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If weary'd with the great Affairs,

Which BRITAIN trufts to HARLEY'S Cares,
Thou, humble Statesman, may'st descend,
Thy Mind one Moment to unbend;
To fee Thy Servant from his Soul

Crown with Thy Health the fprightly Bowl:
Among the Guests, which e'er my House.
Receiv'd, it never can produce

Of Honor a more glorious Proof
Tho' DORSET us'd to blefs the Roof.

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TWAY Mice, full Blythe and Amicable,

Batten befide Erle ROBERT'S Table.

Lies there ne Trap their Necks to catch,
Ne old black Cat their Steps to watch.
Their Fill they eat of Fowl and Fish;
Feaft-lyche as Heart of Moufe, mote with.

As Guests fat Jovial at the Board,
Forth leap'd our Mice: Eftfoons the Lord
Of BOLING, Whilome JOHN the SAINT,
Who maketh oft Propos full queintjenest

E."

Laugh'd

Laugh'd jocund, and aloud He cry'd,
TO MATTHEW feated on t'oth' fide; :
To Thee, lean Bard, it doth partain...
To understand these Creatures Tweine,
Come frame Us now fome clean Device,
Or playfant Rhime on yonder Mice:

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They feem, God fhield Me, MAT. and CHARLES.

Bad as Sir TOPAZ, or 'Squire QUARLES
(MATTHEW did for the nonce reply); zeznout
At Emblem, or Device am I:

But could I Chaunt, or Rhyme, pardie,
Clear as Dan CHAUCER, or as Thee;
Ne Verse from Me (fo God me fhrive)
On Mouse, or other Beast alive.
Certes, I have these many Days
Sent myne Poetic Herd to graze.
Ne Armed Knight ydrad in War
With Lyon fierce will I compare:
Ne Judge unjust, with furred Fox,
Harming in Secret Guife the Flocks:
Ne Prieft unworth of Goddefs Coat,
To Swine ydrunk, or filthy Stoat.
Elk Similè farwell for aye,
From Elephant, I trow, to Flea.

Reply'd the friendlike Peer, I weene, MATTHEW is angred on the Spleen.

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Ne fo, quoth MAT. ne fhall be e'er, prof
With Wit that falleth all fo fair:

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Eftfoons,

Eftfoons, well weet Ye, mine Intent.
Boweth to your Commaundement.

* Exchequer.

If by these Creatures Ye have seen,
Pourtrayed CHARLES and MATTHEW been;
Behoveth neet to wreck my Brain,
The reft in Order to explain.

That Cup-board, where the Mice disport,
I liken to St. *STEPHEN's Court:

Therein is Space enough, I trow,
For elke Comrade to come and goe:
And therein eke may Both be fed
With Shiver of the Wheaten Bread,
And when, as these mine Eyen survey,
They cease to skip, and squeak, and play;
Return they may to different Cells,
AUDITING One, whilft t'other TELLS.

Dear ROBERT, quoth the SAINT, whofe Mind
In Bounteous Deed no Mean can bind;
Now as I hope to grow devout,

I deem this Matter well made out.

Laugh I, whilft thus I serious Pray?

Let that be wrought which MAT. doth fay:
Yea, quoth the ERLE; but not to Day.

FULL

In the fame Style.

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ULL oft doth MAT. with TOPAZ dine,
Eateth bak'd Meats, drinketh Greek Wine:

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But TOPAZ his own Werke rehearseth;
And MAT. mote praise what TOPAZ verseth.
Now fure as Prieft did e'er fhrive Sinner,
Full hardly earneth MAT. his Dinner.

In the fame Style.

FAIR SUSAN did her Wif-hede well menteine,

Algates affaulted fore by Letchours tweine: Now, and I read aright that Auncient Song, Olde were the Paramours, the Dame full yong.

Had thilke fame Tale in other Guife been tolde; Had They been Yong (pardie) and She been Olde; That, by S KIT, had wrought much forer Tryal; Full merveillous, I wote, were fwilk Denyal.

A

FLOWER,

Painted by

SIMON VAREL ST.

HEN fam'd VARELST this little Wonder drew;

WHE

FLORA Vouchsaf'd the growing Work to view :

Finding the Painter's Science at a Stand,
The Goddefs fnatch'd the Pencil from his Hand;
And finishing the Piece, She fmiling said;
Behold One Work of Mine, that ne'er fhall fade.

то

TO THE

Lady ELIZABETH HARLEY,

Since Marchioness of CARMARTHEN,

On a Column of Her Drawing.

WHEN future Ages shall with Wonder view

These glorious Lines, which HARLEY'S Daughter
drew;

They fhall confefs, that BRITAIN could not raise
A fairer Column to the Father's Praife.

PROTOGENES and APELLES.

WHEN Pects wrote, and Painters drew,

As Nature pointed out the View:

E'er GOTHIC Forms were known in GREECE,
To spoil the well-proportion'd Piece:
And in our Verfe e'er Monkifh Rhimes
Had jangl'd their fantaftic Chimes:
E'er on the flow'ry Lands of RHODES
Those Knights had fix'd their dull Abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor car'd to pray, nor dar'd to fight:
PROTOGENES, Hiftorians note,
Liv'd there, a Burgefs Scot and Lot;

And,

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