We'll rig in Meath-ftreet Egypt's haughty Queen;
And Antony fhall court her in Ratteen.
In blue Shalloon fhall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irish purple Plad.
In Drugget dreft, of Thirteen Pence a Yard,
See Philip's Son amidst his Perfian Guard;
And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous Rage,
With fifty Yards of Crape, fhall fweep the Stage.
In fhort, our Kings and Princeffes within,
Are all refolv'd the Project to begin;
And you, our Subjects, when you here refort,
Muft imitate the Fashion of the Court.
OH! Could I fee this Audience clad in Stuff,
Tho' Money's scarce, we should have Trade enough;
But Chints, Brocades, and Lace, take all away,
And scarce a Crown is left to see a Play.
Perhaps you wonder whence this Friendship fprings
Between the Weavers and us Play-house Kings:
But Wit and Weaving had the fame Beginning;
Pallas first taught us Poetry and Spinning:
And next obferve how this Alliance fits,
For Weavers now are just as poor as Wits:
Their Brother Quill-Men, Workers for the Stage,
For forry Stuff can get a Crown a Page;
But Weavers will be kinder to the Players,
And fell for Twenty Pence a Yard of theirs.
And, to your Knowledge, there is often lefs in
The Poet's Wit, than in the Player's Dreffing.
Written in the Year 1723.
ROM Venus born, thy Beauty shows;
But who thy Father, no Man knows ;
Nor can the skilful Herald trace
The Founder of thy ancient Race:
Whether thy Temper, full of Fire,
Discovers Vulcan for thy Sire;
The God who made Scamander boil,
And round his Margin findg'd the Soil;
(From whence Philosophers agree,
An equal Pow'r descends to thee.)
Whether from dreadful Mars you claim
The high Defcent from whence you came,
And, as a Proof, fhew num'rous Scars,
By fierce Encounters made in Wars;
(Those honourable Wounds you bore
From Head to Foot, and all before;)
And still the bloody Field frequent,
Familiar in each Leader's Tent.
Or whether, as the Learn'd contend,
You from the neighb'ring Gaul defcend;
Or from * Parthenope the Proud,
Where numberless thy Vot'ries crowd.
Whether thy great Forefathers came
From Realms, that bear Vefputio's Name;
For fo Conjectors would obtrude,
And from thy painted Skin conclude.
Whether, as Epicurus fhows,
The World from jostling Seeds arose;
Which, mingling with prolifick Strife
In Chaos, kindled into Life;
So your Production was the fame,
And from contending Atoms came.
THY fair indulgent Mother crown'd
Thy Head with sparkling Rubies round;
Beneath thy decent Steps, the Road
Is all with precious Jewels ftrow'd.
The Bird of Pallas knows his Poft,
Thee to attend, where-e'er thou go'st.
BYZANTIANS boast, that on the Clod, Where once their Sultan's Horse hath trod, Grows neither Grass, nor Shrub, nor Tree, The fame thy Subjects boast of Thee.
THE greatest Lord, when you appear,
Will deign your Livery to wear,
In all thy various Colours feen,
Of Red, and Yellow, Blue, and Green.
WITH half a Word, when you require, The Man of Bus'nefs muft retire.
THE haughty Minister of State,
With Trembling muft thy Leifure wait;
And while his Fate is in thy Hands,
The Bus'nefs of the Nation ftands.
THOU dar'ft the greatest Prince attack,
Can't hourly fet him on the Rack,
And, as an Inftance of thy Pow'r,
Inclofe him in a wooden Tow'r,
With pungent Pains on ev'ry Side;
So Regulus in Torments dy'd.
FROM thee our Youth all Virtues learn
Dangers with Prudence to difcern;
And well thy Scholars are endu’d
With Temp'rance, and with Fortitude;
With Patience, which all Ills fupports;
And Secrecy, the Art of Courts.
THE glitt'ring Beau could hardly tell,
Without your Aid, to read or spell;
But, having long convers'd with you,
Knows how to fcrawl a Billet-doux.
WITH What Delight, methinks, I trace
Thy Blood in ev'ry noble Race!
In whom thy Features, Shape, and Mein,
Are to the Life diftinctly seen.
THE Britons, once a favage Kind,
By you were brighten'd and refin'd:
Defcendants of the barb'rous Huns,
With Limbs robuft, and Voice that ftuns;
But you have molded them afresh,
Remov'd the tough fuperfluous Flesh,
Taught them to modulate their Tongues,
And speak without the Help of Lungs.
PROTEUS on you bestow'd the Boon To change your Vifage like the Moon; You fometimes half a Face produce, Keep t'other Half for private Ufe.
How fam'd thy Conduct in the Fight,
With Hermes, Son of Pleias bright:
Out-number'd, half encompass'd round,
You ftrove for ev'ry Inch of Ground;
Then, by a foldierly Retreat,
Retir'd to your Imperial Seat.
The Victor, when your Steps he trac❜d,
Found all the Realms before him wafte.
You, o'er the high triumphal Arch
Pontifick, made your glorious March:
The wond'rous Arch behind you fell,
And left a Chasm profound as Hell:
You, in your Capitol fecur'd,
A Siege as long as Troy endur'd,
|