Howe'er, she

gave no flat Denial,

As having Malice in her Heart; And was refolv'd upon a Tryal,

7

To cheat the God in his own Art.

Hear my Request, the Virgin faid;

Let which I please of all the Nine Attend whene'er I want their Aid, Obey my Call, and only mine.

By Vow oblig'd, by Paffion led,

The God could not refufe her Prayer: He wav'd his Wreath thrice o'er her Head, Thrice mutter'd something to the Air.

And now he thought to seize his Due,
But she the Gharin already try'd,

Thalia heard the Call, and flew
To wait at bright Ardelia's Side.

On Sight of this Celestial Prude,
Apollo thought it vain to stay,
Nor in her Prefence durft be rude;
But made his Leg, and went away.

He hop'd to find fome lucky Hour,

When on their Queen the Mufes wait; But Pallas owns Ardelia's Power:

For Vows divine are kept by Fate.

Then full of Rage Apollo fpoke,
Deceitful Nymph! I fee thy Art;
And though I can't my Gift revoke,
I'll disappoint its nobler Part.

Let stubborn Pride poffefs thee long,
And be thou negligent of Fame;
With ev'ry Muse to grace thy Song,
May'ft thou despise a Poet's Name.

Of modeft Poets thou be firft,

To filent Shades repeat thy Verse, Till Fame and Eccho almost burst, Yet hardly dare one Line rehearse.

And laft, my Vengeance to compleat ;
May you defçend to take Renown,
Prevail'd on by the Thing you hate,
A Whig, and one that wears a Gown.

Baucis and Philemon.

Imitated from the Eighth Book of OXID.

Written about the YEAR 1708.

N ancient Times as Story tells,

IN

The Saints would often leave their Cells,

And ftrole about, but hide their Quality,
To try good People's Hofpitality.

IT happen'd on a Winter Night,
(As Authors of the Legend write,)
Two Brother-Hermits, Saints by Trade,
Taking their Tour in Masquerade,
Difguis'd in tatter'd Habits, went

To a small Village down in Kent;
Where, in the Strolers canting Strain,

They begg'd from Door to Door in vain;
Try'd ev'ry Tone might Pity win,

But not a Soul would let them in.

OUR wand'ring Saints in woful State,
Treated at this ungodly Rate,

Having thro' all the Village past,
To a small Cottage came at last;

Where dwelt a good old honeft Ye'man,
Call'd in the Neighbourhood, Philemon.
Who kindly did the Saints invite

In his

poor Hut to pass the Night:

And then the hofpitable Sire

Bid Goody Baucis mend the Fire;
While he from out the Chimney took
A Flitch of Bacon off the Hook
And freely from the fatteft Side

Cut out large Slices to be fry'd:
Then step'd afide to fetch 'em Drink,
Fill'd a large Jug up to the Brink;
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what was wonderful) they found
"Twas ftill replenish'd to the Top,
As if they ne'er had touch'd a Drop.
The good old Couple was amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd:

For both were frighted to the Heart,

And just began to cry,

What art!

Then

Then foftly turn'd afide to view,

Whether the Light were burning blue.
The gentle Pilgrims foon aware on't,
Told 'em their Calling, and their Errant :
Good Folks you need not be afraid,
We are but Saints the Hermits faid :
No Hurt fhall come to you or yours;
But, for that Pack of churlish Boors,
Not fit to live on Chriftian Ground,
They and their Houses fhall be drown'd:

While you shall fee

your Cottage rise,

And grow a Church before your Eyes.

THEY fcarce had spoke; when fair and foft,

The Roof began to mount aloft:

Aloft rofe ev'ry Beam and Rafter;

The heavy Wall climb'd flowly after.

The Chimney widen'd and grew higher,

Became a Steeple with a Spire.

The Kettle to the Top was hoist, And there ftood faften'd to a Joift;

But