Imatges de pàgina
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Should at their Peril, without fail,
Come and appear, and fave their Bail.
All met, and Silence thrice proclaim'd,
One Lawyer to each Side was nam'd.
The Judge discover'd in her Face,
Refentments for her late Difgrace ;`
And, full of Anger, Shame, and Grief,
Directed them to mind their Brief;
Nor fpend their Time to fhew their Reading a
She'd have a fummary Proceeding.
She gather'd, under ev'ry Head,
The Sum of what each Lawyer faid;
Gave her own Reasons laft; and then
Decreed the Caufe against the Men;

1

BUT, in a weighty Cafe like this, To fhew fhe did not judge amifs, Which evil Tongues might else report She made a Speech in open Court; Wherein the grievously complains, "How fhe was cheated by the Swains: On whofe Petition, (humbly fhewing, That Women were not worth the wooing; And, that unless the Sex would mend, The Race of Lovers foon must end:) "She was at Lord knows what Expence, "To form a Nymph of Wit and Sense; "A Model for her Sex defign'd, "Who never could one Lover find.

" She

<<< She faw her Favour was misplac'd;
"The Fellows had a wretched Tafte;
"She needs must tell them to their Face,
"They were a ftupid, fenfelefs Race:
"And were fhe to begin agen,

"She'd study to reform the Men;
"Or add fome Grains of Folly more
"To Women than they had before,
"To put them on an equal Foot;
"And this, or nothing else, wou'd do't
"This might their mutual Fancy strike,
"Since ev'ry Being loves its Like.

"But now, repenting what was done, "She left all Business to her Son; "She puts the World in his Poffeffion, "And let him use it at Discretion,

THE Cry'r was order'd to dismiss The Court; who made his laft O yes! The Goddess would no longer wait; But rifing from her Chair of State, Left all below at Six and Sev❜n

Harness'd her Doves, and flew to Heav'n.

The

The FABLE of
of MIDAS.

M

Written in the Year 1712.

IDAS, we are in Story told,

Turn'd ev'ry thing he touch'd to Gold:

He chipt his Bread; the Pieces round
Glitter'd like Spangles on the Ground :
A Codling, 'ere it went his Lip in,
Would straight become a Golden Pippin:
He call'd for Drink; you saw him sup
Potable Gold in Golden Cup.

His empty Paunch that he might fill,
He fuckt his Vittels thro' a Quill. ̧
Untoucht it pafs'd between his Grinders,
Ort had been happy for Gold-finders.
He cockt his Hat, you would have faid
Mambrino's Helm adorn'd his Head.
Whene'er he chanc'd his Hands to lay
On Magazines of Corn, or Hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd, instead
Of paultry Provender and Bread:
Hence we are by wife Farmers told,
Old Hay is equal to old Gold;
And hence a Critick deep maintains,
We learnt to weigh our Gold by Grains:

THIS Fool had got a lucky Hit,
And People fancy'd he had Wit:

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Two

Two Gods their Skill in Mufick try'd,
And both chofe Midas to decide;
He against Phœbus' Harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's Oaten Reed;
The God of Wit, to fhew his Grudge,
Clapt Affes Ears upon the Judge;
A goodly Pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild, nor hide.

AND now the Virtue of his Hands,
Was loft among Pactolus Sands,
Against whofe Torrent while he swims,
The Golden Scurf peels off his Limbs:
Fame spreads the News, and People travel
From far, to gather golden Gravel;
Midas, expos'd to all their Jeers,
Had loft his Art, and kept his Ears.

THIS Tale inclines the gentle Reader,
To think upon a certain Leader;
To whom, from Midas down, defcends
That Virtue in the Fingers Ends:
What else by Perquifites are meant,
By Penfions, Bribes, and Three per Cent?
By Places and Commiffions fold;
And turning Dung itself to Gold?
By starving in the Midft of Store,
As t'other Midas did before?

NONE e'er did modern Midas chuse Subject or Patron of his Mufe;

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But found him thus their Merit scan,
That Phabus muft give Place to Pan:
He values not the Poet's Praife,
Nor will exchange' his Plumbs for Bays:
To Pan alone, rich Mifers call,
And there's the Jeft, for Pan is ALL?
Here English Wits will be to seek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.

BESIDES, it plainly now appears, Our Midas too hath Affes Ears; Where every Fool his Mouth applies, And whispers in a thousand Lies; Such grofs Delufions could not pass, Thro' any Ears but of an Ass.

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BUT Gold defiles with frequent Touch
There's nothing fouls the Hands fo much;
And Scholars give it for the Cause,
Of British Midas' dirty Paws;

Which while the Senate ftrove to fcower,
They washt away the Chymick Power.
While he his utmost Strength apply'd,
To swim against this pop'lar Tide,
The golden Spoils flew off apace;
Here fell a Penfion, there a Place:
The Torrent, merciless, imbibes
Commiffions, Perquifites, and Bribes;
By their own Weight funk to the Bottom
Much Good may do 'em, that have caught 'em.

And

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