As thus he rav'd with all his might (How infecure from Fortune's fpite, Alas, is ev'ry mortal wight!)

To fhew his ancient fpleen to Mars,
Fierce Vulcan caught him by the a—;
Stuck to his fkirts, infatiate varlet!
And fed with pleasure on the fcarlet.
Hard by, and in the corner, fate
A Bencher grave, with look fedate,
Smoking his pipe, warm as a toast,
And reading over laft week's poft;
He faw the foe the fort invade,

And foon fmelt out the breach he made:
But not a word-a little fly

He look'd, 'tis true; and from each eye
A fidelong glance fometimes he sent,
To bring him news, and watch th' event.
At length, upon that tender part

Where honour lodges (as of old Authentic Hudibras has told) The bluft'ring colonel felt a fmart. Sore griev'd for his affronted bum, Frifk'd, fkipp'd, and bounc'd about the room: Then turning fhort—“Zounds, fir!" he cries; "Pox on him! had the fool no eyes? "What! let a man be burnt alive?" "I am not, Sir, inquifitive," Replied Sir Gravity, "to know "Whate'er your Honour's pleas'd to do; "If you will burn your tail to tinder, "Pray what have I to do to hinder? "Other men's business let alone,

Why should not coxcombs mind their own?" Then, knocking out his pipe with care, Laid down his penny at the bar; And, wrapping round his frieze furtout, Took up his crab-tree, and walk'd out.

The officious Meenger. A Tale. SOMERVILLE.
MAN, of precarious fcience vain,

Treats other creatures with difdain;
Nor Pug nor Shock have common fenfe,
Nor even Poll the leaft pretence,
Though the prates better than us all,
To be accounted rational.
The brute creation here below,
It feems, is nature's puppet-fhow;
But clock-work all, and mere machine,
What can thefe idle gimcracks mean?
Ye world-makers of Grefham-hall,
Dog Rover fhall confute you all;
Shall prove that ev'ry reafoning brute
Like Ben of Bangor can difpute;
Can apprehend, judge, fyliogize,
Or like proud Bentley criticize;
At a moot point, or odd difafter,
Is often wifer than his mafter.
He may miftake fometimes, 'tis true;
None are infallible but you.
The dog whom nothing can mislead
Must be a dog of parts indeed.
But to my tale: hear me, my friend,
And with due gravity attend.

Rover, as heralds are agreed,
Well-born, and of the fetting breed,

Rang'd high, was ftout, of nofe acute,
A very learn'd and courteous brute.
In parallel lines his grounds he beat,
Not fuch as in one centre meet;
In those let blund'ring doctors deal,
His were exactly parallel.

When tainted gales the game betray,
Down clofe he finks, and eyes his prey.
Though different paflions tempt his foul,
True as the needle to the pole,

He keeps his point, and panting lies;
The floating net above him flies,
Then, dropping, fweeps the flutt'ring prize.
Nor this his only excellence:
When furly farmers took offence,
And the rank corn the fport denied,
Still faithful to his mafter's fide,
A thousand pretty pranks he play'd.
And cheerful each command obey'd:
Humble his mind, though great his wit,
Would lug a pig, or turn the fpit;
Would fetch and carry, leap o'er sticks,
And forty fuch diverting tricks.
Nor Partridge, nor wife Gadbury,
Could find loft goods as soon as he :
Bid him go back a mile or more,
And feck the glove you hid before,
Still his unerring nofe would wind it;
If above ground, was fure to find it;
Whimp'ring for joy his mafter grect,
And humbly lay it at his feet.

But hold-it cannot be denied
That useful talents mifapplied,
May make wild work. It happ'd one day,
Squire Lobb, his mafter, took his way,
New fhav'd, and smug, and very tight,
To compliment a neighb'ring knight;
In his beft trowfers he appears
(A comely perfon for his years);
And clean white drawers, that many a day
In lavender and rofe-cakes lay.
Acrofs his brawny fhoulders ftrung,
On his left fide his dagger hung;
Dead-doing blade! a dreadful guest
Or in the field or at the feaft.
No Franklin, carving of a chine
At Chriftide, ever look'd fo fine.
With him obfequious Rover trudg'd,
Nor from his heels one moment budg'd:
Awhile they travell'd, when within
Poor Lobb perceiv'd a rumbling din:
Then warring winds, for want of vent,
Shook all his earthly tenement.
So in the body politic

(For ftates fometimes, like men, are fick)
Dark faction mutters through the crowd,
Ere bare-fac'd treafon roars aloud:
Whether crude humours undigested
His lab'ring entrails had infefted;
Or last night's load of bottled ale,
Grown mutinous, was breaking gaol;
The caufe of this his aukward pain
Let Johnfton or let Hth explain;
Whole learned nofes may difcover
Why nature's stink-pot thus ran over.

