Befides, that flow-pac'd fign Bootes,
As 'tis mifcall'd, we know not who 'tis :'
But Partridge ended all difputes;
He knew his trade, and call'd it boots.
The borned moon, which heretofore
Upon their fhoes the Romans wore,
Whole widenefs kept their toes from corns,
And whence we claim our fboeing-borns,
Shows how the art of colling bears
A near refemblance to the fpheres.

A fcrap of parchment hung by geometry
A great refinement in barometry)
Can, like the ftars, foretel the weather;
And what is parchment elfe but leather?
Which an aftrologer might use
Either for almanacks or foes.

Thus Partridge by his wit and parts
At once did practife both thefe arts:
And as the boding owl (or rather
The bat, becaufe her wings are leather)
Steals from her private cell by night,
And flies about the candle-light;
So learned Partridge could as well
Creep in the dark from leathern cell,
And in his fancy fly as far
To peep upon a twinkling ftar.

Befides, he could confound the fpheres,
And fet the planets by the ears;
To fhow his fkill, he Mars could join
To Venus in afpect malign;
Then call in Mercury for aid,

And cure the wounds that Venus made.

Great scholars have in Lucian read,
When Philip king of Greece was dead,
His foul and fpirit did divide,
And each part took a different fide:
One rose a star; the other fell
Beneath, and mended thoes in hell.

Thus Partridge ftill fhines in each art,
The cobling and far-gazing part;
And is inftall'd as good a ftar
As any of the Cæfars are.

Triumphant ftar! fome pity fhow
On coblers militant below,

Whom roguifh boys, in ftormy nights,
Torment by pifling out their lights;
Or through a chink convey their smoke,
Inclos'd artificers to choke.

Thou, high exalted in thy fphere,
May't follow ftill thy calling there.
To thee the Bull will lend his bide,
By Phoebus newly tann'd and dry'd;
For thee they Argo's hulk will tax,
And fcrape her pitchy fides for wax :
Then Ariadne kindly lends
Her braided hair to make the ends:
The points of Sagittarius' dart
Turns to an arul by heavenly art;
And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife,
Will forge for thee a paring-knife.
For want of room by Virgo's fide,
She 'll ftrain a point, and fet aftride,
To take thee kindly in between;
And then the figns will be thirteen.

See his almanack.

THE EPITAPH.

HERE, five feet deep, lies on his back, A cobler, farmonger, and quack; Who to the fars in pure good will Does to his best look upward still. Weep, all you customers that ufe His pill, his almanacks, or fboes : And you that did your fortunes feek, Step to his grave but once a-week. This earth which bears his body's print, You'll find has fo much virtue in 't, That I durft pawn my ears 'twill tell Whate'er concerns you full as well, In phyfic, folen-goods, or love, As he himfelf could when above.

MERLIN'S PROPHECY. 1709.

SEVEN and ten addyd to nine,

Of Fraunce her woe this is the fygne;
'famys rivere twys y-frozen,
Walke fans wetyng fhoes ne hozen.
Then comyth foorthe, ich underítonde,
From towne of ftoffe to fattyn londe,
An hardie chiftan *, woe the morne,
To Fraunce that evere he was born.
Then fhall the fyfhet beweyle his boffe;
Nor fhall grin berryst make up the loffe.
Yonge Symnele | fhall again mifcarrye;
And Norways pryd § again fhall marrey:
And from the tree where blofums feele,
Rife fruit fhall come, and all is wele.
Reaums fhall daunce honde in honde
And it fhall be merye in old Inglonde;
Then old Inglonde fhall be no more,
And no man fhall be forie therefore.
Geryon + fhall have three hedes agayne,
Till Hapfburge ‡‡ makyth them but twayne.

A DESCRIPTION OF

THE MORNING. 1709.

Now hardly here and there an hackney coach
Appearing, fhow'd the reddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And foftly ftole to difcompofe her own;
The flipfhod 'prentice from his mafter's door
Had par'd the dirt, and fprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dextrous air,
Prepar'd to fcrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy ftumps began to trace
The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The fmall-coal-man was heard with cadence deep,
Till drown'd in fhriller notes of chimney-fweep.
Duns at his Lordship's gate began to meet;
And brick-duft Moll had fcream'd through half the
The turnkey now his flock returning fees, [street.
Duly let out a-nights to fteal for fees:

The watchful bailiffs take their filent ftands,
And fchool-boys lag with fatchels in their hands.

A DESCRIPTION OF

A CITY-SHOWER.

