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Observe what Loads of stupid Rhymes
Oppress us in corrupted Times :
What Pamphlets in a Court's Defence,
Shew Reason, Grammar, Truth, or Sense ?
For, though the Muse 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 soon your conscience lull;
If not, however seated high,
Your Genius in
Face will fly.
When Fove was from his teeming Head,
Of Wit's fair Goddess brought to Bed,
There follow'd at his Lying in
For After-birth, a Sooterkin ;
Which, as the Nurse pursu'd to kill,
Attain'd by Flight the Muses Hill :
There in the Soil began to root,
And litter'd at Parnassus' Foot,
From hence the Critick Vermin sprung,
With Harpy Claws, and pois’nous Tongue,
Who fatten on poetick Scraps ;
Too cunning to be caught in Traps.
Dame Nature, as the Learned show,
Provides each Animal its Foe :
Hounds hunt the Hare, the wily Fox
Devours your Geese, the Wolf your Flocks:
Thus, Envy pleads a natral Claim
To persecute the Muses Fame ;
On Poets in all Times abusive,
From Homer down to Pope inclusive.
Yet, what avails it to complain ?
You try to take Revenge in vain.
A Rat your utmost Rage defies
That safe behind the Wainscot lies.
Say, did you ever know by Sight
In Cheese an individual Mite ?
Shew me the same 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 last Garret where they lay ;
Or Cellar, where they starve 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 so much more ;
Themselves would be the first to tell,
To make their Trash the better sell.
You have been libell'dLet us know
What Fool officious told you fo.
Will you regard the Hawker's Cries,
Who in his Titles always lies?
Whate'er the noisy Scoundrel says,
It might be something in your
And, Praise bestow'd in Grub-street 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 Phæbus while I rhyme,
To oblige your Crony St,
Bring our Dame a New-Year's Gift:
She has got but half a Face:
Janus, since thou hast 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 lose it quite.
take Delight in viewing This
poor Ine's approaching Ruin? When thy Retrospection valt, Sees the glorious Ages past.
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,
P'll have Youth and Beauty still.
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 House five Hundred more.
* Sir Arthur too shall have his Will,
And call the Mansion Drapier's Hill
That when a Nation long en slavid,
Forgets by whom it once was fav'd ;
When none the DRAPIER'S Praise shall sing ;
His Signs aloft no longer swing;
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 fourish still,
And DRAPIE R's vye with Cooper's Hill.
* The Gentleman of whom the Purchase was made.
+ Medals were cast ; 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 poisonous Juice which kills by Cold,