Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.

A DIALOGUE Between IACK and DICK, Concerning the PROHIBITION OF French Wines.

DICK. AH Iack, had'st thou bin t'other day, To see the Teeming Vine display The swelling Glories of her Womb, And hopefull Progeny to come, (Which Mirth and Iollity create, And sweeten up the Frowns of Fate) Thou would'st with me have sigh'd and said, Why has Obliging Nature made

Such Iuice to be Prohibited? A Iuice, which duly understood, With kindly heats ferments the Blood; Not makes it posting to miscarry, As do's the Hot-spur, styl'd Canary; Nearly related ••tis unto't, And colour'd o'er with the same Coat. Half Blood already, in one round It is assimulated found. With gentle Tides, Poetick Vein It swells into a comely strain. And binding all its Numbers tight, Breeds nothing dissolute, nor light. Whereas Canary, with Combustion, Makes still the Writer speak in Fustian. When e'ry stroak by this devis'd, Is in Red••letters signaliz'd.

IACK.

Dear Dick, it is not thou alone, That thus in wofull plaint makes moan; The main of the whole Kingdom joyns, And weeps the loss of Claret Wines.

As t'other day I musing went With unknown Griefs my Breast was pent: The cause I knew not, but did fear Some dreadfull danger to be near. Turning my Eyes aside, I found A num'rous Croud, in wofull sound, Banning a Wight, with Accent ••ierce, About to Stave a well-teem'd Tierce. Oh, 'twas a dismal sight to view! With Sleeves tuck't up, and Apron blue, The cruel and remorsless wretch, His blow was ready ••or to fetch. When streight a Philoclareteer Made up, and in this wise drew near:

"Hold, hold, I say, that horrid Hand, "Enough our Mournfull Streets are ••lain'd "With Scarlet dye, of dire contusion, "By braining Pipe in Execution. "What is the crime has bin committed "By this poor Liquor, how endited? To which he grimly gives Response, (As if he'd stave my Monsieur's Sconse.)

Sir, mind your business, you are ruder Than e'er I yet found bold Intruder; In short, Sir, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. 'Twas all the answer he could get, Which put my Youngster in a pet, And forc'd him to this language keen, "Oh thou more fierce than e'er has been: "The wildest Tigers Bacchus drew, "Or hottest Rage yet ever knew, "Of harmless Claret thus to spill "The Blood, and Urban gutters fill; "As 'twere no more to be lookt after, "Than Urine stale, or Kennel Water. "How many of the thirsty train, "Open their Mouths, as Earth for Rain; "For one poor drop of the rich Iuice, "This swelling Vessel do's produce. "The better half of all the crude "And undigested multitude; "Now demi-Rogues, and near Disloyal, "Two spoonfulls makes them all turn Royal. "When did you know the Lad did love "True Claret, and rebellious prove?

"Besides, it Rubies do's create, "Of richer dye, and greater state, "Than e'er was planted as a Trophy "On Mogull's Crown, or Persian Sophy. "Rascal, look to't, you'll rue it one day, "For spoiling of this brisk Burgundy.

Oh, had you seen the People stand, Each one with Handkerchief in hand, With watry Eyes, surveying o'er The coming Floods of Purple gore. You, you your self had shed one Tear, Among the Thousands let fall there! To see a hopefull Vessel come, With Gales of Sighs 'twas usher'd from The peacefull Harbour where it lay, In shamefull wise, to view the day. From Mansions of dark Sable Night, And shady Grots, stor'd with delight, Of luscious tast, and racy smell, And rosie blush of Carbuncle; VVith Hoops disjoynted, Tackle broke, VVould force a Groan from Heart of Oak.

Half ruptur'd, bruis'd, in dismal shew, He thrust up ev'ry avenue; Till to the open Street he comes, Bestrid by many ill-bred Bums, Over his bulky Body striding, You never saw so ill a riding; For the fierce Wight no more regret had, Than Greek or Tartar ready booted, To seize with their light Horse, the prey Of Youth, or Damsel gone astray. The Vagabond, and Truant Tub, VVhich held so many Quarts of Bub, Forc'd by Ill luck, and Wind, to fall (By missing Port) on Canniball, And savage Shoars, he basely binding, And all his Teeth together grinding. VVith Words insulting thus accosts:

France, boast no more, that by thy Vine Thou canst an English Soul confine, To soop up nought but what is gotten, From sowre Burgundian Grape grown rotten.

