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For, when in Bed we rest our weary Limbs, The Mind, unburthen'd, sports in various Whims. The busy Head with mimick Art runs o'er The Scenes and A&ions of the Day before.
The drowsy Tyrant, by his Minions led,
The Soldier smiling hears the Widows Cries, And stabs the Son before the Mother's Eyes. With like Remorse his Brother of the Trade, The Butcher, feels the Lamb beneath his Blade.
The Statesman rakes the Town to find a Plot, And dreams of Forfeitures by Treason got. Nor less Torn Tad-mon of true Statesman Mold, Collects the City Filch in Search of Gold.
ORPHANS around his Bed the Lawyer sees, And takes the Plaintiff's and Defendant's Fees. His Fellow Pick-Purse, watching for a Job, Fancies his Fingers in the Cully's Fob.
The kind Phyfician grants the Husband's Prayers, Or gives Relief to long-expecting Heirs. The sleeping Hangman ties the fatal Noose, Nor unsuccessful waits for dead Mens Shoes.
THE grave Divine with knotty Points perplext, As if he were awake, nods o'er his Text : While the fly Mountebank attends his Trade, Harangues the Rabble, and is better paid. .
The hireling Senator of modern Days, Bedaubs the guilty Great with nauseous Praise And Dick the Scavenger with equal Grace, Flirts from his Cart the Mud in W's Face.
Dr. Sw- to Mr. Pope, While he was writing the Dunciad.
Written in the Year 1726.
PE has the Talent well to speak,
But not to reach the Ear; His loudest Voice is low and weak, The Dean too deaf to hear
À while they on each other look,
Then diffrent Studies chuse; The Dean fits plodding on a Book,
Pope walks, and courts the Muse:
Now Backs of Letters, though defign'd
For those who more will need 'em; Are filld with Hints, and interlin'd,
Himself can hardly read 'em.
Each Atom by some other struck,
All Turns and Motions tries; Till in a Lump together stuck,
Behold a Poem rise!
Yet to the Dean his Share allot;
He claims it by a Canon;
Is, caufa fine quâ non.
Thus, Pope, in vain you
boast your Wit; For, had our deaf Divine Been for your Conversation fit,
You had not writ a Line.
Of S Sherlock thus, for preaching fam’d;
The Sexton reason'd well,
Because he rang the Bell.
March 13, 1726-7.
HIS Day, whate'er the Fates decree,
Shall still be kept with Joy by me:
N. B. Not the present Bishop of Bangor, but his father, who was Dean of St. Paul's; the Son being only famous for his enllaving Speech in the House of Lords.
ALTHOUGH we now can form no more
Were future Happiness and Pain;
SA Ý, Stella, feel you no Content; Reflecting on a Life well spent?