Imatges de pàgina
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Which lighting on th' Impoftor's Crown,
Like real Thunder knock'd him down.

B

WOOD, an INSECT.

Written in the Year 1725.

Y long Observation I have understood,

That three little Vermin are kin to Will Wood: The first is an Infect they call a Wood Loufe, That folds up itfelf in itself for a Houfe; As round as a Ball, without Head, without Tail, Inclos❜d Cap-a-pee in a strong Coat of Mail. And thus William Wood to my Fancy appears In Fillets of Brafs roll'd up to his Ears: And, over thefe Fillets he wifely has thrown, To keep out of Danger, * a Doublet of Stone.

THE Loufe of the Wood for a Med'cine is us'd, Or fwallow'd alive, or fkilfully bruis'd, And, let but our Mother Hibernia contrive To fwallow Will, Wood either bruis'd or alive. She need be no more with the Jaundice poffeft, Or fick of Obstructions, and Pains in her Chest.

THE third is an Infect we call a Wood-Worm, That lies in old Wood like a Hare in her Form:

With

*He was in Jayl for Debt.

With Teeth or with Claws it will bite or will scratch,
And Chamber-maids chriften this Worm a Death-
Watch:

Because like a Watch it always cries Click:

Then Woe be to those in the House who are fick :
For, as fure as a Gun they will give up the Ghoft,
If the Maggot cries Click when it scratches the Post.
But a Kettle of fcalding hot Water injected,
Infallibly cures the Timber affected;

The Omen is broke, the Danger is over;

The Maggot will dye, and the Sick will recover.
Such a Worm was Will. Wood when he scratch'd at
the Door

Of a governing Statesman, or favourite Whore:
The Death of our Nation it feem'd to foretell,
And the Sound of his Brass we took for our Knell,
But now fince the Drapier hath heartily maul'd him,
I think the best Thing we can do is to fcald him.
For which Operation there's nothing more proper
Than the Liquor he deals in, his own melted Copper:
Unless, like the Dutch, you rather would boyl
This Coyner of Raps in a Cauldron of Oyl.
Then chufe which you please, and let each bring a
Faggot,

For our Fear's at an End with the Death of the
Maggot.

* A cant Word in Ireland, for a counterfeit Half-penny.

HORACE,

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HORACE, Book I. Ode XIV.

O navis, referent, &c.

Paraphrased and infcribed to IRELAND.

Written in the Year 1726.

The INSCRIPTION.

Poor floating Ifle, toft on ill Fortune's Waves,
Ordain'd by Fate to be the Land of Slaves:
Shall moving Delos now deep-rooted stand,
Thou, fixt of old, be now the moving Land?
Altho' the Metaphor be worn and ftale,
Betwixt a State, and Vessel under Sail ;
Let me fuppofe thee for a Ship a while,
And thus address thee in the Sailor Stile.

UNHA

NHAPPY Ship thou art return'd in vain, New Waves fhall drive thee to the Deep again;

Look to thy felf, and be no more the Sport 2 Of giddy Winds, but make fome friendly Port.

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3 Loft are thy Oars that us'd thy Course to guide, Like faithful Counsellors on either Side.

4 Thy Maft, which like fome aged Patriot stood The fingle Pillar for his Country's Good,

To lead thee, as a Staff directs the Blind, Behold, it cracks by yon rough Eastern Wind. 5 Your Cables burft, and you must quickly feel The Waves impetuous entering at your Keel. Thus, Common-wealths receive a foreign Yoke, When the strong Cords of Union once are broke, 6 Torn by a fudden Tempeft is thy Sail, Expanded to invite a milder Gale.

As when fome Writer in a publick Cause, His Pen to fave a finking Nation draws, While all is calm, his Arguments prevail, The People's Voice expand his Paper Sail; 'Till Power discharging all her stormy Bags, Flutters the feeble Pamphlet into Rags. The Nation fcar'd, the Author doom'd to Death, Who fondly put his Truft in pop'lar Breath.

A LARGER Sacrifice in vain you vow: 7 There's not a Pow'r above will help you now: A Nation thus, who oft Heav'n's Call neglects, In vain from injur'd Heav'n Relief expects.

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6. Non tibi funt integra lintea.

7. Non Dii, quos iterum preffa voces malo.

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8 'TWILL not avail, when thy ftrong Sides are

broke,

That thy Descent is from the British Oak:
Or when your Name and Family you boast,
From Fleets triumphant o'er the Gallick Coast.
Such was Ierne's Claim, as just as thine,
Her Sons defcended from the British Line;
Her matchlefs Sons; whofe Valour ftill remains

On French Records, for Twenty long Campaigns:

Yet from an Empress now a Captive grown, She fav'd Britannia's Rights, and loft her own. 9 IN Ships decay'd no Mariner confides, Lur'd by the gilded Stern, and painted Sides. Yet, at a Ball, unthinking Fools delight In the gay Trappings of a Birth-Day Night: They on the Gold Brocades and Satins rav'd, And quite forgot their Country was enflav'd, 10 DEAR Veffel, ftill be to thy Steerage juft, Nor change thy Course with every fudden Guft; Like fupple Patriots of the modern Sort, Who turn with ev'ry Gale that blows from Court,

II

WEARY and Sea-fick when in thee confin'd, Now, for thy Safety, Cares diftract my Mind.

8. Quamvis Pontica pinus,

Sylvæ filia nobilis.”

9. Nil pictis timidus navita puppibus : 10. Fidit tu, nifi ventis

Debes ludibrium cave.

II. Nuper follicitum quæ mihi tædium
Nunc defiderium, curáquè non levis,
Interfufa nitentes

Vites æquora Cycladas.

As

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