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Old Goodman Dobfon of the green
Remembers, he the trees has feen ;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to fhew the fight;
On Sundays, after evening-prayer,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew;
Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew:
Till once a parfon of our town,

To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;
At which 'tis hard to be believ'd.
How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew scrubbed, dy'd a-top, was stunted ;-
So the next parfon stubb'd and burnt it..







On the fuppofed DEATH of PARTRIDGE, the Almanack-Maker. 1709.

WELL; 'tis as Bickerstaff has guess'd,.

Though we all took it for a jeft:

Partridge is dead; nay more, he dy'd
Ere he could prove the good 'fquire ly'd.
Strange, an aftrologer should die
Without one wonder in the sky!
Not one of all his crony stars
To pay their duty at his hearse !
No meteor, no eclipfe appear'd!
No comet with a flaming beard!


The fun has rofe, and gone to bed,

Juft as if Partridge were not dead ;
Nor hid himself behind the moon
To make a dreadful night at noon.
He at fit periods walks through Aries,
Howe'er our earthly motion varies;
And twice a year he 'll cut th' equator,
As if there had been no fuch matter.
Some wits have wonder'd what analogy
There is 'twixt cobling and afirology;

How Partridge made his optics rise
From a fhoe-fole to reach the skies.

A lift the cobler's temples ties,
To keep the hair out of his eyes;
From whence 'tis plain, the diadem
That princes wear derives from them :
And therefore crowns are now-a-days
Adorn'd with golden ftars and rays;
Which plainly fhews the near alliance
'Twixt cobling and the planets science.

Befides, that flow-pac'd fign Boötes,
As 'tis mifcall'd, we know not who 'tis :
But Partridge ended all difputes;
He knew his trade, and call'd it † boots.

The borned moon, which heretofore

Upon their fhoes the Romans wore,
Whose wideness kept their toes from corns,
And whence we claim our fboeing-borns,

* Partridge was a cobler.

† See his almanack.

E 4


Shews how the art of cobling bears
A near resemblance to the spheres.

A fcrap of parchment hung by geometry
(A great refinement in barometry)
Can, like the ftars, foretel the weather;
And what is parchment else but leather ?
Which an aftrologer might ufe
Either for almanacks or shoes.

Thus Partridge by his wit and parts
At once did practise both these arts:
And as the boding owl (or rather
The bat, because her wings are leather)
Steals from her private cell by night,
And flies about the candle-light;
So learned Partridge could as well
Creep in the dark from leathern cell,
And in his fancy fly as far

To peep upon a twinkling star.

Befides, he could confound the spheres,
And fet the planets by the ears;

To fhew his fkill, he Mars could join
To Venus in afpe&t malign;

Then call in Mercury for aid,

And cure the wounds that Venus made.
Great fcholars have in Lucian read,
When Philip king of Greece was dead,
His foul and fpirit did divide,

And each part took a different fide:
One rose a star; the other fell
Beneath, and mended fhoes in hell.


Thus Partridge still shines in each art,
The cobling and far-gazing part,
And is inftall'd as good a star
As any of the Cæfars are.

Triumphant ftar! fome pity fhow
On coblers militant below,

Whom roguish boys in ftormy nights
Torment by piffing out their lights,
Or through a chink convey their smoke
Inclos'd artificers to choke.

Thou, high exalted in thy sphere,
May'st follow still thy calling there.
To thee the Bull will lend his bide,
By Phoebus newly tann'd and dry'd :
For thee they Argo's hulk will tax,
And scrape her pitchy fides for wax :
Then Ariadne kindly lends
Her braided hair to make thee ends;
The points of Sagittarius' dart
Turns to an awl by heavenly art;
And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife,
Will forge for thee a paring-knife.
For want of room by Virgo's fide,
She 'll strain a point, and fet aftride,
To take thee kindly in between ;
And then the figns will be thirteen.

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HERE, five feet deep, lies on his back

A cobler, farmonger, and quack;

'Who to the stars in pure good-will·
Does to his beft look upward ftill.
Weep, all you customers that use

His pills, his almanacks, or shoes:
And you that did your fortunes feek
Step to his grave but once a week :
This earth, which bears his body's print,
You'll find has fo much virtue in 't,
That I durft pawn my ears 'twill tell
Whate'er concerns you full as well,
In phyfick, folen-goods, or love,
As he himself could, when above.

MERLIN'S PROPHECY. 1709. SEVEN and ten addyd to nine,

Of Fraunce her woe this is the fygne,

Tamys rivere twys y-frozen,

Walke fans wetyng fhoes ne hozen.
Then comyth foorthe, ich understonde,
From towne of stoffe to fattyn londe,
An hardie chiftan*, woe the morne,
To Fraunce that evere he was born.
Then shall the fyfhe + beweyle his bosse;
Nor fhall grin berrys make up the loffe.
Yonge Symnele | fhall again miscarrye :
And Norways pryd § again fhall marrey.
And from the tree where blofums feele,
Rife fruit fhall come, and all is wele.

* D. of Marlborough.

+ The Dauphin.

D. of Berry. The young Pretender. § Q Anne.



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