SIR,

Hether these Lines do find you out,
Putting or clearing of a Doubt;
(Whether Predeftination,

W or

Or reconciling Three in one,

Or the unridling how Men die,

And live at once eternally,

Now take you up) know 'tis decreed
You ftraight beftride the College Steed.
Leave Socinus and the Schoolmen.
(Which Jack Bond fwears do but fool Men)
And come to Town; 'tis fit you show
Your felf abroad, that Men may know
(What-e'er fome learned Men have guest)
That Oracles are not yet ceas'd:

There you fhall find the Wit, and Wine
Flowing alike, and both Divine:

Difhes, with Names not known in Books,
And lefs amongst the College Cooks,
With Sauce fo poignant that you need
Not ftay 'till Hunger bids you feed.
The Sweat of learned Johnfon's Brain,
And gentle Shakespear's cafier Strain
A Hackney-Coach conveys you to,
In fpite of all that Rain can do:
And for your eighteen Pence you fit
The Lord and Judge of all fresh Wit.
News in one Day as much we've here
As ferves all Windfor for a Year;
And which the Carrier brings to you,
After t' has here been found not true.
Then think what Company's defign'd
To meet you here, Men fo refin'd,
Their very common Talk at board,
Makes wife, or mad, a young Court-Lord:
And makes him capable to be

Umpire in's Father's Company.

Where

Where no Difputes nor forc'd Defence

Of a Man's Perfon for his Sense

Take up the time; all ftrive to be
Mafters of Truth, as Victory:
And were you come, I'd boldly fwear
A Synod might as eas❜ly err.

Against Fruition.

FYE upon Minds that breath but one Denre:

YE upon Hearts that burn with mutual Fire;

Were I to curfe th' unhallow'd fort of Men,
I'd wish them to love, and be lov'd again.
Love's a Camelion, that lives on meer Air;
And furfeits when it comes to groffer Fare:
'Tis petty Jealoufies, and little Fears,

Hopes join'd with Doubts, and Joys with April Tears,
That crown our Love with Pleasures: Thefe are gone
When once we come to full Fruition.

Like waking in a Morning, when all Night
Our Fancy has been fed with true Delight.
Oh! what a Stroke 'twou'd be! Sure I fhou'd die,
Shou'd I but hear my Mistress once fay, I.
That Monster Expectation feeds too high
For any Woman e'er to fatisfie:

And no brave Spirit ever car'd for that

Which in Down-Beds with Eafe he cou'd come at.
She's but an honest Whore that yields, although
She be as cold as Ice, as pure as Snow:
He that enjoys her has no more to fay,
But keep us fafting if you'll have us pray.
Then, faireft Mistress, hold the Power you have,
By still denying what we ftill do crave:

In keeping us in Hopes ftrange Things to fee
That never were, nor are, nor e'er fhall be.

A

I

ABALLAD upon a Wedding.

Tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rareft Things have feen:

Oh Things without compare!

Such Sights again cannot be found.
In any Place on English Ground,

Be it at Wake, or Fair.

At Charing-Crofs, hard by the Way
Where we (thou know'it) do fell our Hay,
There is a House with Stairs;

And there did I fee coming down

Such Folks as are not in our Town,

Vorty at leaft, in Pairs.

Amongst the reft, one Peft'lent fine,
(His Beard no bigger tho' than thine)

Walk'd on before the reft:

Our Landlord looks like nothing to him:
The King (God bless him) 'twou'd undo him;
Shou'd he go still fo dreft.

At Course a-Park, without all doubt,
He fhould have first been taken out

By

all the Maids i'th' Town:

Though lufty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the Green,

Or Vincent of the Crown.

But wot you what? The Youth was going
To make an end of all his Wooing;

The Parfon for him ftaid:

Yet by his Leave, for all his hafte,
He did not fo much wish all paft

(Perchance) as did the Maid.
The Maid and thereby hangs a Tale —
For fuch a Maid no Whitfon-Ale

Could

Could ever yet produce:

No Grape that's kindly ripe, could be
So round, fo plump, fo foft as fhe,

Nor half fo full of Juice.

Her Finger was fo fmall, the Ring
Wou'd not stay on which they did bring,
It was too wide a Peck:

And to fay truth (for out it muft)
It look'd like the great Collar (juft)

About our young Colt's Neck

Her Feet beneath her Petticoat,
Like little Mice ftole in and out,

As if they fear'd the Light:

But oh! fhe dances fuch a way!
No Sun upon an Eafter-Day,

Is half fo fine a Sight.

He wou'd have kifs'd her once or twice,
But the wou'd not, fhe was fo nice,

She wou'd not do't in Sight;

And then she look'd as who fhou'd fay
I will do what I lift to Day;

And fhall do't at Night.

you

Her Cheeks fo rare a white was on,
No Dazy makes Comparison,

(Who fees them is undone)

For Streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Katherine Pear,

The Side that's next the Sun.

Her Lips were red, and one was thin
Compar'd to that was next her Chin,

Some Bee had ftung it newly.
But (Dick) her Eyes fo guard her Face,
I durft no more upon them gaze,
Than on the Sun in July.

9

Her

Her Mouth fo fmall when she does fpeak,
Thou'dft fwear her Teeth her Words did break,
That they might Paffage get,

But the fo handled ftill the Matter,

They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not spent a whit.

If wishing fhou'd be any Sin,
The Parfon himself had guilty been,

She look'd that Day fopurely:

And did the Youth so oft the Feat
At Night, as fome did in Conceit,

It would have spoil'd him, furely.

Paffion o'me! how I run on!

There's that that wou'd be thought upon,

I trow; befides the Bride..

The Bus'nefs of the Kitchin's great,

For it is fit that Men fhou'd eat;

Nor was it there deny'd.

Juft in the nick the Cook knock'd thrice,

And all the Waiters in a trice

His Summons did obey,

Each ferving-Man with Dish in Hand,
March'd boldly up, like our train'd Band,
Presented and away.

When all the Meat was on the Table,
What Man of Knife, or Teeth, was able
To ftay to be intreated:

And this the very Reason was,

Before the Parfon could fay Grace,

The Company was feated.

How Hats fly off, and Youths carouse;

Healths first go round, and then the House,

The Bride's came thick and thick;

And when 'twas nam'd anothers Health,

Perhaps he made it hers by stealth,

And who could help it, Dick?

Oth