ber Dog-Fish had a pickled Tail;

Which Tail was in a Tub.

VIII.

And eke this Tub was his Clofeftool,

So close that nought was lost; For his E-va-cu-a-ti-ons

Were made a parte poft.

IX.

A parte poft; thefe Words fo hard,
In Latin tho' we speak 'em;

Their Meaning in plain English is,
He made pure Album-Græcum.

X.

From far and near, this Dog to fee,

Came Skullers and came Oars;

Cits, Cuckolds; Cuckold-makers, Beaux;
Wives, Widows, Maids and Wh-

XI. Came

XI.

Came thick and threefold Wappineers;
All thro' Bridge Ho! fo jolly;

Came Shoals from Batterfea, tho' cut

For Simples, to the Folly.

XII.

For at the Folly, you must know,
His wife Directors plac'd him;

And, like my Lord Mayor in his Barge,
With Flag and Trumpet grac'd him.

XIII.

To fee him, all their Testers gave;
And fome gave all they had;

And fo our Dog he bit 'em all :

"Tis well he was not mad.

XIV.

So Cash came in, and Stock run high;

Rare Hope of Dividend!

The

The Word it now was Cent. per Cent.

But mark ye, Sirs, the End.

XV.

They, too intent on Cent. per Cent.

Their growing Gains pursue;

And Penny-wife, alack! forget
To give the Dog his Due.

XVI.

His Flounders they forgot to bring,
Nor Gudgeons did provide;

Nor laid they Salt upon his Tail:

And fo poor Toby dy'd.

XVII.

Tho' the Dog-star, the Learned fay,

Now mounting up the Skies,

Upon his Rival here below

Look'd down with envious Eyes;

XVIII.

And growl'd, and cock'd his Tail, and thence

Shot forth a killing Ray;

Now I am rifing, thou fhalt fet;

Each Dog must have his Day.

XIX.

So Toby dy'd: But if the Muse,

My Mufe, can ought foretell;

Babes yet unborn fhall fing his Fame,

In this fame Dog-ger-ell,

XX.

Then wish we all, fince from One Dog
Such Profits might have come;

That four and twenty Ships, next Year,
May bring a Couple Home.

!

An ODE of ANACREON, tranflated after the Greek Measure.

Δότε μοι, δότ ̓, ὦ γυναϊκες, &c.

Ive, ye Nymphs, O give your Lover,
Give the Bowl, and flowing over ;

See me panting, glowing, firing!

See me, fee me just expiring!

Give, ye Nymphs, from yonder Bowers, Give me Wreaths of cooling Flowers;

See my Garlands all are wasted,

By my blazing Temples blasted!

But if Flames of Love invade Thee,

What, O what, my Heart, can fhade Thee!