Imatges de pÓgina
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How chearfully the Hawkers cry
A Satyr, and the Gentry buy!
While my hard--labour'd Poem pines
Unfold upon the Printer's Lines.

A Genius in the Rev'rend Gowii,
Must ever keep its Owner down;
'Tis an unnatural Conjun&ion,
And spoils the Credit of the Function.
Round all your Brethren cast your Eyes ;
Point out the surest Men to rise,
That Club of Candidates in Black,
The least deserving of the Pack ;
Aspiring, fa&ious, fierce, and loud ;
With Grace and Learning unendow'd :
Can turn their Hands to ev'ry Jobb,
The fittest Tools to work for Bobb :
Will sooner coin a Thousand Lies
Than suffer Men of Parts to rise :
They crowd about Preferment's Gate,
And press you down with all their Weight.
And, as of old, Mathematicians
Were by the Vulgar chought Magicians ;

So,

So, Academick dull Ale-drinkers Pronounce all Men of Wit, Free-thinkers

WIT, as the Chief of Virtue's Friends, Disdains to serve ignoble Ends. Observe what Loads of stupid Rhymes Oppress us in corrupted Times : What Pamphlets in a Court's Defence Shew Reason, Grammar, Truth, or Sense ? For, though the Muse delights in Fidion, She zie'er inspires against Convi&ion. Then keep your Virtue still unmist; And let not Faction come betwixt. By Party-steps no Grandeur climb at; Tho'it would make you England's Primate : First learn the Science to be dull, You then may foon your Conscience lull ; If not, however seated high, Your Geniús in your Face will fly.

WHEN Jove was, from his teeming Head, Of Wit's fair Goddess brought to Bed; There follow'd at his lying-in For After-birth, a Sooterkin;

Which, as the Nurse pursu'd to kill,
Attain'd by Flight the Muses Hill:
There in the Soil began to root,
And litter'd at Parnasus' Foor.
From hence the Critick-Vermin sprung,
With Harpy Claws, and pois’nous Tongue;
Who fatten on poetick Scraps ;
Too cunning to be caught in Traps.
Dame Nature, as the learned show,
Provides each Animal its Foe :
Hounds hunc the Hare, the wily Fox
Devours your Geese, the Wolf your Flocks :
Thus Envy pleads a nat’ral Claim
To persecute the Muses Fame;
On Poets in all Times abusive,
From Homer down to Pope inclufive.

Yet what avails it to complain?
You try to take Revenge in vain.
A Rat your utmost Rage defies
That safe behind the Wainscot lies.
Say, did you ever know by Sight
In Cheese an individual Mite ?

Shew

)

Shew me the same numerick Flea,
That bit your Neck but Yesterday :
You then may boldly go in Quest
To find the Grub-ftreet Poet's Nest.
What Spunging-house in dread of Jail
Receives them while they wait for Bail?
What Alley are they nestled in,
To flourish o'er a Cup of Gin?
Find the last Garrét where they lay
Of Cellar, where they starvé to-Day:
Suppose you had them all trepann'd
With each a Libel in his Hand :
What Punishment would

you

inflict ? Oí call 'em Rogues, or get 'em kickt : These they have often try'd before ; You but oblige em lo much more : Themselves would be the first to tell, To make their Trash the better sell,

You have been libelld--Let us know
What Fool officious told you so.
Will you regard the Hawker's Cries,
Who in his Titles always lies?

Whate'er

Whate'er the noisy Scoundrel says,
It might be something in your Praise :
And, Praise bestow'd in Grub-Areet Rhymes,
Would vex one more a thousand Times.
'Till Criticks blame, and Judges praise,
The Poet cannot claim his Bays.
On me, when Dunces are satyrick,
Í take it for a Panegyrick.
Hated by Fools, and Fools to hate,
Be that

my

Motto, and my Fate: :

AN

Excellent new BALLAD; or the true English * Dean to be hanged for a Rape.

Written in the YEAR 1730.

I.

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UR Brethren of England, who love us fo

dear, And in all they do for us so kindly do mean, A Blessing upon them, have sent us this Year,

For the Good of our Church a true English Dean. VOL. II.

T

A ho

Sawbridge, Dean of Fernes, lately deceased.

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