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ARGARITA first possess'd,

If I remember well, my breast,
Margarita first of all;

But when awhile the wanton maid

With my restless heart had play'd,
Martha took the flying ball.

Martha soon did it resign

To the beauteous Catharine.

Beauteous Catharine gave place

(Though loth and angry she to part With the possession of my heart) To Eliza's conquering face.

Eliza till this hour might reign,

Had she not evil counsels ta'en.
Fundamental laws she broke,

And still new favourites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.

Mary then, and gentle Anne,

Both to reign at once began;
Alternately they sway'd;

And sometimes Mary was the fair,

And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,

And sometimes both I' obey'd.

Another Mary then arose,

And did rigorous laws impose;
A mighty tyrant she!

Long, alas! should I have been

Under that iron-scepter'd queen,
Had not Rebecca set me free.

When fair Rebecca set me free,

'Twas then a golden time with me:

But soon those pleasures fled;

For the gracious princess died.

In her youth and beauty's pride,

And Judith reigned in her stead.

One month, three days, and half an hour,
Judith held the sovereign power:
Wondrous beautiful her face!
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,

And so Susanna took her place.

But when Isabella came,

Arm'd with a resistless flame, And th' artillery of her eye; Whilst she proudly march'd about, Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Susan by the bye.

But in her place I then obey'd
Black-eyed Bess, her viceroy-maid;
To whom ensued a vacancy:
Thousand worse passions then possess'd
The interregnum of my breast;
Bless me from such an anarchy!

Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary, next began:

Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria ;

And then a pretty Thomasine,

And then another Catharine,

And then a long et cætera.

But should I now to you relate,

The strength and riches of their state; The powder, patches, and the pins, The ribbons, jewels, and the rings, The lace, the paint, and warlike things, That make up all their magazines ;

If I should tell the politic arts

To take and keep men's hearts;
The letters, embassies, and spies,
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries
(Numberless, nameless, mysteries!)

And all the little lime-twigs laid,
By Machiavel the waiting-maid;
I more voluminous should grow

(Chiefly if I like them should tell All change of weathers that befell) Than Holinshed or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,

Since few of them were long with me. An higher and a nobler strain My present Emperess does claim, Heleonora, first o' th' name;

Whom God grant long to reign!

EPIGRAM.

[FROM DODSLEY'S TOY SHOP.]

RIES Sylvia to a Reverend Dean,

"What reason can be given,

Since marriage is a holy thing,

That there are none in Heaven?"

"There are no women," he reply'd,
She quick returns the jest,—
Women there are, but I'm afraid
They cannot find a Priest."

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LEARNED man,' whom once a week

A hundred virtuosos seek,

And like an oracle apply to,

T' ask questions, and admire, and lie to;

Who entertained them all of course,

As men take wives for better or worse,

And pass them all for men of parts

Though some but sceptics in their hearts;

For when they're cast into a lump,

Their equality must jump;

In allusion, probably, to the meetings held at the house of Sir Kenelm Digby. The satire is levelled against certain members of the Royal Society.

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