Thou now one heap of foulness art,
All outward and within is foul;
Condensed filth in ev'ry part,

Thy body's cloathed like thy foul; Thy foul, which, through thy hide of buff, Scarce glimmers like a dying snuff.

Old carted bawds fuch garments wear,
When pelted all with dirt they shine;
Such their exalted bodies are,

As fhrivel'd and as black as thine.
If thou wert in a cart, I fear

Thou would'ftbe peltedworse than they're.

Yet, when we see thee thus array'd,
The neighbours think, it is but just,
That thou fhould't take anhoneft trade,
And weekly carry out the duft.

Of cleanly houses who will doubt,
When Dick cries, duft to carry out?

DICK's Variety.

ULL uniformity in fools,

DULL

I hate, who gape and fneer by rules. You, Muliinex, and flobb'ring C—, Who ev'ry day and hour the fame are; That vulgar talent I defpife

Of piffing in the rabble's eyes.
And when I liften to the noise
Of ideots roaring to the boys;
To better judgments ftill fubmitting,
I own I fee but little wit in:

Such paftimes, when our tafte is nice,
Can pleafe at moft but once or twice.

But then confider Dick, you'll find
His genius of fuperior kind';
He never muddles in the dirt,

i

Nor fcours the ftreets without a fhirt
Though Dick, I dare prefume to fay,
Could do fuch feats as well as they.
Dick I could venture cvery where,
Let the boys pelt him if they dare;
He'd have 'em try'd at the affizes
For priefs and jefuits in difguifes;
Swear they were with the Swedes at Bender,
And lifting troops for the pretender.

But

But Dick can fart, and dance, and frisk, No other monkey half fo brifk; Now has the speaker by the ears, Next moment in the house of peers, Now fcolding at my lady Eustace; Or thrashing Babby in her new ftays. Prefto, begone; with t'other hop He's powd'ring in a barber's shop; Now at the anti-chamber thrufting His nofe to get the circle just in, And damns his blood, that in the rear He fees one fingle tory there: Then woe be to my lord lieutenant, Again he'll tell him, and again on't.

THE

BEASTS CONFESSION

TO THE

PRIEST,

On obferving how most men mistake their own talents.

Written in the Year 1732.

WHEN beafts could fpeak (the learn

ed fay,

They ftill can do fo every day),
It feems, they had religio tnhen,
As much as now we find in men.
It happen'd, when a plauge broke out
(Which therefore madethem more devout),
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean)
By proclamation gave command,
That ev'ry subject in the land

Should to the priest confefs their fins;
And thus the pious wolf begins;

Good

Good father, I muft own with fhame,
That often I have been to blame:

I must confefs, on Friday laft,
Wretch that I was! I broke my fast:
But I defy the basest tongue

To prove

I did my neighbour wrong;

Or ever went to seek my food
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood.

The afs, approaching next, confefs'd, That in his heart he lov'd a jeft: A wag he was he needs muft own, And could not let a dunce alone: Sometimes his friend he would not spare, And might perhaps be too fevere: But yet, the worft that could be faid, He was a wit both born and bred; And, if it be a fin or fhame, Nature alone must bear the blame: One fault he hath, is forry for't, His ears are half a foot too fhort; Which could he to the standard bring, He'd fhew his face before the king: Then for his voice, there's none disputes That he's the nightingale of brutes.

The swine with contrite heart allow'd, His shape and beauty made him proud:

In