My province is th' effect to trace, And give each point its proper grace: Th' effect, O lamentable cafe ! Long had he struggled, but in vain, The factious tumult to reftrain. What should he do? Th' unruly rout Prefs'd on; and it was time, no doubt, T'unbutton, and to let all out. The trowfers foon his will obey: Not fo his stubborn drawers; for they, Beneath his hanging paunch clofe tied, His utmoft art and pains defied: He drew his dagger on the spot, Refolv'd to cut the Gordian knot. In the fame road juft then pafs'd by (Such was the will of destiny) The courteous curate of the place, Good-nature fone o'er all his face. Surpris'd the flaming blade to view, And deeming flaughter muft enfue, Off from his hack himfelf he threw. Then without ceremony feiz'd The fire, impatient to be eas'd. "Lord! Mafter Lobb, who would have "thought

The fund i al c'er fo ftrongly wrought? "Ts fricide to flight a fault?

Kip up thy guts, man? What! go quick "To hell, outrageous lunatic?

66

But, by the bleifing, I'll prevent "With this right hand thy foul intent." Then grip'd the dagger faft: the fquire, Like Peleus' fon, look'd pale with ire; While the good man like Pallas stood, And check'd his eager thirst for blood. At last, when both awhile had ftrain'd, Strength, join'd with zeal, the conqueft gain'd: The curate in all points obey'd, Into the fheath returns the blade; But firft th' unhappy fquire he fwore, T'attempt upon his life no more. With fage advice his fpeech he clos'd, And left him (as he thought) compos'd. But was it fo, friend Lobb? I own, Misfortune feldom comes alone; Satan fupplies the fwelling tide, And ills on ills are multiplied. Subdued, and all his meafures broke, His purpofe and intent miftook, Within his drawers, alas! he found His guis let out without a wound: For, in the conflict straining hard, He left his poltern-gate unbarr'd; Moft wofully bedaub'd, he moans His pitcous cafe, he fighs, he groans. To lofe his dinner, and return, hard, not to be borne.

Was very

Hunger, they fay, parent of arts,
Will make a fool a man of parts.
The tharp-fet fquire refolves at laft,
Whate er befel him, not to falt;

He mus'd awhile, chaf'd, ftrain'd his wits,
At last on this expedient hits :

To the next brook with fober pace

He tends, preparing to uncale,

Straddling and mutt'ring all the way,
Curs'd inwardly th' unlucky day.
The coaft now clear, no foul in view,
Off in a trice his trowsers drew;
More leifurely his draw'rs, for care
And caution were convenient there:
So faft the plafter'd birdlime ftuck,
The fkin came off with ev'ry pluck.
Sorely he gaul'd each brawny ham;
Nor other parts efcap'd, which thame
Forbids a bafhful Mufc to name.
Not without pain the work achiev'd,
He fcrubb'd and wafh'd the parts aggriev'd;
Then, with nice hand and look fedate,
Folds up his draw'rs, with their rich freight,
And hides them in a bufh, at leifure
Refolv'd to fetch his hidden treasure:
The trufty Rover lay hard by,
Obferving all with curious eye.

Now rigg'd again, once more a beau,
And matters fix'd in flatu quo,
Brifk as a fnake in merry May,
That juft has caft his flough away,
Gladfome he caper'd o'er the green,
As he prefum'd, both fweet and clean;
For, O amongst us mortal elves,
How few there are fmell out themselves!
With a mole's car, and eagle's eye,
And with a blood-hound's nofe, we hy
On others' faults implacably.

But where's that ear, that eye, that nofe,
Against its mafter will depofe?
Ruddy Mifs Prue, with golden hair,
Stinks like a pole-cat or a bear;
Yet romps about me ev'ry day,
Sweeter, the thinks, than new-made hay.
Lord Plaufible, at Tom's and Will's.
Whofe poisonous breath in whipers kills,
Still buzzes in my car, nor knows
What fatal fecrets he beftows:
Let him deftroy each day a fcore,
'Tis mere chance-mediev, and no more.
In fine, felf-love bribes ev'ry sense,
And all at home is excellence.