In Imitation of Virgil's Georgics. 1710.
CAREFUL obfervers may fortel the hour
(By fure prognoftics) when to dread a fhower.
While rain depends, the penfive cat gives o'er
Her frolicks, and purfues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you 'll find the fink
Strike your offending fenfe with double stink.
If you be wife, then go not far to dine;
You'll spend in coach-hire more than fave in wine.
A coming fhower your fhooting corns prefage,
Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage.
Sauntering in coffee-houfe is Duiman feen;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.
Mean while the fouth, rifing with dabbled wings,
A fable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That fwill'd more liquor than it could contain,
And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Brifk Sufan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling fhower is borne aflope:
Such is that fprinkling which fome careless quean
Flirts on you from her mop, but not fo clean:
You fly, invoke the gods; then, turning, ftop
To rail; the, finging, ftill whirls on her mop.
Not yet the duft had fhunn'd th' unequal ftrife,
But, aided by the wind, fought ftill for life;
And, wafted with its foc by violent guft,
'Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was duft.
Ah! where muft needy poet feek for aid,
When duft and rain at once his coat invade?
Sole coat! where duft cemented by the rain
Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy ftain!
Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To fhops in crowds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The templar fpruce, while every fpout 's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet feems to call a coach.
The tuck'd-up femftrefs walks with hafty ftrides,
While ftreams run down her oil'd umbrella's fides.
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a thed.
Triumphant Tories and defponding Whigs
Forget their feuds, and join to fave their wigs.
Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient fits,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits,
And ever and aron with frightful din

The leather founds; he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden fteed,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed,
(Thofe bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Intead of paying chairmen, ran them through)
Laccoon ftruck the outfide with his fpear,
And each imprifon'd hero quack'd for fear.
Now from all parts the fwelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go:
Filths of all hues and odours feem to tell
What street they fail'd from by their fight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,
From Smithfield or St. 'Pulchre's fhape their course,
And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge,
And from the conduit prone to Holbourn bridge.

Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood,

Drown'd puppies, ftinking fprats, all drench'd in mud,

Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.

ON THE LITTLE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD OF CASTLENOCK. 1710.

WHOEVER pleafeth to inquire
Why yonder fteeple wants a spire,
The gray old fellow poet * Joe
The philofophic caufe will fhow.
Once on a time a western blaft
At least twelve inches overcast,
Reckoning roof, weathercock, and all,
Which came with a prodigious fall;
And turning topsy-turvy round,
Light with its bottom on the ground;
For, by the laws of gravitation,
It fell into its proper station.

This is the little ftrutting pile,
You fee just by the church-yard ftile;
The walls in tumbling gave a knock;
And thus the steeple got a fhock;
From whence the neighbouring farmer calls
The fteeple, Knock; the vicar, t Walls.

The vicar once a week creeps in,
Sits with his knees up to his chin;
Here conns his notes, and takes a whet,
Till the fmall ragged flock is met.

A traveller, who by did pafs,
Obferv'd the roof behind the grass;
On tiptoe ftood, and rear'd his fnout,
And faw the parfon creeping out;
Was much furpris'd to fee a crow
Venture to build his neft fo low.

A fchool-boy ran unto 't, and thought.
The crib was down, the blackbird caught.
A third, who loft his way by night,
Was forc'd for fafety to alight;
And, ftepping o'er the fabric-roof,
His horfe had like to fpoil his hoof.

Warburton took it in his noddle,
This building was defign'd a model
Or of a pigeon-houfe or oven,
To bake one loaf, and keep one dove in.

Then Mrs. Johnfon § gave her verdict,
And every one was pleas'd that heard it:
All that you make this ftir about,
Is but a ftill which wants a spout.
The reverend Dr. || Raymond guefs'd
More probably than all the reft;
He faid, but that it wanted room,
It might have been a pigmy's tomb.
The Doctor's family came by,
And little mifs began to cry;
Give me that houfe in my own hand!
Then madam bade the chariot ftand,
Call'd to the clerk, in manner mild,
Pray, reach that thing here to the child;

* Mr. Beaumont of Trim.

↑ Archdeacon Wall, a correfpondent of Savift's. Dr. Swift's curate at Laracor. $ Stella Minifler of Trim.

16

That thing, I mean, among the kale:
And here's to buy a pot of ale.

The clerk faid to her, in a heat,
What! fell my mafter's country feat,
Where he comes every week from town!
He would not fell it for a crown.
Poh! fellow, keep not fuch a pother;
In half an hour thou 'It make another.
Says Nancy, I can make for mifs
A finer houfe ten times than this;
The Dean will give me willow-sticks,
And Joe my apron-full of bricks.

