WRITTEN WHEN THE MINISTRY WERE AT VA
OBSERVE the dying father speak:
Try, lads, can you this bundle break?
Then bids the youngest of the six
Take up a well-bound heap of sticks.
They thought it was an old man's maggot;
And strove by turns to break the faggot :
In vain; the complicated wands
Were much too strong for all their hands.
See, said the sire, how soon 'tis done :
Then took and broke them one by one.
So strong you'll be, in friendship tied;
So quickly broke, if you divide.
Keep close then, boys, and never quarrel:
Here ends the fable, and the moral.
This Tale may be apply'd in few words
To treasurers, comptrollers, stewards;
And others, who in solemn sort,
Appear with slender wands at court;
Not firmly join'd to keep their ground,
But lashing one another round:
While wise men think they ought to fight
With quarterstaffs instead of white;
Or constable with staff of peace,
Should come and make the clattering cease;
Which now disturbs the queen and court,
And gives the whigs and rabble sport.
In history we never found
The consul's fasces were unbound:
Those Romans were too wise to think on't,
Except to lash some grand delinquent.
How would they blush to hear it said,
The præter broke the consul's head!
Or consul, in his purple gown,
Came up, and knock'd the prætor down!
Come, courtiers: every man his stick!
Lord treasurer, for once be quick :
And that they may the closer cling,
Take your blue ribbon for a string.
Come, trimming Harcourt,* bring your mace;
And squeeze it in or quit your place:
Dispatch, or else that rascal Northey t
Will undertake to do it for thee:
And be assur'd, the court will find him
Prepar'd to leap o'er sticks, or bind them.
To make the bundle strong and safe,
Great Ormond, lend thy general's staff:
And, if the crosier could be cramm'd in,
A fig for Lechmere, King, and Hambden!
You'll then defy the strongest whig
With both his hands to bend a twig;
Though with united strength they all pull,
From Somers, down to Craggs and Walpole.
* Lord chancellor. H.
↑ Sir Edward Northey, attorney general. H.
LESBIA for ever on me rails,
To talk of me she never fails.
Now, hang me but for all her art,
I find, that I have gain'd her heart.
My proof is this: I plainly see,
The case is just the same with me;
I curse her every hour sincerely,
Yet, hang me but I love her dearly.
ON A CURATE'S COMPLAINT OF HARD
I MARCH'D three miles through scorching sand,
With zeal in heart, and notes in hand:
I rode four more to Great St. Mary,
Using four legs, when two were weary:
To three fair virgins I did tie men,
In the close bands of pleasing Hymen:
I dipp'd two babes in holy water,
And purify'd their mother after.
Within an hour and eke a half,
I preach'd three congregations deaf;
* Lesbia mî dicit semper male; nec tacet unquam
De me. Lesbia me, dispeream, nisi amat.
Quo signo? quia sunt totidem mea: deprecor illam
Assiduè; verum, dispeream, nisi amo.
Where thundering out, with lungs longwinded,
I chopp'd so fast, that few there minded.
My emblem, the laborious sun,
Saw all these mighty labours done
Before one race of his was run.
All this perform'd by Robert Hewit:
What mortal else could e'er go through it!
WHO can believe with common sense,
A bacon slice gives God offence;
Or, how a herring has a charm
Almighty vengeance to disarm?
Wrapp'd up in Majesty divine,
Does he regard on what we dine?
* A French gentleman dining with some company on a fastday, called for some bacon and eggs. The reft were very angry, and reproved him for so heinous a sin: whereupon he wrote the following lines extempore; which are translated above:
Peut on croire avec bon sens
Qu'un lardon le mit en colère,
Ou, que manger un hareng,
C'est un secret pour lui plaire?
En sa gloire envelopé,
Songe-t-il bien de nos soupés? H.
TO LORD HARLEY, ON HIS MARRIAGE, Oct. 31, 1713.
AMONG the numbers who employ
Their tongues and pens to give you joy,
Dear Harley! generous youth, admit
What friendship dictates more than wit.
Forgive me, when I fondly thought
(By frequent observations taught)
A spirit so inform'd as yours
Could never prosper in amours.
The God of Wit, and Light, and Arts,
With all acquir'd and natural parts,
Whose harp could savage beasts enchant,
Was an unfortunate gallant.
Had Bacchus after Daphne reel'd,
The nymph had soon been brought to yield:
Or, had embroider'd Mars pursued,
The nymph would ne'er have been a prude.
Ten thousand footsteps, full in view,
Mark out the way where Daphne flew:
For such is all the sex's flight,
They fly from learning, wit, and light:
They fly, and none can overtake
But some gay coxcomb, or a rake.
How then, dear Harley, could I guess
That you should meet, in love, success?
For, if those ancient tales be true,
Phoebus was beautiful as you:
Yet Daphne never slack'd her pace,
For wit and learning spoil'd his face.
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