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LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.
In beauty, or wit,..
No mortal as yet
But men of discerning
Have thought that in learning, To yield to a lady was hard...
Impertinent schools, .
With musty dull rules, Have reading to females denied :
So papists refuse
The Bible to use, Lest flocks should be wise as their guide.
Then bravely, fair dame,
Resume the old claim, Which to your whole sex does belong ;
And let men receive,
From a second bright Eve, The knowledge of right and of wrong.
But if the first Eve
Hard doom did receive When only one apple had she,
What a punishment new
Shall be found out for you, Who tasting, have robb’d the whole tree? THE TRANSLATOR.
OZELL, at Sanger's call, invok'd his Muse, For who to sing for Sanger could refuse? His numbers such as Sanger's self might use Reviving Perrault, murd'ring Boileau, he Slander'd the ancients first, then Wycherley ; Which yet not much that old bard's anger rais’d, Since those were slander'd most, whom Ozell prais’d. Nor had the gentle satire caus'd complaining, Had not sage Rowe pronounc'd it entertaining; How great must be the judgment of that writer, Who the Plain-dealer damns, and prints the Biter!
EGBERT SANGER served his apprenticeship with Jacob Tonson, and succeeded Bernard Lintot in his shop at Middle Temple Gate, Fleet-Street. Lintot printed Ozell's translation of Perrault's Characters, and Sanger his translation of Boileau's Lutrin, recommended by Mr. Rowe, Anno 1709.
ON MRS. PULTENEY.
With scornful mien, and various toss of air, Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair, Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain, She looks ambition, and she moves disdain. Far other carriage grac'd her virgin life, But charming G-y's lost, in P-y's wife. Not greater arrogance in him we find, And this conjunction swells at least her mind : O could the sire, renown'd in glass, produce One faithful mirror for his daughter's use ! Wherein she might her haughty errors trace, And by reflection learn to mend her face : The wonted sweetness to her form restore, Be what she was, and charm mankind once more. A FAREWELL TO LONDON
IN THE YEAR 1714.
DEAR, damn'd, distracting town, farewell !
Thy fools no more I'll tease : This year in peace, ye critics, dwell,
Ye harlots, sleep at ease!
Soft B --s and rough C---, adieu !
Earl Warwick make your moan, The lively H ----k and you
May knock up whores alone.
To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd
Till the third watchman's toll ; Let Jervase gratis paint, and Frowde
Save three-pence and his soul.
On every learned sot;
Altho' he knows it not.
Lintot, farewell! thy bard must go;
Farewell, unhappy Tonson ! Heaven gives thee for thy loss of Rowe,
Lean Philips, and fat Johnson.
Why should I stay? Both parties rage ;
My vixen mistress squalls ;