ANSWER TO LINES FROM MAY FAIR

In pity to the empty'ng Town,

Some God May Fair invented,

When Nature would invite us down,

To be by Art prevented.

What a corrupted taste is ours

When milk maids in mock state

Instead of garlands made of Flowers

Adorn their pails with plate.

So are the joys which Nature yields

Inverted in May Fair,

In painted cloth we look for fields,

And step in Booths for air.

Here a Dog dancing on his hams

And puppets mov'd by wire,

Do far exceed your frisking lambs,

Or song of feather'd quire.