A SKELETON in outward Figure,

His meagre Corps, though full of Vigour,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.

So wonderful his Expedition,

When you
have not the leaft Sufpicion,
He's with you like an Apparition.

SHINES in all Climates like a Star;
In Senates bold, and fierce in War,
A Land-Commander, and a Tarr.

HEROICK Actions early bred in,
Ne'er to be match't in modern Reading,
But by his Name-fake Charles of Sweden.

BY

F U DA S.

Written in the Year 173 1.

Y the juft Vengeance of incenfed Skies, Poor Bishop Judas, late repenting, dies; The Jews engag'd him with a paultry Bribe, Amounting hardly to a Crown a Tribe;

Which, though his Confcience forc'd him to reftore,

(And, Parfons tell us, no Man can do more)
Yet, through Defpair, of God and Man accurst,
He loft his Bishoprick, and hang'd, or bürft.
Those former Ages differ'd much from this:
Judas betray'd his Master with a Kifs:

But, fome have kiss't the Gospel Fifty Times,
Whose Perjury's the leaft of all their Crimes:
Some who can perjure thro' a two-Inch Board;
Yet keep their Bishopricks, and 'fcape the Cord.

Like Hemp, which by a skilful Spinster drawn

To flender Threads, may fometimes pafs for Lawn.

As antient Judas by Transgression fell, And burft afunder e'er he went to Hell;

So, could we fee a Set of new Iscariots,

Come headlong tumbling from their mitred Chariots,
Each modern Judas perish like the first;

Drop from the Tree with all his Bowels burst;
Who could forbear, that view'd each guilty Face,
To cry; Lo, Judas, gone to his own Place :
His Habitation let all Men forfake,
And let his Bishoprick another take.

In SICKNESS.

Written foon after the Author's coming to live in Ireland, upon the Queen's Death, October 1714.

IS true, then why fhould I repine,

To fee

my Life fo faft decline?

But, why obfcurely here alone?

Where I am neither lov'd nor known.

My

My State of Health none care to learn ;
My Life is here no Soul's Concern.
And, those with whom I now converse,
Without a Tear will tend my Herse.
Remov'd from kind Arbuthnot's Aid,

Who knows his Art but not his Trade

3

Preferring his Regard for me

Before his Credit or his Fee.

Some formal Vifits, Looks, and Words,
What meer Humanity affords,

I meet perhaps from three or four,
From whom I once expected more;
Which those who tend the Sick for pay
Can act as decently as they.
But, no obliging, tender Friend
To help at my approaching End,
My Life is now a Burthen grown
To others, e'er it be my own.

Yr formal Weepers for the Sick,
In your last Offices be quick:

And spare my absent Friends the Grief
To hear, yet give me no Relief;
Expir'd To-day, entomb'd To-morrow,
When known, will fave a double Sorrow.

*A a

The

The Author having wrote a Treatise, advising the People of Ireland to wear their own Manufactures, a Profecution was fet on foot against Waters the Printer thereof, which was carried on with fo much Violence, that one Whitshed, then Chief Fuftice, thought proper, in a Manner the moft extraordinary, to keep the Grand-Fury above twelve Hours, and to fend them eleven times out of Court, until he had wearied them into a fpecial Verdict.

A N

Excellent new SONG on a feditious Pamphlet.

B

To the Tune of Packington's Pound.

Written in the Year 1720.

ROCADO's, and Damasks, and Tabbies, and

Gawfes,

Are by Robert Ballentine lately Brought over; With Forty Things more: Now hear what the

Law fays,

Whoe'er will not were them, is not the King's

Lover.

Tho