Obferve what Loads of ftupid Rhymes
Opprefs us in corrupted Times:
What Pamphlets in a Court's Defence,
Shew Reafon, Grammar, Truth, or Sense?
For, though the Mufe delights in Fiction,
She ne'er inspires against Conviction.
Then keep your Virtue still unmixt,
And let not Faction come betwixt.
By Party-steps no Grandeur climb at,
Tho' it would make you England's Primate:
First learn the Science to be dull,
You then may foon your Confcience lull;
If not, however seated high,
Your Genius in your Face will fly.
WHEN Jove was from his teeming Head,
Of Wit's fair Goddefs brought to Bed,
There follow'd at his Lying in
For After-birth, a Sooterkin;
Which, as the Nurfe purfu'd to kill,
Attain'd by Flight the Mufes Hill:
There in the Soil began to root,
And litter'd at Parnaffus' Foot,
From hence the Critick Vermin fprung,
With Harpy Claws, and pois❜nous Tongue,
Who fatten on poetick Scraps;
Too cunning to be caught in Traps.
Dame Nature, as the Learned fhow,
Provides each Animal its Foe:
Hounds hunt the Hare, the wily Fox
Devours your Geefe, the Wolf your Flocks:
Thus, Envy pleads a natʼral Claim
To perfecute the Mufes Fame;
On Poets in all Times abufive,
From Homer down to Pope inclufive.
YET, what avails it to complain?
You try to take Revenge in vain.
A Rat your utmost Rage defies
That fafe behind the Wainscot lies.
Say, did you ever know by Sight
In Cheese an individual Mite?
Shew me the fame numerick Flea,
That bit your Neck but Yesterday:
You then may boldly go in Quest
To find the Grub-street Poets Nest.
What Spunging-house in dread of Jail,
Receives them while they wait for Bail?
What Alley are they nestled in,
To flourish o'er a Cup of Gin?
Find the laft Garret where they lay;
Or Cellar, where they ftarve to-Day:
Suppose you had them all trepann'd
With each a Libel in his Hand:
What Punishment would you inflict?
Or call 'em Rogues, or get 'em kickt:
These they have often try'd before;
You but oblige 'em fo much more;
Themselves would be the first to tell,
To make their Trafh the better fell.
You have been libell'd-Let us know What Fool officious told you fo.
Will you regard the Hawker's Cries,
Who in his Titles always lies?
Whate'er the noify Scoundrel fays,
It might be fomething in your Praise :
And, Praise bestow'd in Grub-ftreet Rhymes,
Would vex one more a thousand Times.
Till Criticks blame, and Judges praise,
The Poet cannot claim his Bays.
On me, when Dunces are fatyrick,
I take it for a Panegyrick;
Hated by Fools, and Fools to hate,
Be that my Motto, and my Fate.
To JANUS on New Year's Day.
Written in the Year 1729.
WO fac'd Janus, God of Time,
Be my Phabus while I rhyme,
To oblige your Crony St,
Bring our Dame a New-Year's Gift:
She has got but half a Face:
Janus, fince thou haft a Brace,
To my Lady once be kind;
Give her half thy Face behind.
GOD of Time, if you be wise,
Look not with your future Eyes;
VOL. II:
What imports thy forward Sight?
Well, if you could lofe it quite.
Can you take Delight in viewing
This poor Isle's approaching Ruin?
When thy Retrospection vaft,
Sees the glorious Ages paft.
HAPPY Nation were we blind,
Or, had only Eyes behind.
DROWN your Morals, Madam cryes;
I'll have none but forward Eyes:
Prudes decay'd about may tack,
Strain their Necks with looking back:
Give me Time when coming on ;
Who regards him when he's gone?
By the D-n though gravely told,
New Years help to make me old;
Yet I find, a New-Year's Lace
Burnishes an old Year's Face.
Give me Velvet and Quadrille,
I'll have Youth and Beauty ftill.
Written in the Year 1728.
E give the World to understand,
Our thriving Dean has purchas'd Land;
A Purchase, which will bring him clear,
Above his Rent four Pounds a Year;
Provided, to improve the Ground,
He will but add two Hundred Pound,
And from his endless hoarded Store,
To build a Houfe five Hundred more.
* Sir Arthur too fhall have his Will,
And call the Manfion Drapier's Hill;
That when a Nation long enflav❜d,
Forgets by whom it once was fav'd;
When none the DRAPIER'S Praise fhall fing;
His Signs aloft no longer fwing;
His Medals and his Prints forgotten,
And all his Handkerchiefs are rotten;
His famous LETTERS made waste Paper;
This Hill may keep the Name of DRAPIER:
In Spight of Envy flourish still,
And DRAPIER's vye with COOPER'S Hill.
*The Gentleman of whom the Purchase was made.
+ Medals were caft; many Signs hung up; and Handkerchiefs made with Devices in Honour of the Author, under the Name of M. B. DRAPIER.
Written in the Year 1729.
N Afs's Hoof alone can hold,
That pois'nous Juice which kills by Cold,
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