Where, in the ftrollers' eanting ftrain,
They begg'd from door to door in vain,
Tried every tone might pity win;
But not a foul would let them in..

Our wandering faints, in woful state,
Treated at this ungedly rate,
Having though all the village paft,
To a fmall cottages came at laft!
Where dwelt a good old honeft ye'ʼınan,
Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon;
Who kindly did thefe faints invite
In his poor but to pafs the night;
And then the hofpitable fre
Bid goody Baucis mend the fre;
While he from out the chimney took
A flitch of bacon off the hook,
And freely from the fatteft fide
Cut out large fiices to be fry'd;
Then stepp'd afide to fetch them drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful!) they found
'Twas ftill replenish'd to the top,
As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop.
The good old couple were amz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;
For both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry,-What ar't!
Then foftly turn'd af de to view
Whether the lights were burning blue.
The gentle pilgrims, foon aware on't,
Told them their calling, and their errand:
Good folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but faints, the hermits faid;
No hurt hall come to you or yours:
But for that pack of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on Chriftian ground,
They and their houfes ft all be drown'd;
Whilst you fall fee your cottage rife,

And grow a church before your eyes.

Now feem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in picture, fize, and letter;
And, high in order plac'd, defcribe
The heraldry of every tribe *.

A bedftead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did ufe,
Was metamorphos'd into pews;
Which ftill their anciert nature keep
40 By lodging folks difpos'd to fleep.

50

They fearce had fpoke, when fair and foft

The roof began to mount aloft;

Aloft rofe every beam and rafter;

The heavy wall cli:nb'd flowly after.

The chimney widen'd, and grew highers

55

Became a steeple with a fpire.

The jack and chimney, near ally'd,

Had never left each other's fide:

The cottage by fuch teats as thefe
Grown to a church by juft degrees,
The hermits then defir'd their hoft
To ask for what he fancy'd moft.
Philemon, baving paus'd a while,
Return'd them thanks in homely ftyle:
Then faid, My houfe is grown fo une,
Methinks I fill would call it mine;
I'm old, and fain would live at eafe ;
Make me the parfen, if you please,
He fpoke, and prefently he fes
His grazier's coat fall dow his heels:
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-fleeve ;
His waiftcoat to a caffeek grew,
And both affum'd a fable hue:
But, being old, continued just
As thread-bare, and as full of duft.
His talk was pow of tithes and dues:

60 He fmol'd his pipe, and read the news;
Knew how to preach old fermons next,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text;
At chriftenings well could act his part,
And had the fervice all by heart;

65 Wish'd women might have children faft, And thought whofe fow had farrow'd laft; Against differters would repine,

And ftood up firm for right divine;

Found his head Ell'd with many a fyftem: 135
But claffe authors,-he ne'er mifs'd 'em.
Thus having furbish'd up a parfon,

Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.

The tribes of Ifrael are e fometimes difinguished in country churches by the ensigns given to them by 75 | Jacobe

Inftead of home-fpun coifs, were seen Good pinners edg'd with colberteen; Her petticoat, transform'd apace, Became black fatt n flounc'd with lace. Plain Goedy would no longer down; 'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown. Philemon was in great furprize, And hardly could believe his eyes, Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim; And the admir'd as much at him.

Thus happy in their change of life Were feveral years this man and wife ; When on a day, which prov'd their last, Difcouring o'er old stories paft,

They went by chance, amidst their talk,

To the church-yard to take a walk; When Baucis hattily cry'd out,

My dear, I fee your forehead fprout!

140

145

150

155

Sprout! quoth the inan; what's this you tell us?

I hope you don't believe me jealous!
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really yours is budding too-
Nay, now I cannot ftir my oot;
Is feels as if 'twere taking root.

Defcription would but tire my Mufe;
In short, they both were turn'd to yerus.
Old Goodman Dobfon of the greenTM
Remembers, he the trees has seen;
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 perish 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 fcrubbed, dy'd a-top, was ftunted;
So the next parfon stubb'd and burnt it.

