I should get so ill a name,
The neighbours round would cry out, fhame.
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