.

THE VIRTUES OF

Yet ftill fo happy was his fate,
He caught his fib, and fav'd his bait.
Sid's brethren of the conjuring tribe
A circle with their rod defcribe,
Which proves a magical redoubt
To keep mifchievous fpirits out.
Sid's rod was of a larger ftride,
And made a circle thrice as wide,
Where Spirits throng'd with hideous din,
And he ftood there to take them in:
But, when th' inchanted rod was broke,
They vanish d in a ftinking fmoke.
Achilles' fceptre was of wood,

Like Sid's, but nothing near fo good;
That down from ancestors divine
Tranfmitted to the hero's line,

THE rod was but a harmless wand,
While Mofes held it in his hand;
But, foon as e'er he laid it down,
"Twas a devouring ferpent grown.
Our great magician, Hamet Sid,
Reverses what the prophet did :
His rod was honeft English wood,
That fenfelefs in a corner ftood,
Till, metamorphos'd by his grafp,
It grew an all-devouring afp;

Would hifs, and fting, and roll, and twist,
By the mere virtue of his fift;
But, when he laid it down, as quick
Refum'd the figure of a stick.

So to her midnight-feafts the hag
Rides on a broomflick for a nag,
That, rais'd by magick of her breech,
O'er fea and land conveys the witch;
But with the morning-dawn resumes
The peaceful ftate of common brooms.
They tell us fomething strange and odd
About a certain magic rod †,

That, bending down its top, divines
Whene'er the foil has golden mines;
Where there are none, it stands erect,
Scorning to show the least respect.
As ready was the wand of Sid

To bend where golden mines were hid;
In Scottish hills found precious ore ‡,
Where none e'er look'd for it before;
And by a gentle bow divin'd,
How well a cully's purfe was lin'd
To a forlorn and broken rake
Stood without motion, like a stake.

The rod of Hermes was renown'd
For charms above and under ground;
To fleep could mortal eye-lids fix,
And drive departed fouls to Styx.
That rod was just a type of Sid's,
Which o'er a British fenate's lids
Could scatter opium full as well,
And drive as many fouls to bell.

Sid's rod was flender, white, and tall,
Which oft' he us'd to fife withal;
A plaice was faften'd to the hook,
And many score of gudgeons took :

Came an beir-loom, as Homer fings.
Though this defcription looks fo big,
The feeptre was a faplefs twig,
Which, from the fata! day, when first
It left the foreft where 'twas nurs'd,
As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,
Nor leaf, nor fruit, ner bloffom, bore.
Sid's fceptre, full of juice, did fhoot
In golden boughs, and golden fruit;
And he, the dragon never fleeping,
Guarded each fair Hefperian pippin.
No hobby-Lorfe, with gorgeous top,
The dearest in Charles Mather's * shop,
Or glittering tinfel of May-fair,
Could with this rod of Sid compare.

Dear Sid, then, why wert thou fo mad
To break thy rod like naughty lad!
You fhould have kifs'd it in your distress,
And then return'd it to your mistress;
Or made it a Newmarket + fwitch,
And not a rod for thy own breech.
But fince old Sid has broken this,
His next may be a rod in pifs.

ATLAS; OR, THE MINISTER OF STATE.

TO THE LORD TREASURER OXFORD, 1710.

ATLAS, we read in ancient fong,
Was fo exceeding tail and strong,
He bore the skies upon his back,
Juft as a pedlar does his pack;
But, as a pedlar overprefs'd
Unloads upon a stail to reft;
Or, when he can no longer ftand,
Defires a friend to lend a hand;
So Atlas, left the ponderons fpheres
Should fink, and fall about his ears,
Got Hercules to bear the pile,
That he might fit and reft a while.

Yet Hercules was not fo ftrong,

Nor could have borne it ha'f fo long.
Great statesmen are in this condition;
And Atlas is a politician,

A premier minister of ftate;
Alcides one of fecond rate.

Suppofe then Atlas ne'er fo wife;

Yet, when the weight of kingdoms lies
Too long upon his fingle shoulders,
Sink down he muft, or find upholders.

A TOWN ECLOGUE. 1710.

SCENE, THE ROYAL EXCHANGE. Corydon.

Now the keen rigour of the winter's o'er,
No hail defcends, and frofts can pinch no more;
Whilft other girls confefs the genial spring,
And laugh aloud, or amorous ditties fing,
Secure from cold their lovely hecks difplay,
And throw each useless chafing-dish away;
Why fits my Phillis difcontented here,
Nor feels the turn of the revolving year?
Why on that brow dwell forrow and difmay,
Where loves were wont to fport, and smiles to
play!

