THE PROGRESS OF POETRY.

TH

HE farmer's goose, who in the ftubble
Has fed without reftraint or trouble,
Grown fat with corn, and fitting ftill,
Can scarce get o'er the barn-door fill;
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her belly in the neighbouring pool;
Nor loudly cackles at the door;
For cackling fhews the goofe is poor.

But, when she must be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren common ftrays,

Hard exercife, and harder fare,

Soon make my dame grow

lank and fpare:

Her body light, fhe tries her wings,

And fcorns the ground, and upward fprings;
While all the parish, as fhe flies,

Hear founds harmonious from the skies.

Such is the poet fresh in pay,

The third night's profits of his play;
His morning-draughts till noon can fwill,
Among his brethren of the quill:
With good roast beef his belly full,
Grown lazy, foggy, fat, and dull,
Deep funk in plenty and delight,
What poet e'er could take his flight?
Or, ftuff'd with phlegm up to the throat,
What poet e'er could fing a note?
Nor Pegafus could bear the load

Along the high celeftial road;

The

The steed, opprefs'd, would break his girth,
To raise the lumber from the earth.

But view him in another scene,
When all his drink is Hippocrene,
His money spent, his patrons fail,
His credit out for cheese and ale;
His two-years coat fo fmooth and bare,
Through every thread it lets in air;
With hungry meals his body pin'd,
His guts and belly full of wind;
And like a jockey for a race,

His flesh brought down to flying cafe:
Now his exalted spirit loaths
Incumbrances of food and cloaths;
And up he rifes, like a vapour,
Supported high on wings of paper;
He finging flies, and flying fings,
While from below all Grub-street rings.

THE SOUTH-SEA PROJECT. 1721.

"Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto,

"Arma virum, tabulæque, et Troïa gaza per undas."

YE

E wife philofophers, explain
What magick makes our money rise,
When dropt into the Southern main;
Or do thefe jugglers cheat our eyes?

Put in your money fairly told;
Prefto be gone-'Tis here again :
Ladies and gentlemen, behold,
Here's every piece as big as ten.

VIRG.

Thus

Thus in a bason drop a fhilling,

Then fill the veffel to the brim;
You shall obferve, as you are filling,
The ponderous metal feems to swim:

It rifes both in bulk and height,
Behold it fwelling like a fop;
The liquid medium cheats your fight;
Behold it mounted to the top!

In ftock three hundred thousand pounds;
I have in view a lord's estate;
My manors all contiguous round;

A coach and fix, and ferv'd in plate!

Thus, the deluded bankrupt raves;
Puts all upon a defperate bet;
Then plunges in the Southern waves,
Dipt over head and ears---in debt.

So, by a calenture misled,

The mariner with rapture fees,
On the smooth ocean's azure bed,
Enamel'd fields and verdant trees :

With eager hafte he longs to rove
In that fantastic fcene, and thinks
It must be some enchanted grove;
And in he leaps, and down he finks.

Five hundred chariots juft befpoke,
Are funk in thefe devouring waves,
The horses drown'd, the harnefs broke,
And here the owners find their graves.
VOL. VII.

Like

Like Pharaoh, by directors led;

They with their spoils went fafe before; His chariots, tumbling out the dead,

Lay shattered on the Red-Sea fhore.

Rais'd up on Hope's afpiring plumes,
The young adventurer o'er the deep
An eagle's flight and ftate affumes,
And fcorns the middle-way to keep.

On paper wings he takes his flight,
With wax the father bound them faft;
The wax is melted by the height,
And down the towering boy is caft.

A moralift might here explain

The rashness of the Cretan youth; Describe his fall into the main,

And from a fable form a truth.

His wings are his paternal rent,
He melts the wax at every flame;
His credit funk, his money spent,
In Southern Seas he leaves his name.

Inform us, you that beft can tell,

Why in yon' dangerous gulph profound, Where hundreds and where thousands fell, Fools chiefly float, the wife are drown'd?

So have I feen from Severn's brink.

A flock of geefe jump down together: Swim, where the bird of Jove would fink, And, fwimming, never wet a feather.

But,

But, I affirm, 'tis falfe in fact,

Directors better knew their tools;

We see the nation's credit crackt,

Each knave has made a thousand fools.

One fool may from another win,

And then get off with money ftor'd; But, if a sharper once comes in,

He throws at all, and sweeps the board.

As fishes on each other prey,

The great ones fwallowing up the small; So fares it in the Southern Sea; The whale directors eat up all.

When stock is high, they come between, Making by fecond-hand their offers; Then cunningly retire unseen,

With each a million in his coffers.

So, when upon a moon-fhine night
An afs was drinking at a ftream;
A cloud arofe, and ftopt the light,
By intercepting every beam:

The day of judgment will be foon,
Cries out a fage among the croud;
An afs has swallow'd up the moon!
The moon lay fafe behind the cloud.

Each

poor fubfcriber to the fea

Sinks down at once, and there he lies; Directors fall as well as they,

Their fall is but a trick to rife.