But for the Politicks of J Pue,
Thinks every Syllable is true.
And fince he owns the King of Sweden
Is dead at laft, without evading;
Now all his Hopes are in the Czar;
Why, Muscovy is not fo far;
"Down the Black-Sea, and up the Streights,
And in a Month he's at your Gates: Perhaps from what the Packet brings "By Christmas we fhall fee ftrange Things."
WHY fhould I tell of Ponds and Drains,
What Carps we met with for our Pains;
Of Sparrow's tam'd, and Nuts innumerable,
To choak the Girls, and to confuine a Rabble?
But you, who are a Scholar, know
How tranfient all Things are below;
How prone to change is human Life;
Laft Night arriv'd ↑ Clem and his Wife
This grand Event hath broke our Measures;
Their Reign began with cruel Seizures:
The Dean muft with his Quilt füpply
The Bed in which thefe Tyrants lie:
Nim loft his Wig-Block, Dan his Jordan;
(My Lady fays fhe can't afford one)
George is half fcar'd out of his Wits,
For Clem gets all the tiny Bits.
Henceforth expect a different Survey;
This House will foon turn Topfy-turvey:
They talk of further Alterations,
Which causes many Speculations.
Written in the Year 1720.
IGHT Trufty, and fo forth,-We let you to
know,
We are very ill us'd by you Mortals below.
For firft, I have often by Chymifts been told,
Tho' I know nothing on't, it is I that makes Gold,
Which when you have got, you so carefully hide it, fo
That fince I was born, I hardly have spy'd it.
Then it must be allow'd, that when ever I thině,
I forward the Grass, and I ripen the Vine;
To me the good Fellows apply for Relief,
Without whom they could get neither Claret, nor
Beef;
Yet their Wine and their Victuals these Curmud
geon Lubbards,
Lock up from my Sight, in Cellars and Cupboards.
That I have an ill Eye, they wickedly think,
And taint all their Meat, and fow'r all their Drink,
But thirdly and lastly, it must be allow'd,
I alone can inspire the poetical Croud:
This is gratefully own'd by each Boy in the College,
Whom if I infpire, it is not to my Knowledge.
This ev'ry Pretender to Rhime will admit,
Without troubling his Head about Judgment or
Wit,
Thefe Gentlemen ufe me with Kindness and/
Freedom,
for their Works, when I please I may read
They lie open on purpofe on Counters and Stalls,
And the Titles I view, when I fhine on the Walls.
But a Comrade of yours, that Traitor Delany,
Whom I, for your Sake, love better than any,
And of my mere Motion and special good Grace,
Intended in Time to fucceed in your Place;
On Tuesday the Tenth feditionfly came,
With a certain falfe Traitress, one Stella by Name,
To the Deanary House, and on the North Glass,
Where for fear of the Cold I never can pass;
Then and there, Vi & Armis, with a certain Utenfil,
Of Value five Shillings, in English a Pencil,
Did maliciously, falfly, and trait'roully write;
Whilft Stella aforefaid ftood by with a Light.
My Sifter has lately depos'd upon Oath,
That the stopt in her Course to look at them both :
That Stella was helping, abetting and aiding,
And still as he writ, ftood fmiling and reading;
That her Eyes were as bright as my self at Noonday,
But her graceful black Locks were mingled with
And by the Defcription I certainly know,
'Tis the Nymph that I courted fome ten Years ago;
Who, when I with the best of my Talents endu'd
On her Promife of yielding; fhe acted the Prude.
That fome Verfes were writ with felonious Intent,
Direct to the North, where I never went;
That the Letters appear'd reverse thro' the Pane,
But in Stella's bright Eyes they were plac'd right
Wherein
Wherein she distinctly could read e'ry Line,
And prefently guefs'd the Fancy was mine.
Now you fee, why his Verfes fo feldom are fhewn;
The Reafon is plain, they're none of his own;
And obferve while you live, that no Man is shy
To discover the Goods, he came honestly by.
If I light on a Thought, he'll certainly fteal it,
And when he has got it, find Ways to conceal it;
Of all the fine Things he keeps in the Dark,
There's scarce one in Ten, but what has my Mark;
And let them be seen by the World if he dare,
I'll make it appear, they are all stolen Ware.
But as for the Poem he writ on your Sash,'
I think I have now got him under my Lash;
My Sifter transcrib'd it last Night to his Sorrow,
And the Publick fhall fee't, if I live till To-morrow
Thro' the Zodiack around, it shall quickly be spread
In all Parts of the Globe, where your Language is
read.
He knows very well, I ne'er
When he ask'd for my Aid in the Forms that are ufual:
But the Secret is this. I did lately intend
To write a few Verses on you, as my Friend:
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