[around, Phillis. Ah, Corydon! furvey the 'Change Through all the 'Change no wretch like me is found:

Alas! the day, when I, poor heedlefs maid,
Was to your rooms in Lincoln's-Inn betray'd;
Then how you fwore, how many vows you made!
Ye liftening zephyrs, that o'erheard his love,
Waft the foft accents to the Gods above.
Alas! the day; for (oh, eternal shame!)
I fold you handkerchiefs, and loft my fame.

Cor. When I forget the favour you bestow'd,
Red herrings fhall be spawn'd in Tyburn Road,
Fleet-ftreet transform'd become a flowery green,
And mais be fung where operas are feen;
The wealthy cit, and the St. James's beau,
Shall change their quafters, and their joys forego;,
Stock-jobbing this to Jonathan's fhall come,
At the Groom Porter's that play off his plum.
Phil. But what to me does all that love avail,
If, while I doze at home o'er porter's ale,

Each night with wine and wenches you regale?S

My live-long hours in anxious cares are past,
And raging hunger lays my beauty wafte.
On templars fpruce in vain I glances throw,
Aad with fhrill voice invite them as they go.
Expos'd in vain my gloffy ribbands shine,
And unregarded wave upon the twine.

The week flies round; and, when my profit's known,

I hardly clear enough to change a crown.

Cor. Hard fate of virtue, thus to be diftreft,
Thou faireft of thy trade, and far the best!
As fruitmen's ftalls the fummer-market grace,
And ruddy peaches them; as firft in place
Plum-cake is feen o'er fmaller pastry ware,
And ice on that; fo Phillis does appear
In play-house and in park, above the rest
Of belles mechanic, elegantly dreft.

Phil. And yet Crepundia, that conceited fair,
Amidft her toys, affects a faucy air,
And views me hourly with a fcornful eye.

Cor. She might as well with bright Cleora vie.
Phil. With this large petticoat I ftrive in vain
To hide my folly paft, and coming pain:
'Tis now no fecret; the, and fifty more,
Obferve the fymptoms I had once before;

VOL. IX.

A fecond babe at Wapping must be plac'd, When I scarce bear the charges of the last.

Cor. What I could raife I fent; a pound of plums,

Five fhillings, and a coral for his gums;

To morrow I intend him fomething more.

Phil. I fent a frock and pair of fhoes before.
Cor. However, you shall home with me to-night,
Forget your cares, and revel in delight.

I have in store a pint or two of wine,
Some cracknels, and the remnant of a chine.
And now on either fide, and all around,
The weighty fhop-boards fall and bars refound;
Each ready fempftrefs flips her pattens on,
And ties her hood, preparing to be gone.

EPITAPH,

INSCRIBED ON A MARBLE TABLET, IN BERKELEY CHURCH.

H. S. E.

Carolus Comes de Berkeley, Vicecomes Dursley, Baro Berkeley, de Berkeley Caft. Mowbray, Segrave,

Et Bruce, è Nobiliflimo ordine Balnei Eques, Vir ad genus quod spectar & Proavos ufquequaque Nobilis,

Et longo, fi quis alius Procerum ftemmate editus; Muniis etiam tam illuftri ftirpi dignus infignitus. Siquidem à Gulielmo III ad ordines fœderati Belgii

Ablegatus & Plenipotentiarius Extraordinarius Rebus, non Britanniæ tantùm, fed totius fere Europæ

(Tunc temporis præfertim arduis) per annos V. incubuit.

Quam felicia diligentiâ, fide quam intemeratâ, Ex illo difcas, Lector, quod, fuperftite Patre, In Magnatum ordinem adfcifci meruerit. Fuit à fanctioribus confiliis & Regi Guliel. & Annæ Reginæ,

E Proregibus Hiberniæ fecundus, Comitatuum Civitatumque Gloceft. & Brift. Dominus Locumtenens,

Surriæ et Gloceft. Cuftos Rot. Urbis Gloceft.
magnus
Senefcallus, Arcis fancti de Briavell Caftellanus,
Guardianus Foreftæ de Dean.
Denique ad Turcarum primùm, deinde ad Roman.
Imperatorem

Cum Legatus Extraordinarius defignatus effet,
Quo minus has etiam ornaret provincias

Obftitit adverfa corporis valetudo. Sed reftat adhuc, præ quo fordefcunt cætera, Honos verus, ftabilis, et vel morti cedere nefcius, Quod veritatem Evangelicam ferio amplexus; Ergo Deum pius, erga pauperes munificus, Adverfùs omnes æquus & benevolus, In Chrifto jam placidè obdormit Cum eodem olim regnaturas unà. Natus VIII April. MDCXLIX. denatus XXIV Septem. MDCCX. ætat. fuæ LXII.

