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IV. 17
Nor bad Sir Palfry much to brag
He got by his Adventure';
Since Man, from routing of the Stag,

Commenc'd perpetual Cenfaur.

The Fable of the Wolf and Porcupine. In Answer to the Argument against a Standing Army.


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As thro' the Woods he posted,
A Porcupine found on the Way,
And in these Terms accolted.

Our Wars are ended, Heav'n be prais'd,

Then let's sit down and prattle

Towns invested, Sieges rais'd,
And what we did in Bultel.

The Plains a pleasing Prospect yield,

No Fire; nor Desolation ;
While Plenty reigns in every Field,
And Trade restores the Nation.

Yet you your Quills erected wear,

And tho' none seeks to harm ye,
In Time of Peace, about you bear,

Methinks, a Standing Army.
Friend, quoth the Porcupine, 'uis true,

The War's at length decided,
But 'gainf such tricking Blades as you,

'Tis good to be provided.


VI. Ceno

VI. Cenforious Fame shall never fay

That too much Faith betray'd me;
Who thinks of me to make a Prey,
Must at his Coft invade me.

Let him, that thinks it worth the while,

Tempt Knaves to make a Martyr ;
The Sharpers, that wou'd me beguile,

Shall find they've caught a Tartar. oooooooooooooooooooooooooo The Fable of Apollo and Daphne.

1. Pollo once finding fair Daphne alone, A

Discover'd his Flame in a paflionate Tone,
He told her, and bound it with many a Çurse,
He was ready to take her for better for Worse.

Then he talk'd of his Smárt,
And the Hole in his Heart,
So large, one might drive throʻ the Pallage'a Cart.
But the silly coy Maid, to the Gods great Amazement,
Sprung away from his Arms, and leapt thro' the Cafe-

3. (ment
He following, cry'd out, My Life and my Dear,
Return to your Lover, and lay by your Fear.
You think me, perhaps, fome Scoundrely or Whorefon,
Alafs! I've no wicked Designs on your

I'm a God by my Trade,

Young, plump, and well-made,
Then let me caress thee, and be not afraid.
But still the kept running, and flew like the Wind,
While the poor pursy God came panting behind.

I'm the Chief of Physicians; and none of the College
Must be mention' with me for Experience and know-

(ledge ; Each Herb, Flower, and Plant, by its Name I can call, And do more than the best Seventh Son of 'em alle




With my Powders and Pills,

I eure all the Ills,
That sweep off such Numbers each week in the Bills.
But still fhe kept running, and flew like the Wind,
While the poor pursy God came panting behind.
Befides, I'm a Poet, Child, into the Bargain,

all the Writers of fam'd Covent-Garden. I'm the Prop of the Stage, and the Pattern of Wit, I set my own Sonnets, and sing to my Kit.

I'm at Will's all the Day,

And each Night at the Play ; And Verses I make fast as Hops, as they say.. When she heard him talk thus, the redoubl'd her Speed, And flew like a Whore from a Constable free'd.

V. Now had our wife Lover (bur Lovers are blind) In the Language of Lombard-Street told her his Mind; Look, Lady, what here is, 'tis plenty of Money, Odbobs I must swinge thee, my Joy and my Honey ::

I sit next the Chair,

And tall thertly be Mayor,
Neicher Clayton nor Duncomb with me can compare.
Tho', as wrinkl'd as Priam, deform'd as the Devil,
The God had fucceeded, the Nymph had been Civil.

* MISCELL A NIE S. An ELEGY on that most Orthodox and Pains

taking Divine, Mr. Sam. Smith, Ordinary of
Newgate, who dy'd of a Quinsey, on St. Bar-
tholomew's Day, the 24th of August, 1698.
"Yburn, lament, in pensive Sable mourn,

For from the World thy ancient Priest is torn.
Death, cruel Death, thy learn'd Divine has ended,
And by a Quinfey from his place fufpended.
Thus he expir'd in his old Occupation,
And as he liv'd, he dy'd, by Suffocation


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Thou Rev'rend Pillar of the Triple-Tree,
I would say Poft, for it was propp'd by thee z.
Thou Penny-Chronicles of hafty Fate,
Death's Annalist, Reformer of the State ;
Cut-throat of Texts, and Chaplain of the Halter,
Iii whose fage Presence Vice itself did faulcer.
How many Criminals, by thee aflifted,
Old Smith, have been most orthodoxly twisted ?
And when they labourd with a dying Qualmg.
Were decently fufpended to a Píalm I.
How oft haft thou set harden'd Rogues a Squeaking,
By urging the great Sinof Sabbath-breaking;
And fav'd Delinquents from old Nick's Embraces,
By flashing Fire and Brimftone in their faces ?

Thou wast a Gospel Smith, and after Sentence,
Brought'st sinners to the Anvil of Repentance ;
And tho they provid obdurate at the Sestions,
Could'It hammer out of them moft strange Confession,
When Plate was Atray'd, and Silver Spoons were mising,
And Chamber.maid betray'd by fredas Kissing,

Thy Christian Bowels chearfully extended
Towards such, as by their Mammon were befriendede.
Tho' Culprit in enormous Acts was taken,
Thou woult devise a Way, to save his Bacon ý,
And if his Purse could bleed a half Pistole,
Legit, my Lord, He reads, upon my Soul.
Spite of thy Charity to dying Wretches,
Some Fools would live to bilk thy Gallows Speechesa
But who'd refuse, that has a Tafte of Writing,
To hang, for one learn's Speech of thy indiring..
Thou alway'st had'It a conscientious Itching,
To refcue Penitents from Pluto's Kitchen ;
And haft committed upon many a Soul
A pious Theft, but fo St. Austin stole.
And Shoals of Robbers, purgid of sinfüt Leaven,
By thee were set in the High Road to Heaven.

With sev'ral Mayors halt thou eat Beef. and Mustardy.
And frail Mince-pyes, and transitory Custard..
But now that learned Head in. Dust is laid,
Which has fo sweetly sung, and sweetly pray'd :


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Yet, thothy out ward Man is


and rotten,
Thy better Part Mall never be forgotten
While Newgate is a Mansion for good Fellows,
And Sternbold's Rhimes are murder'd at the Gallows;
While Ho horn Cits at Execution gape,
And Cuc-purse follow'd is by Man of Crape ;
While Grub.Street Muse, in Garrets so fublime,
Trafficks in Doggrel, and aspires to Rhime ;
Thy Deathless Name and Memory shall reign,
From fam'd St. Giles, co Smithfield, and Duck-lane.
But since thy Death does general Sorrow give,
We hope thou in thy Successor will live.
Newgate and Tyburn jointly give their votese.
Thou may'st succeeded be by Dr. Oetes,

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An EPITAPH upon that profound and learned
Cafuift, the late Ordinary of Newgate.

Nder this Stone

Lies Reverend Drone,
To Tyburn well-known ;
Who preach'd against Sin

Wich a terrible Grin,
In which some may think, that he adted, but odly,
Since he liv'd by the Wicked, and not by the Godly.

In Time of great Need,
In Cafe he were freed,
Heed teach one to read
Old Pot-hooks and Scrawls,
As ancient as Pauls.
But if no Money came,
You might hang for old Sam,
And, founder'd in Pfalter,
Be ty'd to a Halter.

This Priest was well hung,
I mean with a Tongue,
And bold Sons of Vice
Would difarm in a Trice ;


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