Old British Drinks (which Bard of Yore Tasted, and liv'd till near Five score) We'ave got the Art now for to heighten, And our endarkned Souls enlighten, Above what pitch you e'er can mannage, By all your bo••sting French Appannage. The Apple o'er the Grape shall reign, And Hereford's above Campaign. The Vine no more shall rule the Field, But to Pomona, Bacchus yield. This said, he gives the fatal blow; And now the Streets o'er-whelm'd do flow, With ruddy Iuice of Crimson gore, Which in loud Cataracts do pour Through ev'ry Channel; and the Tide Mounts up alo••t on ev'ry side. 'Tis hard to guess which flow'd more high, That in the Streets, or in the Eye. Each Tunicle ••ull deep was sunk, You'd thought all to be Maudlin drunk.

Yet, amongst all this noise and weeping, Some (though their Sorrows were full deep in)

Made shift to muster Bowl or twain, For to attend the Fun'ral train; Which they had got from gorg'd Canal, Lest some to fainting Fits should fall. For why should Gutter swallow all up, When many a dry Soul wish'd a gullup?

Dams being made, the Good wife brings out Her Churn and Kettle; Damsel springs out With Pipkin, Chamber-pot and Ladle. And Sucking-Bottle (fetch'd from Cradle.) Treys brought by Butcher, Trough by Mason, And forth the Barber brings his Bason. The Tinker (wisely as I judge it) Makes Leathern-Bottle of his Budget. O'th' broken Ribs, full many a piece They got, and suck'd like Liquorish; And to their Children Splinters good, Of the ruby-tinctur'd Wood, Instead of Coral, they bestow, To rub their Gums, aloft and low; VVhilst others o'er the Dams lye lolling, (As ready the Red Sea to fall in)

VVith frequent Laps, their Thirst allaying, Pronouncing many a ruefull saying, Concerning loss of Champaign, Burdeaux, And what a grinning ugly Cur 'twas, That dash'd out brain of Hogshead awfull, E'er Thirsty Mortal had his Maw full: Giving out many words (half raving) 'Gainst Hammers, Knocks, and Blows, and Staving. Continuing such a dismal pother, They'd like at last to'ave stav'd each other. All going handy-dandy to't, Till Constable do's drive the Rout To their own home, from Claret Bank, There to weep out the VVine they'ave drank.

DICK.

Troth, Iack, thy News in manner wofull, My Heart has seiz'd, and fill'd up so full, It through mine Eyes must take some vent, Or I shall miserably faint. There never was more dismal Tale Repeated o'er Spic'd Cup of Ale, By deep Cabal, and nodding Quire, Of Matrons old, near VVinter's fire.

VVeep, Mortals, weep, untill your Eyes Be red as th' Wine they sacrifice. How will you now your Passions vent, To her you long your Heart have lent? Phillis without regard may go, And lovely Amarillis too, May often see her charming Name, Without Attendant Anagram. Gone is the Wine that did inspire The Poet with his Amorous fire; That did assist him to invoke, And gave his Pen the happy stroak. Fools may go on, and Scribling write, Yet fear no Satyr that shall bite; Its sting is dull'd by ev'ry blow The wronged Vessels undergo: For all the Salt, and all the Flame, Whence Wounds, and Plagues, and Vengeance came, Is melted, quench'd, sunk, lost, and drown'd, And never, never to be found, Without the leave of pulling down, The Dams of Prohibition;

And drawing up the Sluces all, That ruby Floods again may fall, And freely fill the Mass••e Bowl: Then thou and I, and ev'ry Soul That has a Muse or Mistress there, Shall in one hand a Goblet bear, And with the other charm the Ear. Shall briskly each his brimmer drink, And live and love, and laugh and think Of something fit to entertain The peacefull hours once again. Till then adieu; with Lips a-dry, For once we'll part; and so Good-buy. For who with baser Iuice would ••ully His servile Lips, is much a Cully. And though full thirsty, fit no more To have his Body varnish'd o'er; Or ever to be ting'd again, With its Rosie-colour'd grain. Once more farewell, till kindly Seas Rowl Claret Casks upon our Keys. Then (Haec) we'll say, and laugh and kiss ye, Iuvabit olim meminisse.