Imatges de pÓgina
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BYZANTIANS boast, that on the Clod
Where once their Sultan's Horse hath trod,
Grows neither Grass, nor Shrub, nor Tree;
The same thy Subjects boast of Thee.

The greatest Lord, when you appear
Will deign your Livery to wear,
In all thy various Colours seen,
Of Red, and Yellow, Blue, and Green,

With half a Word, when you require, The Man of Bus'ness must retise.

The haughty Minister of State, With Trembling must thy Leisure wait; And while his Fate is in thy Hands, The Busness of the Nation stands.

Thou dar'st the greatest Prince attack,
Can'st hourly see him on the Rack,
And, as an Instance of thy Pow'r,
Inclose him in a wooden Tow'r,
With pungent Pains on ev'ry Side;
So Regulus in Torments dy'd.

FROM T

From thee our Youth all Virtues learn;
Dangers with Prudence to discern;
And well thy Scholars are endu'd
With Temp’rance, and with Fortitude ;
With Patience, which all Ills supports;
And Secrecy, the Art of Courts.

.4

The glittring Beau could hardly tell, Without your Aid, to read or spell; But, having long convers’d with you, Knows how to scrawl a Billet-doux.

a

WITH what Delight, methinks, I trace
Thy Blood in ev'ry noble Race!
In whom thy Features, Shape, and Mien,
Are to the Life distinctly seen.

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The Britons, once a savage Kind,
By you were brighten’d and refin'd:
Descendents of the barb'rous Huns,
With Limbs robust, and Voice chat stuns

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But
you

have molded them afresh, Remov'd the tough superfluous Flesh, Taught them to modulate their Tongues,

.. And speak without the Help of Lụngs.

PRO

PROTEUS on you bestow'd the Boon
To change your Visage like the Moon;
You sometimes half a Face produce,
Keep t’other Half for private Use.

a

How fam'd thy Conduct in the Fight,
With Hermes, Son of Pleias bright :
Out-number’d, half encompass'd round,
You ftroye for ev'ry Inch of Ground;
Then, by a soldierly Retreat,
Retir'd to your Imperial Seat,
The Vi&pr, when your Steps he trac’d,
Found all the Realms before him waste
You, o'er the high triumphal Arch
Pontifick, made your glorious March ;
The wondrous Arch behind you fell,
And left a Chasm profound as Hell:
You, in your Capicol secur'd,
A Siege as long as Troy endur'd.

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Е РІ,

Mercury

EPILOGUE to a PLAY,

For the BENEFIT of the

WEAVERS in IRELAND.

Written about the Year 1721.

WH

HO dares affirm this is no pious Age,

When Charity begins to tread the Stage? When Actors, who at best are hardly Savers, Will give a Night of Benefit to Weavers? Stay, - let me see, how finely will it sound! Imprimis, From his Grace an Hundred Pound. Peers, Clergy, Gentry, all are Benefactors; And then comes in the Item of the Actors, Item, the Actors freely gave a Day, The Poet had no more, who made the Play,

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But whence this wondrous Charity in Play'rs? They learnt it no: at Sermons, or at Pray’rs :

Under

Under the Rose, fince here are.none but Friends,
(To own the Truth) we have some private Ends.
Since Waiting Women, like exacting Jades, : ;
Hold up the Prices of their old Brocades;
We'll dress in Manufaftures made at home;
Equip our Kings and Generals at the * Comb
We'll rig in Meatb-ftreet Ægypt's haughty Queen;
Ánd Anthony shall court her in Ratteen.
In blue Sballoon shall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irish purple Plad.
In Drugget drest, of Thirteen Pençe a Yard,
See Philip's Son amidst his Perfian Guard;
And proud Roxana fir'd with jealous Rage;
With fifty Yards of Crape, shall sweep the Stage.
In short, our Kings and Princesses within,
Are all resolv'd the Project to begin;
And you, our Subjects, when you here resort,
Must iinitate the Fashion of the Court.

a

OH! cou'd I see this Audience clad in Stuff, Tho' Money's scarce; we thould have Trade

enough: But Chints, Brocades, and Lace, take all away, , And scarce a Crown is left to see a Play:

Per

# Street in Dublin famsks for Woollen Mantifures.

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