The dreadful murmur heaven's high convex cleaves,

And Neptune shrinks beneath his subject

waves:

For, long the whirling winds and beating tides

Had fcooped a vault into its nether fides. Now yields the base, the summits nod, now

urge

Their headlong courfe, and lafh the founding furge.

Not louder noife could shake the guilty world,

When Jove heap'd mountains upon mountains hurl'd;

Retorting Pelion from his dread abode, To crush earth's rebel-fons beneath the load.

Oft too with hideous yawn the caverns wide

Present an orifice on either fide,

A difmal orifice, from fea to fea Extended, pervious to the god of day: Uncouthly join'd the rocks ftupendous form

An arch, the ruin of a future form:

High on the cliff their nefts the woodquefis make,

And fea-calves ftable in the oozy lake.

But when bleak winter with his fullen

train

Awakes the winds to vex the watry plain; When o'er the craggy fteep without con

troul,

Big with the blaft, the raging billows rowl; Not towns beleaguer'd, not the flaming brand,

Darted from heav'n by Jove's avenging hand,

Oft as on impious men his wrath he pours, Humbles their pride, and blasts their gilded tow'rs,

Equal the tumult of this wild uproar : Waves rush o'er waves, rebellows fhore to

fhore.

The neigh bring race, tho' wont to brave the fhocks

Of angry feas, and run along the rocks, Now pale with terror, while the ocean foams,

Fly far and wide, nor truft their native

homes.

The

The goats, while pendent from the

mountain-top

The wither'd herb improvident they crop,
Wash'd down the precipice with fudden

fweep

Leave their sweet lives beneath th' unfa-
thom'd deep.

The frighted fisher, with defponding eyes,
Tho' fafe, yet trembling in the harbourlies,
Nor hoping to behold the skies ferene,
Wearies with vows the monarch of the
main.

VOL. VII.

E

UPON

Γ

UPON THE

HORRID PLOT

DISCOVERED BY

HARLEQUIN,

The Bishop of ROCHESTER'S French Dog *.

In a Dialogue between a Whig and a Tory. Written in the Year 1723.

I

Afk'd a whig the other night, How came this wicked plot to light? He answer'd, that a dog of late

Inform'd a minifter of state.

Said I, from thence I nothing know;
For, are not all informers fo?

A villain, who his friend betrays,
We ftyle him by no other phrafe;
And fo a perjur'd dog denotes
Porter, and Prendergast, and Oates,
And forty others I could name.

Whig. But you must know, this dog was
lame.

See the proceedings in parliament against Dr. Atterbury the bishop of Rachefler, State Trials, Vol. VI.

Tery.

Tory. A weighty argument indeed! Your evidence was lame:-proceed: Come, help your lame dog o'er the ftyle. Whig. Sir, you mistake me all this while: I mean a dog (without a joke)

Can howl, and bark, but never spoke. Tory. I'm ftill to feek, which dog you

mean;

Whether curr Plunkeit, or whelp Skean,
An English or an Irish hound;
Or t'other puppy that was drown'd,
Or Mafon, that abandon'd bitch :
Then pray be free, and tell me which:
For ev'ry ftander-by was marking
That all the noise they made was barking.
You pay them well; the dogs have got
Their dogs-heads in a porridge pot :
And 'twas but juft; for wife men fay,
That ev'ry dog must have his day.
Dog Walpole laid a quart of nog on't,
He'd either make a bog or dog on't;
And look'd, fince he has got his wish,
As if he had thrown down a difb.
Yet this I dare foretel you from it,
He'll foon return to his own vomit.
Whig. Befides, this horrid plot was found
By Neynoe, after he was drown'd.

E 2

Tory.