THE FABLE OF MIDAS. 1717.

MIDAS, we are in story told,
Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold:

He chip'd his beard; the pieces round
Glitter'd like fpangles on the ground:
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would ftraight become a golden pippin :
He call'd for drink; you faw him fup
Potable gold on golden cup:

His empty paunch that he might fill,
He fuck'd his victuals through a quill:
Untouch'd it pafs'd between his grinders,
Or 't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have faid
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head :
Whene'er he chanc'd his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd, instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence by wife farmers we are told,
Old bay is equal to old gold;
And hence a critic deep maintains,
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit;
And people fancy'd he had wit.
Two gods their skill in mufie try'd,
And both chofe Midas to decide:
He against Phoebus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to fhow his grudge,
Clapt affes' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide,
And now the virtue of his hands
Was loft among Pactolus' fands,
Against whofe torrent while he swims,
The golden fcurf peels off his limbs :
Fame fpreads the news, and people travel
From far to gather golden gravel;
Midas, expos'd to all their jeers,
Had loft his art, and kept his ears.

This tale inclines the gentle reader To think upon a certain leader; To whom, from Midas down, defcends, That virtue in the finger's ends. What else by perquifites are meant, By penfions, bribes, and three per cent. By places and commiffions fold, And turning dung itself to gold? By ftarving in the midst of store, As t'other Midas did before?

None e'er did modern Midas choose, Subject or patron of his Muse, But found him thus their merit scan, That Phoebus muft give place to Pan: He values not the poet's praile, Nor will exchange his plums for bays. To Pan alone rich mifer's call; And there's the jeft, for Pan is ALL. Here English wits will be to feek, Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.

Befides, it plainly now appears Our Midas too hath affes' ears; Where every fool his mouth applies, And whispers in a thousand lies: Such grofs delufions could not país Through any ears but of an afs.

But gold defiles with frequent touch; There's nothing fouls the hand fo much:

And scholars give it for the caufe
Of British Midas' dirty paws;
Which while the fenate ftrove to scour,
They wash'd away the chemic power.

While he his utmoft ftrength apply'd,
To swim against this popular tide,
The golden spoils flew off apace;
Here fell a penfion, there a place ;'
The torrent merciless imbibes
Commiffions, perquifites, and bribes,

By their own weight funk to the bottom;
Much good may do them that have caught 'em!
And Midas now neglected stands,

With affes' ears, and dirty lands.

AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 1711. BEING THE INTENDED SPEECH OF A FAMOUS ORATOR AGAINST PEACE *.

AN Orator difmal of Nottinghamshire,

Who has forty years let out his confcience to hire,
Out of zeal for his country, and want of a place,
Is come up, vi& armis, to break the Queen's peace.
He has vamp'd an old speech; and the court, to
their forrow,

Shall hear him harangue against Prior to-morrow.
When once he begins, he never will flinch,
But repeats the fame note a whole day, like a
Finch.

I have heard all the fpeech repeated by Hoppy, And, "Mistakes to prevent, I've obtained a copy."

THE SPEECH.

Whereas, notwithstanding, I am in great pain, To hear we are making a peace without Spain; But, moft noble Senators, 'tis a great shame There should be a peace, while I'm Not-in-game. The Duke fhow'd me all his fine houfe; and the Duchefs

From her closet brought out a full purse in her clutches.

I talk'd of a peace, and they both gave a start; His grace fwore by G-d, and her grace let a f---t:

My long old-fashion'd pocket was presently cramm'd

And fooner than vote for a peace I'll be damn'd.

But fome will cry Turn-coat, and rip up old
ftories,

How I always pretended to be for the Tories.
I answer; the Tories were in my good graces,
Till all my relations were put into places:
But ftill I'm in principle ever the fame,
And will quit my best friends, while I'm Net-
in-game.

When I and fome others fubfcribed our names
To a plot for expelling my mafter King James;
I withdrew my fubfcription by help of a blot,
And fo might difcover or gain by the plot :
I had my advantage, and ftood at defiance,
For Daniel was got from the den of the lions :

*The Lord Treasurer having hinted a wish one evening that a ballad might be made on the Earl of Nottingham, this fong was written and printed the next morning.