To Laura, in Reply to the Above

Laura, for once excuse, I pray, The pertness of a rural lay; And I will ne'er again offend, Or need the name of saucy friend;

Stella, (for now I see it clearly, Who loves a little mischief dearly) Resolv'd to carry a gay farce on, Told me I was the country parson, Described in your melodius strain; To which I now return again.

I, like my namesake, without guile, Thought in my turn that I might smile, So seis'd my pen, in a brisk sally, Determin'd to pay off the tally; And, in a fit of warm regard, Dropt a few words—quite off my guard; For which I Laura's mercy crave, And shall remain her humble slave— She's pleas'd to say, that "I inherit, "Some portion of the DEAN'S queer spirit." If aught in me was ever seen, Resembling Patrick's boasted Dean; It was his faults, I fear—rank pride, Which, for my life, I cannot hide, And one less vain than Swift—or me, Might e'en both proud and saucy be, When such fine things of him are said By Laura, the harmonious maid; Yet still her compliments, I fear, Are only sent her friend to jeer, Or sugar o'er a little smart And close the bleedings of a heart— Thus, without cause, when children cry, And put their finger in their eye, Kind mamma gives them aught that's handy, Cakes, marmalade, or sugar-candy.

Fair Laura hints—the hint I take, And honour for its mistress' sake— Yet when great Cupid is inclin'd, To fix his empire o'er my mind, A silken cord, no "dragging chain," Shall lead me to his sacred fane; For none, I trust, shall e'er discover, In me aught like the whimp'ring lover; The fault'ring voice, the sigh of care, The languid look, the dying air. When abject thus behaves the muse, May I kind Laura's friendship lose, That friendship which I dearer hold; Than silver heaps or shining gold.

And now, farewell!—may ev'ry hour Fresh happiness on Laura pour— Whether in sacred wedlock join'd, Or to the Vestal state inclin'd; May constant joys before her rise, Till, for low earth, she gains the skies!