Whence come these inconfiftent fits? Robin. Why, Tom, the man has lost his wits. Tom. Agreed: and yet when Towzer fnaps At people's heels with frothy chaps; Hangs down his head, and drops his tail, To fay he's mad will not avail: The neighbours all cry, fhoot him dead, Robin. Tom, you mistake the matter quite; Your barking curs will feldom bite; And though you hear him ftut-tut-tut-ter, He barks as faft as he can utter. He prates in fpite of all impediment, While none believes, that what he faid he meant; Puts in his finger and his thumb To grope for words, and out they come. He calls you rogue; there's nothing in it, He fawns upon you in a minute: Beg's Begs leave to rail, but d―n his blood, I'll bring you off as clean Then let him ufe you e'er fo rough, Tom. The scrubbieft cur in all the pack If that were all. But he's poffeft, To work whose ends his madness pimps; In fcripture to the devil affign'd; *This is the ufual excufe of Traulus, when he abuses you to others without provocation. Of ; Of brethren he's a falfe accufer; What fpirit, fince the world began, Could always bear to ftrive with man? Which God pronounc'd, he never wou'd, And foon convinc'd them by a flood. Yet ftill the dean on freedom raves; His fpirit always ftrives with flaves. "Tis time at last to spare his ink, And let them rot, or hang, or fink. TRAULUS. TRAULUS: The Second PART. Written in the Year 1730. TRAULUS, of amphibious breed, By the dam from lordlings fprung, View him on the mother's fide, Changing ftill, and ftill adhering; Ever dearest friendship fwearing; Where he loves, or where he hates; Talks Talks whate'er comes in his head; Let me now the vices trace, From the father's fcoundrel race, Who could give the looby fuch airs? Were they mafons, were they butchers? Herald, lend the Mufe an anfwer From his atavus and grandfire : This was dextrous at his trowel, That was bred to kill a cow well: Hence the greafy clumsy mien In his drefs and figure feen; Hence the mean and fordid foul, Like his body rank and foul; Hence that wild fufpicious peep, Like a rogue that fteals a fheep; Hence he learnt the butcher's guile, How to cut your throat and fmile; Like a butcher doom'd for life In his mouth to wear his knife: Hence he draws his daily food From his tenants vital blood. Laftly, let his gifts be try'd Borrow'd from the mafon's fide: Some perhaps may think him able In the ftate to build a Babel; I Could |