The bottom smooth, the water clear,
And there's no prying shepherd near ?'-
"With all my heart,' the nymph replied,
And threw her snowy robes aside,
Stript herself naked to the skin,
And with a spring leap'd headlong in.
Falsehood more leisurely undress'd,
And laying by her tawdry vest,
Trick'd herself out in Truth's array,
And cross the meadows tript away.
From this curst hour, the fraudful dame
Of sacred Truth usurps the name,
And with a vile perfidious mind,
Roams far and near, to cheat mankind;
False sighs suborns, and artful tears,
And starts with vain, pretended fears;
In visits still appears most wise,
And rolls at church her saint-like eyes;
Talks very much, plays idle tricks,
While rising stock* her conscience pricks;
When being, poor thing, extremely gravell❜d,
She secrets ope'd, and all unravell'd.
But on she will, and secrets tell
Of John and Joan, Ned and Nell,
Reviling every one she knows,
As fancy leads, beneath the rose.
Her tongue so voluble and kind,
It always runs before her mind;
As times do serve she slily pleads,
And copious tears still show her needs,
With promises as thick as weeds :-
Speaks pro and con, is wondrous civil,
To day a saint, to-morrow devil.
*Alluding to the South Sea bubble in 1720.
Poor Truth she stript, as has been said,
And naked left the lovely maid,
Who, scorning from her cause to wince,
Has gone stark-naked ever since,
And ever naked will appear,
Belov'd by all who Truth revere.
Two mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion,
And, what is more, good education,
Frolic and gay, in infant years
Equally shar'd their parents' cares.
The sire of these two babes (poor creature!)
Paid his last debt to human nature;
A wealthy widow left behind
Four babes; three male, one female kind.
The sire being under ground, and buried,
"Twas thought his spouse would soon have married;
Matches propos'd, and numerous suitors,
Most tender husbands, careful tutors,
She modestly refus'd, and show'd
She'd be a mother to her brood.
Mother, dear mother, that endearing thought
Has thousand and ten thousand fancies brought:
Tell me, oh! tell me (thou art now above)
How to describe thy true maternal love,
* This gentleman had been Prior's secretary, and was left his joint executor.
Thy early pangs, thy growing anxious cares,
Thy flattering hopes, thy fervent pious pray❜rs,
Thy doleful days, and melancholy nights,
Cloister'd from common joys and just delights:
How didst thou constantly in private mourn,
And wash with daily tears thy spouse's urn!
How it employ'd your thoughts and lucid time,
That your young offspring might to honour climb:
How your first care, by numerous griefs oppress'd,
Under the burden sunk, and went to rest;
How your dear darling, by consumption's waste,
Breath'd her last piety into your breast;
How you, alas! tir'd with your pilgrimage,
Bow'd down your head, and died in good old age.
Though not inspir'd, oh! may I never be
Forgetful of my pedigree or thee:
Ungrateful howsoe'er, mayn't I forget
То pay this small, yet tributary debt;
And when we meet at God's tribunal throne,
Own me, I pray thee, for a pious son!
But why all this? Is this your fable?
Believe me, Matt, it seems a bauble;
If you will let me know the' intent on't,
Go to your Mice, and make an end on't.
Well then, dear Brother-
As sure as Hudi's* sword could swaddle,
Two Mice were brought up in one cradle;
Well-bred, I think, of equal port,
One for the gown, one for the court.
They parted, (did they so, an't please you?)
Yes, that they did (dear sir) to ease you;
One went to Holland, where they huff folk,
T' other to vent his wares in Suffolk.
(That Mice have travell❜d in old times,
Horace and Prior tell in rhymes,
Those two great wonders of their ages,
Superior far to all the sages.)
Many days past, and many a night,
Ere they could gain each other's sight;
At last in weather cold nor sultry,
They met at the Three Cranes in Poultry..
After much buss, and great grimace,
(Usual you know in such a case)
Much chat arose what had been done,
What might before next summer's sun;
Much said of France, of Suffolk's goodness,,
The gentry's loyalty, mob's rudeness:
That ended, o'er a charming bottle
They enter'd on this tittle-tattle..
Quoth Suffolk, 'By pre-eminence
In years, though (God knows) not in sense, All's gone, dear Brother, only we
Remain to raise posterity;
Marry you, Brother; I'll go down,
Sell nouns and verbs, and lie alone.
May you ne'er meet with feuds or babble,
May olive-branches crown your table.
Somewhat I'll save, and, for this end,
To prove a brother and a friend,
What I propose is just, I swear it,
Or may I perish, by this claret!'
The dice are thrown, choose this or that,
('Tis all alike to honest Matt)
I'll take then the contrary part,
And propagate with all my heart.'
After some thought, some Portuguese,*
Some wine, the younger thus replies:
*Fair are your words, as fair your carriage, Let me be free, drudge you in marriage; Get me a boy call'd Adrian;
Trust me I'll do for't what I can.'
Home went, well pleas'd, the Suffolk Tony,
Heart free from care, as purse from money;
He got a lusty squalling boy;
(Doubtless the dad's and mammy's joy ;)
In short, to make things square and even,
Adrian he nam'd was, by Dick Stephen.
Matt's debt thus paid; he now enlarges,
And sends you in a bill of charges;
A cradle, Brother, and a basket,
(Granted as soon as e'er I ask'd it,)
A coat not of the smallest scantling,
Frocks, stockings, shoes, to grace the bantling
These, too, were sent, (or I'm no drubber,)
Nay, add to these the fine gum-rubber;*
Yet these won't do, send t' other coat,
For faith the first's not worth a groat;
Dismally shrunk, as herrings shotten,
Supposed originally rotten.
Pray let the next be each way longer,
Of stuff more durable and stronger;
Send it next week, if you are able;
By this time, sir, you know the fable.
From this, and letters of the same make,
You'll find what 'tis to have a namesake.
Cold and hard times, sir, here, (believe it,)
I've lost my curate too, and grieve it;
At Easter, for what I can see,
(A time of ease and vacancy,)
* Commonly called a cora!,
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