SOME, when an Heir fucceeds; go boldly on, And, as they robb'd the Father, rob the Son. A Knave, who deep embroils his Lord's Affairs, Will foon grow neceffary to his Heirs.

His Policy confifts in fetting Traps,

In finding Ways and Means, and stopping Gaps:
He knows a thousand Tricks, whene'er he please,
Though, not to cure, yet palliate each Disease.
In either Cafe, an equal Chance is run :
For keep, or turn him out, my Lord's undone.
You want a Hand to clear a filthy Sink
No cleanly Workman can endure the Stink.
A strong Dilemma in a defp'rate Case!
To act with Infamy, or quit the Place.

;

A BUNGLER thus, who scarce the Nail can hit, With driving wrong, will make the Pannel split: Nor, dares an abler Workman undertake To drive a fecond, left the whole should break.

IN ev'ry Court the Parallel will hold;

And Kings, like private Folks, are bought and fold;
The ruling Rogue, who dreads to be cashier'd;
Contrives, as he is hated, to be fear'd;
Confounds Accounts, perplexes all Affairs;
For, Vengeance more embroils, than Skill repairs.
So, Robbers (and their Ends are just the fame)
To 'scape Enquiries, leave the Houfe in Flame.

I KNEW a brazen Minifter of State, Who bore for twice ten Years the publick Hate:

VOL. II.

Z

In

In every Mouth the Question most in Vogue.
Was; When will THEY turn out this odious Rogue?
A Juncture happen'd in his highest Pride:
While HE went robbing on; old Mafter dy'd.
We thought, there now remain'd no room to doubt,
His Work is done, the Minifter must out.

The Court invited more than One, or Two:
Will you, Sir Spencer? or, will you, or you?
B, not a Soul his Office durft accept :
The fubtle Knave had all the Plunder fwept.
And fuch was then the Temper of the Times,
He ow'd his Prefervation to his Crimes.
The Candidates obferv'd his dirty Paws,

Nor found it difficult to guess the Cause :

But when they fmelt fuch foul Corruptions round

him;

Away they fled, and left him as they found him.

THUS, when a greedy Sloven once has thrown His Snet into the Mefs; 'tis all bis own.

IVe

We found the following Poem printed in Fog's Journal of the 17th of Sept. 1731. It was written in the laft Seffion, and many Copies were taken, but never printed here. The Subject of it is now over; but our Author's known Zeal against that Project, made him generally fuppofed to be the Author. We reprint it just as it lyes in Fog's Journal.

The following Poem is the Product of Ireland; it was occafioned by the B--s of that Kingdom endeavouring to get an Act to divide the Church Livings, which Bill was rejected by the Irish Houfe of Commons. It is faid to be written by an honest Curate; the Reader of Tafte perhaps, may guess who the Curate could be, that was capable of writing it.

Written in the Year 1731.

LD Latimer preaching did fairly defcribe

OLD

A B-; who rul'd all the rest of his Tribe; And who is this B-? and where does he dwell? Why truly, 'tis Satan, Arch-b- of Hell: And HE was a Primate, and HE wore a Mitre, Surrounded with Jewels of Sulphur and Nitre. How nearly this B- our B-refembles!

But his has the Odds, who believes, and who trembles.
Cou'd you fee his grim Grace, for a Pound to a
Penny,

You'd fwear it must be the Baboon of Kny: A
Poor Satan will think the Comparison odious;
I wish I could find him out one more commodious.

But this I am fure, the Most Rev'rend old Dragon,
Has got on the Bench many B-s Suffragan :
And all Men believe he prefides there incog.
To give them by Turns an invifible Jog.

OUR B-s puft up with Wealth and with Pride,
To Hell on the Backs of the Clergy wou'd ride;
They mounted, and labour'd with Whip and with
Spur,

In vain-for the Devil a Parfon wou'd ftir.

So, the Commons unhors'd them, and this was their
Doom,

On their Crofiers to ride, like a Witch on a Broom.
Tho' they gallop fo faft, on the Road you may
find 'em,

And have left us but Three out of Twenty behind'em,
Lord * Bolton's good Grace, † Lord Car, and Lord
|| Howard,

In fpight of the Devil would still be untoward.
They came of good Kindred, and cou'd not endure
Their former Companions fhould beg at their Door.

WHEN CHRIST was betray'd to Pilate, the
Prætor,

In a Dozen Apoftles but one prov'd a Traytor!
One Traytor alone, and faithful Eleven ;

But we can afford you Six Traytors in Seven.

WHAT a Clutter with Clippings, Dividings, and
Cleavings!

And the Clergy, forfooth, muft take up with their

Leavings.

If

1

* Archbishop of CASHEL.
Bishop of ELPHIN.

+Bishop of KILLALLOOE.

If making Divifions was all their Intent,

They've done it, we thank 'em; but not as they

meant ;

And fo may fuch B-s for ever divide,

That no honeft Heathen would be on their Side. How shou'd we rejoice; if, like Judas the first, Thofe Splitters of Parfons in funder shou'd burst?

Now hear an Allufion!-A Mitre, you know, Is divided above, but united below.

If this you confider, our Emblem is right;
The B-s divide, but the Clergy unite.

Should the Bottom be split, our B-s would dread,
That the Mitre wou'd never ftick faft on their

Head.

And yet they have learnt the chief Art of aSov'reign,
As Machiavel taught 'em; divide and ye govern.
But, Courage, my L-ds, tho' it cannot be said,
That one cloven Tongue, ever fat on your Head;
I'll hold you a Groat, and I wish I cou'd see't
If your Stockings were off, you cou'd fhew cloven
Feet.

BUT hold, cry the B-s; and give us fair Play; Before you condemn us, hear what we can fay. What truer Affection cou'd ever be shown, Than faving your Souls, by damning our own? And have we not practis'd all Methods to gain you; With the Tyth of the Tyth of the Tyth to main

tain you:

Provided