The fquire, arriv'd in decent plight,
With rev'rence due falutes the knight;
Compliments paft, the dinner-bell
Rung quick and loud, harmonious knell
To greedy Lobb! Th' Orphéan lyre
Did ne'er fuch rapturous joy infpire;
Though this the favage throng obey,
That hunger tames more fierce than they.
In comely order now appcar
The footmon loaded with good cheer;
Her lady fhip brought up the rear.
Simp'ring the lips, "Your fervant, fir-
"The ways are bad, one can't well füir
"Abroad-or 'twere indeed unkind
"To leave good Mrs. Lobb behind-
"She's well, I hope-Mafter, they fay,
Comes on apace-How 's Mits, I pray
Lobb bow'd, and cring'd; and, muttering low,
Made for his chair, would fain fall-to.
Thefe weighty points adjusted, foon
My lady brandishes her spoon.

Unhappy

Inhappy Lobb, pleas'd with his treat,
And minding nothing but his meat,
Too near the fire had chofe his feat:
When, O! th' effluvia of his bum
Begin amain to scent the room,
Ambrofial fweets, and rich perfume!
The flick 'ring footman stopp'd his nofe;
The chaplain too, under the rose,

Made aukward mouths; the knight took fnuff;
Her ladyfhip began to huff:

Indeed, Sir John-pray, good my dear-
'Tis wrong to make your kennel here-
"Dogs in their place are good, I own—
But in the parlour-foh!-be gone."
Now Rockwood leaves th' unfinish'd bone,
Banish'd for failings not his own;
No grace even Fidler could obtain,
And fav'rite Virgin fawn'd in vain.
The fervants, to the ftranger kind,
Leave trufty Rover ftill behind;
But Lobb, who would not feem to be
Defective in civility,

And, for removing of all doubt,
Knitting his brows, bids him get out :
By figns expreffes his command,
And to the door points with his hand.
The dog, or through mistake or fpite
(Grave authors have not fet us right),
Fled back the very way he came,
And in the bush foon found his game;
Brought in his mouth the fav'ry load,
And at his mafter's elbow stood.
O Lobb! what idioms can exprefs
Thy ftrange confufion and diftrefs,
When on the floor the draw'rs difplay'd
The fulfome fecret had bewray'd?
No traitor, when his hand and feal
Produc'd his dark defigns reveal,
E'er look'd with fuch a hanging face,
As Lob, half-dead at this difgrace.
Wild-ftaring, thunder-ftruck, and dumb,
While peals of laughter thake the room;
Each fath thrown up to let in air,
The knight fell backward in his chair,
Laugh'd till his heart-ftrings almoft break,
The chaplain giggled for a week;
Her ladyship began to call
For hartshorn, and her Abigail;
The fervants chuckled at the door,
And all was clamour and uproar.
Rover, who now began to quake,
As confcious of his foul miftake,
Trufts to his heels to fafe his life;
The fquire fneaks home, and beats his wife.

A painful paftor; but his sheep,
Alas! within no bounds would keep;
A fcabby flock, that ev'ry day
Run riot, and would go aftray.

He thump'd his cushion, fretted, vex'd,
Thumb'd o'er again cach ufeful text;
Rebuk'd, exhorted, all in vain;
His parifh was the more profane :
The fcrubs would have their wicked will,
And cunning Satan triumph'd still.
At laft, when each expedient fail'd,
And serious measures nought avail'd,
It came into his head, to try
The force of wit and raillery.
The good man was by nature gay,
Could gibe and joke as well as pray;
Not like fome hide-bound folk, who chafe
Each merry mile from their dull face,
And think pride zeal, ill-nature grace.
At chriftenings and each jovial feaft,
He fingled out the finful beaft:
Let all his pointed arrows fly,
Told this and that, look'd very fly,
And left my mafters to apply.
His tales were humorous, often true,
And now and then fet off to view
With lucky fictions and fheer wit,
That prerc'd where truth could never hit.
The laugh was always on his fide,
While paffive fools by turns deride;
And, giggling thus at one another,
Each jeering lout reform'd his brother;
Till the whole parifh was with cafe
Sham'd into virtue by degrees.
Then be advis'd, and try a tale,
When Chryfoftom and Austin fail.

