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 * fwitch,
And not a rod for thy own breech.
But fince old Sid has broken this,
His next may be a rod in piss.
ATLAS; OR, THE MINISTER OF STATE.
LORD TREASURER OXFORD. 1710.
TLAS, we read in ancient fong,
Was fo exceeding tall and strong,
He bore the skies upon his back,
Juft as a pedlar does his pack :
But, as a pedlar overpress'd
Unloads upon a stall to rest,
Or, when he can no longer ftand,
Defires a friend to lend a hand;
So Atlas, left the ponderous fpheres
Should fink, and fall about his ears,
Got Hercules to bear the pile,
That he might fit and reft a while.
Lord Godolphin is fatirized by Mr. Pope for a
ftrong attachment to the turf. See his Moral Effays.
Yet Hercules was not so strong,
Nor could have borne it half fo long.
Great ftatesmen are in this condition;
And Atlas is a politician,
A premier minifter of state;
Alcides one of fecond rate.
Suppose then Atlas ne'er fo wife;
Yet, when the weight of kingdoms lies
Too long upon his single shoulders,
Sink down he muft, or find upholders.
A TOWN ECLOGUE. 1710.
Scene, THE ROYAL EXCHANGE.
NOW the keen rigour of the winter's o'er,
No hail defcends, and frofts can pinch no more,
Whilft other girls confefs the genial fpring,
And laugh aloud, or amorous ditties fing,
Secure from cold their lovely necks display,
And throw each ufelefs chafing-dish away;
Why fits my Phillis difcontented here,
Nor feels the turn of the revolving year?
Why on that brow dwell forrow and dismay,
Where Loves were wont to fport, and Smiles to play?
PHILLIS. Ah, Corydon ! furvey the 'Change around,
Through all the 'Change no wretch like me is found :
Alas! the day, when I, poor heedlefs maid,
Was to your rooms in Lincoln's-Inn betray'd;
Then how you fwore, how many vows you made!
Ye listening Zephyrs, that o'erheard his love,
Waft the foft accents to the gods above.
Alas! the day; for (oh, eternal shame !)
I fold you handkerchiefs, and loft my fame.
COR. When I forget the favour you bestow'd,
Red herrings shall be spawn'd in Tyburn Road.
Fleet-ftreet transform'd become a flowery green,
And mafs be fung where operas are seen.
The wealthy cit and the St. James's beau
Shall change their quarters, and their joys forego;
Stock-jobbing this to Jonathan's shall come,
At the Groom Porter's that play off his plum.
PHIL. But what to me does all that love avail,
If, whilft I doze at home o'er porter's ale,
Each night with wine and wenches you regale?
My live-long hours in anxious cares are past,
And raging hunger lays my beauty wafte.
On templars fpruce in vain I glances throw,
And with fhrill voice invite them as they go.
Expos'd in vain my gloffy ribbands shine,
And unregarded wave upon the twine.
The week flies round; and, when my profit 's known,
I hardly clear enough to change a crown.
COR. Hard fate of virtue, thus to be distrest,
Thou faireft of thy trade, and far the best!
As fruitmens ftalls the fummer-market grace,,
And ruddy peaches them; as firft in place
Plum-cake is feen o'er fmaller pastry ware,
And ice on that; fo Phillis does appear
In play house and in park, above the reft
Of belles mechanic, elegantly drest..
PHIL. And yet Crepundia, that conceited fair, Amidst her toys, affects a faucy air,
And views me hourly with a scornful eye.
COR. She might as well with bright Cleora vie.
PHIL. With this large petticoat I ftrive in vain
To hide my folly paft, and coming pain;
'Tis now no fecret; fhe, and fifty more,
Obferve the symptoms I had once before:
A fecond babe at Wapping must be plac'd,
When I fcarce bear the charges of the last.
COR. What I could raife I fent; a pound of plums, Five fhillings, and a coral for his gums; To-morrow I intend him fömething more.
PHIL. I fent a frock and pair of shoes before.
COR. However, you shall home with me to-night,
Forget your cares, and revel in delight.
I have in store a pint or two of wine,
Some cracknels, and the remnant of a chine.
And now on either fide, and all around,
The weighty shop-boards fall, and bars refound;
Each ready femftrefs flips her pattins on,
And ties her hood, preparing to be gone.
MIDAS, we are in ftory told,
Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold:
He chip'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like fpangles on the ground:
F 4
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would ftrait become a golden pippin:
He call'd for drink; you faw him fup
Potable gold in golden cup :
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He fuck'd his victuals through a quill;
Untouch'd it pafs'd between his grinders,
Or 't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have faid
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head :
Whene'er he chanc'd his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd, instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence by wife farmers we are told,
Old hay is equal to old gold;
And hence a critic deep maintains,
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit ;
And people fancy'd he had wit.
Two gods their skill in mufick try'd,.
And both chofe Midas to decide;
He against Phœbus' harp decreed,
it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to fhew his grudge,
Clapt affes' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his bands
Was loft among Pactolus' fands,
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