Imatges de pÓgina

"Lewis; the Dean will be of Ufe,
"Send for him up, take no Excuse.
The Toil, the Danger of the Seas;
Great Minifters ne'er think of thefe;
Or let it coft five hundred Pound,
No Matter where the Money's found;
It is but fo much more in Debt,
And that they ne'er consider'd yet.

"GOOD Mr. Dean, go change your Gown; "Let my Lord know, you're come to Town: I hurry me in hafte away,

Not thinking it is Levee-Day;
And find his Honour in a Pound,

Hemm'd by a triple Circle round.

Chequer'd with Ribbons blue and green;
How fhould I thrust my felf between?





Some Wag obferves me thus perplex'd,

And smiling whispers to the next,

"I thought the Dean had been too proud, "To jostle here among a Crowd.

Another, in a furly Fit,


Tells me, I have more Zeal than Wit.


17. Sive aquilo radit terras, feu bruma nivalem Interiore diem gyro trahit, ire neceffe eft.

35. Quid vis, infane, & quas res agis? improbus urget, Iratis precibus, tu pulfes omne quod obftat, Ad Mecanatem memori fi mente recurras.

Hoc juvat, & melli eft, non mentiar.

"So eager to express your Love,
"You ne'er confider, whom you shove;
"But rudely prefs before a Duke.
I own, I'm pleas'd with this Rebuke;
And take it kindly meant to how,
What I defire the World should know,

I GET a Whisper, and withdraw; When twenty Fools, I never faw, Come with Petitions fairly penn'd, Defiring I would ftand their Friend.

THIS, humbly offers me his Cafe: That begs my Int'reft for a Place. A hundred other Men's Affairs, Like Bees are humming in my Ears: "To morrow my Appeal comes on, "Without your Help the Cause is goneThe Duke expects my Lord and you, About fome great Affair, at Two "Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind "To get my Warrant quickly sign'd. "Confider, 'tis my firft Request,Be fatisfy'd, I'll do my best: Then presently he falls to teaze; $ You may for certain, if you please;

44- -Aliena negotia centum Per caput & circa faliunt latus. 60.-Si vis, potes, addit & inftat.






"I doubt

"I doubt not, if your Lordfhip knew—
"And, Mr. Dean, one Word from you-

'Tis (let me fee) three Years and more,
(October next, it will be four)

Since HARLEY bid me first attend,
And chose me for an humble Friend:
Would take me in his Coach to chat,
And question me of this and that;


As "What's a Clock?" And, "How's the Wind?

"Who's Chariot's that we left behind?


Or gravely try to read the Lines

Writ underneath the Country Signs :

Or, "Have you nothing new To-day,

"From Pope, from Parnel, or from Gay?

Such Tattle often entertains



My Lord and me as far as Stains :
As once a Week we travel down
To Windfor, and again to Town;
Where all that paffes, inter nos,
Might be proclaim'd at Charing-Cross.

YET, fome I know with Envy fwell,
Because they see me us'd fo well:


63. Septimus octavo proprior jam fugerit annus,
quo Mecenas me cæpit habere fuorum

In numero; duntaxat ad hoc, quem tollere rhedâ
Vellet iter faciens, & crui concedere nugas.
81.- -Subjector in diem & horam,




"How think you of our Friend the Dean? "I wonder, what fome People mean;

[ocr errors]

My Lord and He are grown fo great, "Always together, teté, a teté:

"What? They admire him for his Jokes"See but the Fortune of fome Folks!

THERE flies about a strange Report
Of fome Express, arriv'd at Court;
I'm stopt by all the Fools I meet,
And catechiz'd in ev'ry Street.
"You, Mr. Dean, frequent the Great:

"Inform us, will the Emp❜ror treat?

Or, do the Prints and Papers lye? Faith, Sir, you know as much as I. "Ah Doctor, how you love to jeft ? " 'Tis now no Secret I proteft 'Tis one to me.- Then, tell us, pray "When are the Troops to have their Pay? And, tho' I folemnly declare,

I know no more than my Lord Mayor,

They stand amaz'd, and think me grown
The closest Mortal ever known.





THUS in Sea of Folly toft,


My choicest Hours of Life are lost;


89. Frigidus à Roftris manat per compita rumor; Quicunque obvius eft, me confulit.

101. Jurantem me scire nihil, mirantur, ut unum Scilicet egregii, mortalem, altique filenti.



Yet alway wishing to retreat:
Oh, could I see my Country Seat!

There leaning near a gentle Brook,
Sleep, or perufe fome antient Book;
And there, in sweet Oblivion, drown

Those Cares, that haunt a Court and Town.

108. O Rus, quando ego te afpiciam, quandoque licebit,
Nunc veterum libris, nunc fomno, & inertibus horis,
Ducere follicitæ jucunda oblivia vitæ ?


An ELEGY on the supposed Death of PARTRIGE the Almanackmaker.

Written in the Year 1708.


ELL; 'tis as Bickerstaff has guest,
Tho' we all took it for a Jeft:

Partrige is dead; nay more, he dy'd,
'Ere he could prove the good 'Squire ly'd.
Strange, an Aftrologer fhould die,
Without one Wonder in the Sky!
Not one of all his Crony Stars
To pay their Duty at his Herfe?


« AnteriorContinua »