Leave to D'Anvers and his mate
Maxims wife to rule the ftate.
Pulteney deep, accomplish'd St. Johns,
Scourge the villains with a vengeance:
Let me, though the smell be noifome,
Strip their bums ;. let Caleb hoise 'em ;
Then apply Alecto's whip,
Till they wriggle, howl, and fkip.
Deuce is in you, Mr. Dean;
What can all this paffion mean?
Mention courts! you'll ne'er be quiet
On corruptions running riot.
End as it befits your ftation;
Come to use and application:
Nor with fenates keep a fufs.
I fubmit; and answer thus:
If the machinations brewing,
To complete the public ruin,
Never once could have the power
To affect me half an hour;
Sooner would I write in bufkins,
Mournful elegies on * Blueskins.
If I laugh at Whig and Tory;
I conclude à fortiori,
All your eloquence will scarce
Drive me from my favourite farce.
This I muft infift on: for, as
It is well obferv'd by † Horace,
The famous thief, who, while on his trial at the Old Bailey,
ftabbed Jonathan Wild.
+ "Ridiculum acri, &c."
Ridicule has greater power
To reform the world, than four.
Horfes thus, let jockies judge else,
Switches better guide than cudgels.
Baftings heavy, dry, obtufe,
Only dulnefs can produce;
While a little gentle jerking
Sets the fpirits all a-working.
Thus, I find it by experiment,
Scolding moves you lefs than merriment. ftorm and rage in vain ;
I may form and
It but ftupifies your brain.
But with raillery to nettle,
Sets your thoughts upon your mettle;
Gives imagination scope;
Never lets your mind elope;
Drives out brangling and contention,
Brings in reafon and invention.
For your fake, as well as mine,
I the lofty ftyle decline.
I fhould make a figure fcurvy,
And your head turn topfy-turvy.
who love to have a fling
Both at fenate-house and king;
That they might fome better way tread,
To avoid the public hatred;
Thought no method more commodious,
Than to fhew their vices odious;
Which I chose to make appear,
Not by anger, but a fneer.
As my method of reforming,
Is by laughing, not by ftorming,
(For my friends have always thought
Tenderness my greatest fault)
Would you have me change my ftyle?
On your faults no longer fmile;
But, to patch up all our quarrels,
Quote you texts from Plutarch's Morals;
Or from Solomon produce
Maxims teaching Wisdom's use?
If I treat you like a crown'd-head,
You have cheap enough compounded;
Can you put in higher claims,
Than the owners of St. James?
You are not fo great a grievance,
As the hirelings of St. Stephen's.
You are of a lower clafs
Than my friend Sir Robert Brass.
None of these have mercy found:
I have laugh'd, and lash'd them round,
Have you feen a rocket fly?
You would fwear it pierc'd the sky:
It but reach'd the middle air,
Bursting into pieces there;
Thousand sparkles falling down
Light on many a coxcomb's crown:
See what mirth the fport creates ;
Singes hair, but breaks no pates.
Thus, fhould I attempt to climb,
Treat you in a style sublime,
Such a rocket is my Mufe:
Should I lofty numbers chufe,
Ere I reach'd Parnaffus' top,
I should burst, and bursting drop,
All my fire would fall in scraps ;
Give your head fome gentle raps;
Only make it smart a while:
Then could I forbear to fmile,
When I found the tingling pain
Entering warm your frigid brain ;
Make you able upon fight
To decide of wrong and right;
Talk with sense whate'er you please on;
Learn to relifh truth and reafon?
Thus we both shall gain our prizę :
I to laugh, and you grow wife.
GREAT Sir, than Phoebus more divine,
Look down upon your quondam foe;
Oh! let me never write again,
If e'er I disoblige you, Dean,
Should you compaffion fhow,
Take those Iambicks which I wrote,
When anger made me piping hot,
And give them to your cook,
To finge your fowl, or fave your paste,
The next time when you have a feast;
They'll fave you many a book.
To burn them, you are not content;
I give you then my free confent,
To fink them in the harbour:
If not, they'll ferve to fet off blocks,
To roll on pipes, and twist in locks;
So give them to your barber.
Or, when you next your phyfick take,
I muft intreat you then to make
A proper application;
"Tis what I've done myself before,
With Dan's fine thoughts, and many more,
Who gave me provocation.
What cannot mighty anger do?
It makes the weak the ftrong pursue,
A goose attack a fwan;
It makes a woman, tooth and nail,
Her husband's hands and face affail,
While he's no longer man.
Though fome, we find, are more difcreet,
Before the world are wondrous fweet,
And let their husbands hector:
But, when the world's afleep, they wake,
That is the time they chufe to speak;
Witness the curtain-lecture.
Such was the cafe with you,
All day you could conceal your mind;
But when St. Patrick's chimes
your Mufe (my midnight curse, When I engag'd for better for worse) You fcolded with your rhymes.
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