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170

Old Goodman Dobson of the green
Remembers, he the trees has seen ;
He 'N talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to thew 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 parson of our town,
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down ;
At which 'ris hard to be believ'd.
How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew scrubbed, dy'd a-top, was Runted ;.
So the next parson stubb'd and burnt it.

175

E L

E

G. Y

On the supposed Death of PARTRIDGE,

the Almanack-Maker. 1709.

WELL; 'tis as Bickerstaff has guess'd,

Though we all took it for a jest:
Partridge is dead ; nay more, he dy'd
Ere he could prove the good 'squire ly’d.
Strange, an astrologer 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 eclipse appear'd I No comet with a flaming beard !

The

The fun has rose, and gone to bed,
Just as if Partridge were not dead ;
Nor hid hinself 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 such matter.

Some wits have wonder'd what analogy
There is 'twixt * cobling and afirology ;
How Partridge made his optics rise
From a poe-fole to reach the skies.

A list 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 stars and rays ;
Which plainly shews the near alliance
'Twixt cobling and the planets science.

Besides, that flow-pac'd fign Bootes,
As 'tis miscall'd, we know not who 'tis :
But Partridge ended all disputes ;
He knew his trade, and call'd it t boots.

The borned moon, which heretofore l'pon their shoes the Romans wore, Whose wideness kept their toss from corns, And whence we claim our fboeing-borns, * Partridge was a cobler. + See his almanack.

E4

Shews

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

A scrap of parchment hung by geometry
(A great refinement in barometry)
Can, like the stars, foretel the weather;
And what is parchment else but leather ?
Which an astrologer might use
Either for almanacks or foes.

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.

Besides, he could confound the spheres,
And set the planets by the ears ;
To fhew his skill, he Mars could join
To Venus in aspect malign;
Then call in Mercury for aid,
And cure the wounds that Venus made.

Great scholars have in Lucian read,
When Philip king of Greece was dead,
His loul and spirit did divide,
And each part took a different fide :
One rose a star; the otlier fell
Beneath, and mended shoes in hell.

Thus

Thus Partridge still shines in each art,
The cobling and Atar-gazing part,
And is install

d as good a star As any of the Cæsars are.

Triumphant star! fome pity show
On coblers militant below,
Whom roguish boys in stormy nights
Torment by pissing 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 Phæbus 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 side,
She 'll strain a point, and set astride,
To take thee kindly in between;
And then the signs will be thirteen.

[blocks in formation]

HERE, five feet deep, lies on his back A cobler, farmonger, and quack;

Who

'Who to the stars in pure good-will-
Does to his beft look upward still.
Weep, all you customers that use
His pills, his almanacks, or foes :
And you that did your fortunes seek
Step to his grave but once a week :
This earth, which bears his body's print,
You 'll find has so much virtue in 't,
That I durft pawn my ears 'twill tell
Whate’er concerns you full as well,
In physick, folen-goods, or love,
As he himfelf could, when above.

MERLIN'S PROPHECY.. 1709. SET

EVE N and ten addyd to nine,

Of Fraunce her woe this is the sygne,
Tamys rivere twys y-frozen,
Walke fans wetyng shoes 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 fyshe t beweyle his bosse ;
Nor shall grin berrys I make up the losse.
Yonge Symnele || shall again miscarrye :
And Norways pryd & again shall marrey.
And from the tree where blosums feele,

Rife fruit shall come, and all is wele. * D. of Marlborough.

+ The Dauphin. 1 D. of Berry. ll The young Pretender. $ Q. Anne. 4

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