LIB. 8. EP. XIX. IMITATED.

YOU fay you're old, in hopes we'll fay you're young:: But 'tis your face we credit, not your tongue.

LIB. 1. EP. XLVII. PARAPHRASED.

CELSUS, who late, tho' void of skill,

Profefs'd the healing art,

Now acts, in league with Pluto still,

The undertaker's part.

The Doctor's practice, tending more
To flaughter than to fave,

Is now the fame as 'twas before,
To fend folks to their grave.

LIB. 2. EP. LIII.

ADVICE TO A CHAPLAIN-FAMILIARISED IN THE

MANNER OF DR. SWIFT.

PARSON! 'tis false; I'll ne'er believe

With liberty you wish to live:

You hug your chains, and cut your jokes
On us, poor independent folks.-

But would you then, indeed, be free?
Come, I'll prescribe-without a fee.

Firft then, 'tis plain you love to eat,
And haunt the tables of the great :
You fhun the man, and think him poor,
That cannot give you "four and four."

Indeed, my friend, this must not be;
A Parafite can ne'er be free.

Next, Doctor, you must drink no wine.

Ch. Why fo? Saint Paul, that great divine,
Says, "Drink a little."-F. That's not the question;
You can't afford it.- Ch. But for digestion

F. A glass of cyder, or old mead,

Or e'en mild ale, will do the deed.

Then, you're a captain in your drefs;
A good black frize would coft you lefs,
And look more venerable too,

Than that grey cloth- -which I call blue.
Talk what you please, you'll ne'er be free,
If you despise œconomy.

Perhaps, too, you may think a wife

Among the requifites of life:

Why, take fome healthy farmer's daughter, Some Blowfalindnay, fpare your laughter: She'll mend your fhirts, infpect your brewing ;A lady, Sir, would be your ruin.

Your pars'nage houfe, I own, is mean; But fee that fragrant jeffamine!

See how that woodbine round the door

And lattice blooms!- -What would you more?

Oh! Doctor, could you but defpife

Life's pompous fuperfluities;

Could you but learn to live content

With what indulgent Heav'n has fent;
Whate'er your lot, you'd live more free
Than any prince-in Germany *.

LIB. 3. EP. XIV.

ESURITOR TUCCIUS.

A YORKSHIRE Squire, an epicure well known,
Set forth to spend his winter months in town:
But heard the devilish price of beef and pork;
Stopt fhort at Highgate, and return'd to York.

Partho rege.

LIB. 2. EP. II.

ON A SPUNGING FELLOW.

WHENCE comes it, that old Frank we fee
Hunting the Mall, thus, after three?

What means that flow and folemn pace?
That cloudy look, and rueful face?

Why starts he thus, and fmites his breaft,
Like one with fecret grief oppreft?
Prone to the earth his drooping head!
Why fure his wife or child is dead.

No, Sir; for aught that I can tell,

Frank's wife and children all are well.

And heav'n vouchsafe their lives to spare!
For lovely boys and girls they are;
As like old Frank as they can ftare.
His money's out in proper hands,
Or well fecur'd on mortgag'd lands.
Nor lofs of intereft or of rent

By bankruptcies does Frank lament.

Whence is this grief, then, prithee say? Why, Sir, Frank dines at home to-day.

}

THE DANGLER.

BY THE SAME.

CHARM'D with the empty found of pompous words,
Carlo vouchfafes to dine with none but Lords;
Whilft rank and titles all his thoughts employ,
For these he barters every focial joy:

For thefe, what you and I fincerely hate,
He lives in form, and often starves in state.
Carlo, enjoy thy peer! content to be
Rather a flave to him than friend to me.
Go, fell the fubftance to retain the shew;
May you feem happy-whilft I'm really fo!

VANITY AND AVARICE.

BY THE SAME..

THE wretch that courts the fordid great,

And with the fplendid Floria dines,

Is tantaliz'd in empty state,

And thirfts amidst his coftly wines..