THE VIRTUES OF SID HAMET* THE
MAGICIAN'S ROD.† 1710.
THE rod was but a harmless wand,
While Moses held it in his hand;
But, soon as e'er he laid it down,
"Twas a devouring serpent grown.
Our great magician, Hamet Sid,
Reverses what the prophet did:
His rod was honest English wood,
That senseless in a corner stood,
Till, metamorphos'd by his grasp,
It grew an all-devouring asp;
Would hiss, and sting, and roll, and twist,
By the mere virtue of his fist;
But, when he laid it down, as quick
Resum'd the figure of a stick.
So, to her midnight feasts, the hag
Rides on a broomstick for a nag,
That, rais'd by magic of her breech,
O'er sea and land conveys the witch;
But with the morning dawn resumes
The peaceful state of common brooms.
They tell us something strange and odd,
About a certain magic rod,‡
That bending down its top, divines
Whene'er the soil has golden mines;
+ This poem was inserted in Morphew's Miscellanies, with this Introduction undoubtedly dictated by Dr. Swift: "The following being judged by some to be after the author's manner, I have ventured to print it." N.
The virgula divina, said to be attracted by minerals. SWIFT.
Where there are none, it stands erect,
Scorning to show the least respect;
As ready was the wand of Sid
To bend where golden mines were hid;
In Scottish hills found precious ore,
Where none e'er look'd for it before;
And by a gentle bow divin'd
How well a cully's purse was lin'd;
To a forlorn and broken rake,
Stood without motion like a stake.
The rod of Hermes wasrenown'd
For charms above, and under ground;
To sleep could mortal eyelids fix,
And drive departed souls to Styx.
That rod was a just type of Sid's,
Which o'er a British senate's lids
Could scatter opium full as well,
And drive as many souls to Hell.
Sid's rod was slender, white, and tall,
Which oft he us'd to fish withal;
A place was fasten'd to the hook,
And many score of gudgeons took ;
Yet still so happy was his fate,
He caught his fish, and sav'd his bait.
Sid's brethren of the conjuring tribe,
A circle with their rod describe,
Which proves a magical redoubt,
To keep mischievous spirits out.
Sid's rod was of a larger stride,
And made a circle thrice as wide,
Where spirits throng with hideous din,
And he stood there to take them in;
* Supposed to allude to the Union, SWIET.
But when th' enchanted rod was broke,
They vanish'd in a stinking smoke.
Achilles' sceptre was of wood,
Like Sid's, but nothing near so good;
Though down from ancestors divine
Transmitted to the hero's line;
Thence, through a long descent of kings,
Came an HEIRLOOM, as Homer sings.
Though this description looks so big,
That sceptre was a sapless twig,
Which from the fatal day, when first
It left the forest where 'twas nurs'd,
As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,
Nor leaf, nor fruit, nor blossom, bore.
Sid's sceptre, full of juice, did shoot
In golden boughs, and golden fruit ;
And he, the dragon never sleeping,
Guarded each fair Hesperian pippin.
No hobby horse, with gorgeous top,
The dearest in Charles Mather's shop,
Or glittering tinsel of May-fair,
Could with this rod of Sid compare.
Dear Sid, then, why wert thou so mad
To break thy rod like naughty lad!
You should have kiss'd it in your distress,
And then return'd it to your mistress;
Or made it a Newmarket † switch,
And not a rod for thy own breech.
But since old Sid has broken this,
His next may be a rod in piss.
* An eminent toyman in Fleet street. SWIFT.
+ Lord Godolphin is satirized by Mr. Pope for a strong attachment to the turf. See his Moral Essays. H.
ATLAS; OR, THE MINISTER OF STATE.
TO THE LORD TREASURER OXFORD.
ATLAS, we read in ancient song,
Was so exceeding tall and strong,
He bore the skies upon his back,
Just as the pedlar does his pack :
But, as a pedlar overpress'd
Unloads upon a stall to rest,
Or, when he can no longer stand,
Desires a friend to lend a hand;
So Atlas, lest the ponderous spheres
Should sink, and fall about his ears,
Got Hercules to bear the pile,
That he might sit and rest awhile.
Yet Hercules was not so strong,
Nor could have borne it half so long.
Great statesmen are in this condition;
And Atlas is a politician,
A premier minister of state;
Alcides one of second rate.
Suppose then Atlas ne'er so wise;
Yet, when the weight of kingdoms lies
Too long upon his single shoulders,
Sink down he must, or find upholders
(FIRST PRINTED IN THE TATLER.)
Scene, the Royal Exchange.
Now the keen rigour of the winter's o'er,
No hail descends, and frost can pinch no more,
While other girls confess the genial spring,
And laugh aloud, or amorous ditties sing,
Secure from cold their lovely necks display,
And throw each useless chafing-dish away;
Why sits my Phillis discontented here,
Nor feels the turn of the revolving year?
Why on that brow dwell sorrow and dismay,
Where Loves were wont to sport, and Smiles to
play?
PHILLIS. Ah, Corydon! survey the 'Change around,
Through all the Change no wretch like me is found:
Alas! the day, when I, poor heedless maid,
Was to your rooms in Lincoln's Inn betray'd;
Then how you swore, how many vows you made!
Ye listening Zephyrs, that o'erheard his love,
Waft the soft accents to the gods above.
Alas! the day; for (O, eternal shame !)
you handkerchiefs, and lost my fame. COR. When I forget the favour you bestow'd, Red herrings shall be spawn'd in Tyburn Road: Fleet street transform'd become a flowery green, And mass be sung where operas are seen. The wealthy cit, and the St. James's beau, Shall change their quarters, and their joys forego; Stockjobbing,
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