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Together mingled in a lump,
Do all in one opinion jump ;
And ev'ry one begins to find
The same impression on his mind.

A strange event! whom gold incites
To blood and quarrels, brass unites :
So, goldsmiths say, the coarseft ftuff
Will serve for folder well enough:
So by the kettle's loud alarm
The bees are gather'd to a fwarm:
So by the brazen trumpet's blufter
Troops of all tongues and nations muster :
And so the harp of Ireland brings
Whole crouds about its brazen strings.

There is a chain let down from Jove,
But fasten'd to his throne above,
So strong that from the lower end,
They say, all human things depend.
This chain, as antiept poets hold,
When Jove was young, was made of gold.
Prometheus once this chain parloin'd,
Diffolv'd, and into money coin'd;
Then whips me on a chain of brass :
(Venus was brib'd to let it pass *).

Now, when this brazen chain prevail'd,
Jove saw that all devotion faild;
No temple to his godfhip rais'd;
No facrifice on altars blaz'd;
In short, such dire confusion follow'd,
Earth must have been in chaos swallow'd.
Jove stood amaz'd; but, looking round,
With much ado the cheat he found;
'Twas plain he could no longer hold
The world in any chain but gold;
• A great lady was said to have been bribed by Wood."







And to the god of wealth his brother,
Sent Mercury to get another.

Prometheus on a rock is laid,
Ty'd with a chain himself had made,
On icy Caucasus to fhiver,
While vultures eat his growing liver.

Ye pow'rs of Grubstreet, make me able
Discreetly to apply this fable ;
Say, who is to be understood
By that old thief Prometheus? Wood.
For Jove, it is not hard to guess him;
I mean his Majesty, God bless him.
This thief and blacksmith was so bold,
He strove to steal that chain of gold,
Which links the subject to the King,
And change it for a brazen ftring.
But sure, if nothing else must pass
Between the King and us, but brass,
Altho' the chain will never crack,
Yet our devotion may grow flack.

But Jove will soon convert, I hope,
This brazen chain into a rope ;
With which Prometheus shall be tyd,
And high in air for ever ride;
Where, if we find his liver grows,
For want of vultures, we have crows.





WITH ev'ry lady in the land

Soft Strephon kept a pother ;
One year he languifh'd for one hand,

And next year for the other.

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Yet when his love the thepherd told

To Flavia fair and coy,
Reserv’d, demure, than fnow more cold,

She scorn d the gentle boy.
Late at a ball he own'd his pain :

She blush'd, and frown'd, and swore,
With all the marks of high disdain,

She'd never hear him more.
The swain persisted ftill to pray,

The nymph still to deny;
At last the vow.d she would not ftay ;

He swore the sould not fly.
Enrag’d, she callid her footman ftrait,

And rush'd from out the room,
Drove to her lodging, lock'd the gate,
And lay with Ralph at home.



C o R Ι Ν Ν Α.


Written in the year 1712.
THIS day (the year I dare not tell)

Apollo play'd the midwife's part ;
Into the world Corinna fell,

And he endow'd her with his 'art.
But Cupid with a Satyr' comes ;

Both softly to the cradle creep ;
Both stroke her hands, and rub her gums,

While the poor child lay fast alleep.
Then Cupid thus : This little maid

Of love shall always ipeak and write :
And I pronounce (the Satyr iaid)

The world il ail feel her scratch and bite,
Her talent she display'd betimes ;

For in twice twelve revolving moons

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She seem'd to laugh and fquall in rhymes,

And all her gestures were lampoons. At fix years old the subtle jade

Stole to the pantry-door, and found The butler with my Lady's maid ;

And you may swear the tale went round. She made a song, how little Miss

Was kiss'd and Nober'd by a lad; And how when Mafter went to p

Miss came, and peep'd at all he had.
At twelve a wit, and a coquette ;

Marries for love, half whore, half wife ;
Cuckolds, elops, and runs in debt ;
c-Turns auth'ress, and is Curl's for life.
Her common place-book all gallant is,

Of scandal now a cornucopia ;
She pours it out in Atalantis *,

Or memoirs of the New Utopia.




A tale occasioned by the death of the Duke

Regent of FRANCE.

How vain are mortal man's endeavours !

(Said at Dame Elleot's †, Master Tr-s);
Good Orleans dead! in truth 'tis hard :
Oh! may all statesmen die prepard !
I do foresee (and for foreseeing
He equals any man in being)



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The Atalantis was written by Mrs Manley ; and may be con. sidered as a pander for the stew's, who gains admittance into good company by a genteel appearance, and good address. Hawkej.

t A coffeehouse near St. James's.




The army ne'er can be disbanded.

-I with the King were fafely landed.
Ah friends ! great changes threat the land !
All France and England at a stand !
There's Meroweis mark! ftrange work!
And there's the Czar, and there's the Turk
The Pope ----An India merchant by
Cut short the speech with this reply.
All at a stand ?


great changes ?
Ah, Sir! you never saw the Ganges :
There dwells the nation of Quidnuncki's,
(So Monomotapa calls monkies) :
On either bank, from bough to bough,
They meet and chat (as we may now):
Whispers go round, they grin, they shrug,
They bow, they snart, they scratch, they hug;
And, just as chance or whim provoke them,
They either bite their friends, or stroke them.

There have I seen some active prig,
To Thew his parts, bestride a twig :
Lord ! 'how the chatt'ring tribe admire!
Nòt that he's wiser, but he's higher:
All long to try the vent'rous thing,
(For pow'r is but to have one's swing).
From side to side he springs, he spurns,
And bangs his foes and friends by turns.
Thus as in giddy freaks he bounces,
Crack goes the twig, and in he flounces !
Down the swift stream the wretch is borne ;
Never, ah never, to return!

Z-ds! what a fall had our dear brother !
Morbleu! cries one, and Damme, t'other.
The nation gives a gen’ral screech ;
None cocks his tail, none claws his breech ;
Each trembles for the public weal,
And for a while forgets to steal.





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