Ripe 'sparagra.s.s Fit for lad or la.s.s, To make their water pa.s.s: O, 'tis pretty picking With a tender chicken!

ONIONS

Come, follow me by the smell, Here are delicate onions to sell; I promise to use you well.

They make the blood warmer, You'll feed like a farmer; For this is every cook's opinion, No savoury dish without an onion; But, lest your kissing should be spoil'd, Your onions must be thoroughly boil'd: Or else you may spare Your mistress a share, The secret will never be known: She cannot discover The breath of her lover, But think it as sweet as her own.

OYSTERS

Charming oysters I cry: My masters, come buy, So plump and so fresh, So sweet is their flesh, No Colchester oyster Is sweeter and moister: Your stomach they settle, And rouse up your mettle: They'll make you a dad Of a la.s.s or a lad; And madam your wife They'll please to the life; Be she barren, be she old, Be she s.l.u.t, or be she scold, Eat my oysters, and lie near her, She'll be fruitful, never fear her.

HERRINGS

Be not sparing, Leave off swearing.

Buy my herring Fresh from Malahide,[1]

Better never was tried.

Come, eat them with pure fresh b.u.t.ter and mustard, Their bellies are soft, and as white as a custard.

Come, sixpence a-dozen, to get me some bread, Or, like my own herrings, I soon shall be dead.

[Footnote 1: Malahide, a village five miles from Dublin, famous for oysters.--_F_.]

ORANGES

Come buy my fine oranges, sauce for your veal, And charming, when squeezed in a pot of brown ale; Well roasted, with sugar and wine in a cup, They'll make a sweet bishop when gentlefolks sup.

ON ROVER, A LADY'S SPANIEL

INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER[1]

Happiest of the spaniel race, Painter, with thy colours grace: Draw his forehead large and high, Draw his blue and humid eye; Draw his neck so smooth and round, Little neck with ribbons bound!

And the muscly swelling breast, Where the Loves and Graces rest; And the spreading even back, Soft, and sleek, and glossy black; And the tail that gently twines, Like the tendrils of the vines; And the silky twisted hair, Shadowing thick the velvet ear; Velvet ears, which, hanging low, O'er the veiny temples flow.

With a proper light and shade, Let the winding hoop be laid; And within that arching bower, (Secret circle, mystic power,) In a downy slumber place Happiest of the spaniel race; While the soft respiring dame, Glowing with the softest flame, On the ravish'd favourite pours Balmy dews, ambrosial showers.

With thy utmost skill express Nature in her richest dress, Limpid rivers smoothly flowing, Orchards by those rivers blowing; Curling woodbine, myrtle shade, And the gay enamell'd mead; Where the linnets sit and sing, Little sportlings of the spring; Where the breathing field and grove Soothe the heart and kindle love.

Here for me, and for the Muse, Colours of resemblance choose, Make of lineaments divine, Daply female spaniels shine, Pretty fondlings of the fair, Gentle damsels' gentle care; But to one alone impart All the flattery of thy art.

Crowd each feature, crowd each grace, Which complete the desperate face; Let the spotted wanton dame Feel a new resistless flame!

Let the happiest of his race Win the fair to his embrace.

But in shade the rest conceal, Nor to sight their joys reveal, Lest the pencil and the Muse Loose desires and thoughts infuse.

[Footnote 1: A parody of Ambrose Phillips's poem on Miss Carteret, daughter of the Lord Lieutenant. Phillips stood high in Archbishop Boulter's regard. Hence the parody. "Does not," says Pope, "still to one Bishop Phillips seem a wit?" It is to the infantine style of some of Phillips' verse that we owe the term, Namby Pamby.--_W. E. B_.]

EPIGRAMS ON WINDOWS

SEVERAL OF THEM WRITTEN IN 1726

I. ON A WINDOW AT AN INN

We fly from luxury and wealth, To hardships, in pursuit of health; From generous wines, and costly fare, And dozing in an easy-chair; Pursue the G.o.ddess Health in vain, To find her in a country scene, And every where her footsteps trace, And see her marks in every face; And still her favourites we meet, Crowding the roads with naked feet.

But, oh! so faintly we pursue, We ne'er can have her full in view.

II. AT AN INN IN ENGLAND

The gla.s.s, by lovers' nonsense blurr'd, Dims and obscures our sight; So, when our pa.s.sions Love has stirr'd, It darkens Reason's light.

III. ON A WINDOW AT THE FOUR CROSSES IN THE WATLING-STREET ROAD, WARWICKSHIRE

Fool, to put up four crosses at your door, Put up your wife, she's CROSSER than all four.

IV. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER

The church and clergy here, no doubt, Are very near a-kin; Both weather-beaten are without, And empty both within.

V. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER

My landlord is civil, But dear as the d--l: Your pockets grow empty With nothing to tempt ye; The wine is so sour, 'Twill give you a scour, The beer and the ale Are mingled with stale.

The veal is such carrion, A dog would be weary on.

All this I have felt, For I live on a smelt.

VI. ANOTHER, AT CHESTER

The walls of this town Are full of renown, And strangers delight to walk round 'em: But as for the dwellers, Both buyers and sellers, For me, you may hang 'em, or drown 'em.

VII. ANOTHER WRITTEN UPON A WINDOW WHERE THERE WAS NO WRITING BEFORE

Thanks to my stars, I once can see A window here from scribbling free!

Here no conceited c.o.xcombs pa.s.s, To scratch their paltry drabs on gla.s.s; Nor party fool is calling names, Or dealing crowns to George and James.