Which, in its Jumblings round the Skull,
Dilates, and makes the Veffel full;
While nothing comes but Froth at first,
You think your giddy Head will burst:
But, fqueezing out four Lines in Rhime,
Are largely paid for all your Time.
BUT, you have rais'd your gen'rous Mind
To Works of more exalted Kind.
Palladio was not half so skill'd in
The Grandeur or the Art of Building.
Two Temples of magnifick Size,
Attract the curious Trav'llers Eyes,
That might be envy'd by the Greeks;
Rais'd up by you in twenty Weeks:
Here, gentle Goddess Cloacine
Receives all Off'rings at her Shrine :
In fep'rate Cells the He's and She's
Here pay their Vows with bended Knees:
(For, 'tis prophane when Sexes mingle,
And ev'ry Nymph muft enter fingle;
And when the feels an inward Motion,
Comes fill'd with Rev'rence and Devotion,)
The bashful Maid, to hide her Blush,
Shall creep no more behind a Bush;
Here unobferv'd fhe boldly goes,
As who fhould fay, to pluck a Rofe.
YE, who frequent this hallow'd Scene, Be not ungrateful to the D-n;
But, duly e're you leave your Station,
Libation;
Offer to him a pure
Or, of his own, or * Smedley's Lay,
Or Billet-doux, or Lock of Hay :
And, O! may all who hither come,
Return with unpolluted Thumb,
YET, when your lofty Domes I praise,
I figh to think of antient Days.
Permit me then to raise my Style,
And sweetly moralize a while.
THEE, bounteous Goddess Cloacine,
To Temples why do we confine?
Forbid in open Air to breath;
Why are thine Altars fix'd beneath?
WHEN Saturn rul'd the Skies alone,
That golden Age, to Gold unknown;
This earthly Globe to thee affign'd,
Receiv'd the Gifts of all Mankind.
Ten thousand Altars fmoaking round
Were built to thee, with Off'rings crown'd;
And, here thy daily Vot'ries plac'd
Their Sacrifice with Zeal and Hafte:
The Marging of a purling Stream,
Sent up to thee a grateful Steam.
(Though fometimes thou wer't pleas'd to wink, If Nayads fwept them from the Brink)
*See his Character in the Notes, Page 317.
Or, where appointing Lovers rove,
The Shelter of a fhady Grove:
Or, offer'd in fome flow'ry Vale,
Were wafted by a gentle Gale.
There, many a Flow'r abstersive grew
Thy fav'rite Flow'rs of yellow Hue;
The Crocus and the Daffodil,
The Cowflip foft, and fweet Jonquil,
BUT, when at laft ufurping Jove
Old Saturn from his Empire drove ;
Then Gluttony with greafy Paws,
Her Napkin pinn'd up to her Jaws,
With wat❜ry Chaps, and wagging Chin,
Brac'd like a Drum her oily Skin ;
Wedg'd in a spacious Elbow Chair,
And on her Plate a treble Share,
As if the ne'er could have enough;
Taught harmless Man to cram and stuff.
She fent her Priests in wooden Shoes
From haughty Gaul to make Ragous.
Instead of wholesome Bread and Cheese,
To dress their Soupes and Fricaffyes;
And, for our home-bred British Chear,
Botargo, Catfup, and Caveer.
THIS bloated Harpy, fprung from Hell,
Confin'd thee, Goddess, to a Cell:
Sprung from her Womb that impious Line,
Contemners of thy Rites divine.
First, lolling Slotb in Woollen Cap,
Taking her After-dinner Nap:
Pale Dropfy with a fallow Face,
Her Belly burft, and flow her Pace:
And, lordly Gout, wrapt up in Furr,
And, wheezing Afthma, loth to stir:
Voluptuous Eafe, the Child of Wealth,
Infecting thus our Hearts by Stealth:
None feek thee now in open Air;
To thee no verdant Altars rear;
But, in their Cells and Vaults obfcene,
Prefent a Sacrifice unclean;
From whence unfav'ry Vapours rofe,
Offensive to thy nicer Nose.
АH! who in our degen❜rate Days
As Nature prompts, his Off'ring pays?
Here, Nature never Diff'rence made
Between the Sceptre and the Spade.
YE Great ones, why will ye difdain
To pay your Tribute on the Plain ?
Why will you place in lazy Pride
Your Altars near your Couches Side?.
*When from the homelieft Earthen Ware
Are fent up Off'rings more fincere,
Than where the haughty Dutchefs locks
Her Silver Vafe in Cedar-Box.
*Vide VIRGIL and LUCRETIUS.
YET, fome Devotion ftill remains.
Among our harmless Northern Swains;
Whofe Off'rings plac'd in golden Ranks,
Adorn our chryftal Rivers Banks:
Nor feldom grace the flow'ry Downs,
With spiral Tops and Copple-Crowns ;
Or gilding in a funny Morn
The humble Branches of a Thorn.
(So Poets fing, with golden Bough
The Trojan Hero paid his Vow.)
HITHER by luckless Error led,
The crude Confistence oft I tread,
Here, when my Shoes are out of Cafe
Unweeting gild the tarnifh'd Lace :
Here, by the facred Bramble ting'd,
My Petticoat is doubly fring'd.
BE Witness for me, Nymph divine,
I never robb'd thee with Defign:
Nor will the zealous Hannah pout,
To wash thy injur'd Off'rings out.
BUT, ftop ambitious Mufe, in time;
Nor dwell on Subjects too fublime.
In vain on lofty Heels I tread,
Afpiring to exalt my Head:
With Hoop expanded wide and light,
In vain I tempt too high a Flight.
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