}

}

'Ω πόποι, οἷον δή ου Θεὺς βροτοὶ ἀπιόωνται. Εξ ἡμέων γάρ φασι κάκ' ἔμμεναι· οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ Σφῆσιν ατασθαλίησιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγι' ἔχεσιν.

IN a wild ftate of nature, long

The frogs at random liv'd,
The weak a prey unto the ftrong,
With anarchy opprefs'd and griev'd.
At length the lawless rout,

Taught by their fuff'rings, grew devout:
An embally to Jove they fent,

And begg'd his highnefs would bestow
Some fettled form of government,
A king to rule the fens below.
Jove, fmiling, grants their odd request :
A king th' indulgent pow'r beftow'd,
Such as might fuit their genius beft:
A beam of a prodigious iize,

With all its cumbrous load,
Came tumbling from the skies.
The waters dafh against the fhore,
The hollow caverns roar :
The rocks return the dreadful found,
Convulfions fake the ground.

The

The multitude with horror fled,
And in his oozy bed

Each skulking coward hid his head.

When all is now grown calm again,
And fmoothly glides the liquid plain,
A frog more refolute and bold,
Peeping with caution from his hold,
Recover'd from his first furprize,
As o'er the wave his head he popt,
He faw-but fcarce believ'd his eyes,
On the fame bank where firit he dropt,
Th'imperial lubber lies,

Stretch'd at his eafe, carelefs, content:
Is this the monarch Jove has fent,
Said he, our walike troops to lead ?
Ay, 'tis a glorious prince indeed!
By fuch an active general led,

The routed mice our rm hall dread,
Subdued fhall quit their claim:
Old Homer fhall cant his lays,

For us new trophies raife,

Sing our victorious arms, and justify our fame.
Then laughing impudently loud,"
He foon alarm'd the daftard crowd.
The croaking nations with contempt
Behold the worthlefs indolent.

On wings of winds swift seandal flies,

Libels, lampoons, and lyes,

Hoarfe treafons, tuneless blafphemies.
With active leap at laft upon his back they ftride,
And on the royal loggerhead in triumph ride.

Once more to Jove their pray'rs addrefs'd,
And once more Jove grants their request:
A ftork he fends of monftrous fize,
Red lightning flashes in his eyes;
Rul'd by no block, as heretofore,
The gazing crowds prefs'd to his court;
Admire his ftarely mien, his haughty port,
And only not adore.
Addreffes of congratulation,
Sent from cach loyal corporation,

Full fraught with truth and fenfe,
Exhaufted all their cloquence.

But now, alas! 'twas night; kings muft have meat:
The Grand Vizier firit goes to pot;
Three Bailas next, happy their lot ꞌ
Gain'd Paradife by being eat.
And this, faid he, and this is mine,

And this, by right divine:
In fhort, 'twas all for public weal,
He fwallow'd half a nation at a meal.

Again they beg Almighty Jove,
This cruel tyrant to remove.
With fierce refentment in his eyes,
The frowning Thunderer replies:
Thofe evils which yourfelves create,
Rafh fools! ye now repent too late;
Made wretched by the public voice,
Not through neceflity, but choice!

Be gone! nor wreft from Heaven fome heavier curfe,

Better bear this, this ftork, than worse.

Acres procurrunt, magnum fpeétaculum uterque.

TWO comrades, as grave authors fay
(But in what chapter, page, or line,
Ye critics, if ye please, define),
Had found an oyster in their way.
Contest and foul debate arofe:

Both view'd at once with greedy eyes, Both challeng'd the delicious prize, And high words foon improv'd to blows. Actions on actions hence fucceed,

Each hero's obftinately ftout, Green bags and parchments fly about, Pleadings are drawn, and counfél feed. The parfon of the place, good man!

Whofe kind and charitable heart In human ills ftill bore a part, Thrice thook his head, and thus began: Neighbours and friends, refer to me

This doughty matter in difpute, I'll foon decide th' important fuit, And finish all without a fee. Give me the oyfter then-'tis wellHe opens it, and at one fup Gulps the contested trifle up, And filing gives to each a fhell. Henceforth let foolish difcord coafe,

Your oyfter's good as e'er was eatz I thank you for my dainty treat: God blefs you both, and live in peace.

MORA L.

Ye men of Norfolk and of Wales,

From this learn cominon fense; Nor thruft your neighbours into gaols For ev'ry flight offence.

Banifh thofe vermin of debate

That on your fubftance feed; The knaves who now are ferv'd in plate Would starve, if fools agreed.

HOL