ELEGY

160

165

170

175

On the fuppofed DEATH of PARTRIDGE, the Almanack-Maker. 1708.

WELL; 'tis as Bickerftaff has

guefs'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 afrologer fould die
Without one wonder in the fly!
Not one of all his crony stars
To their duty at his hearte!
pay
No meteor, no eclipfe appear'd!
No comet with a aming beard!
The fun has rofe, and gone to bed,
Juft as if Partridge were not dead;
Nor hid himfelf 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.
VOL. V.

Some wits have wonder'd what analogy There is 'twixt * çobling and afrology; How Partridge made his optics rife 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 Adora'd with golden ftars and rays; Which plainly fhews the near alliance 'Twixt cebling and the planets fierce.

Befides, that flow-pac'd fgn. 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 horned moon, which heretofore Upon their fhoes the Roma..s wore, Whofe widenefs kept their toes from corns, And whence we claim our fhoeing-horns, Shews how the art of cobling bears A near refemblance 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 elfe but leather?
Which an aftrologer might ufe
Either for almaracks or fives.

Thus Partridge by his wit-and parts
At once did practife both thefe arts:
And as the boding owl (or rather >
The bat, because her wings are leather)
Steals from her private cell by night,
And lies 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 ftar.

Befdes, he could confound the heresy And fet the planets by the ears; To frew his fkill, he Mars could join To Venus in affect 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 foul and fpirit did divide,

And each part took a diferent fide:
One rofe a ftar; the other fell
Beneath, and mended fhoes in hell.

Thus Partridge ftill fines in each art,
The cobling and ar-gazing part ;
And is inftall'd as good a ftar
As any of the Cæfars are.

Triumphant far! fome pity fhow
On coblers militant below,
Whom rogaif boys, in formy nights,
Torment by piffing out their lights;
Or through a chink convey their fmoke,
Inclos'd artificers to choke

Thou, high exalted in thy fphere,
May't follow ftill thy calling there.
To thee the Bull will lend his hide,
By Phoebus newly tann'd and dry'd;

* Partridge was a cobler. † See his almanack, M m

Now in contiguous drops the flood comes

down.

Threatening with deluge this devoted town, 2 To fhops in crouds the daggled females fly, Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy. The templar fpruce, while every spout's abroach, Stays till 'tis fair, yet feems to call a coach. The tuck'd-up femfrefs walks with hafty ftrides, While treams run down her oil'd umbrella's fides.

Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a fed.
Triumphant Tories and defponding Whigs
Forget their feuds, and join to fave their wigs.
Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient : ts,
Wade fpouts run clattering o'er the roof by fts,
And ever and anon with frightful din

The leather founds; he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden fteed,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed,
(Thofe bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Inftead of paying chairmen, ran them through)
Laocoon ftruck the outfide with his fpear,
And each imprison'd hero quad for fear.

Now from all parts the fwelling kennels flow, And bear their trophies with them as they go: Filths of all hues ard odours feem to tell

What ftreet they fail'd from by their fight and fmell.

They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force, From Smithfield or St. 'Pulchre's fhape their course,

And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge, Fall from the conduit prone to Holbourn bridge. Sweepings from butchers' ftalls, dung, guts) and blood.

Drown'd puppies, ftinking fprats, all drench'd in mud,

Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.

ON THE LITTLE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD OF CASTLEKNOCK, 1710. THOEVER pleafeth to enquire

WHO

Why yonder fteeple wants a fpire,

The grey old fellow poet Joe
The philofophic cause will show.
Once on a time a western blaft
At least twelve inches overcast,
Reckoning roof, weathercock, and all,
Which came with a prodigious fall;
And turning topsy-turvey round,
Light with its bottom on the ground;
For, by the laws of gravitation,
It fell into its proper station.

This is the little ftrutting pile,
You fee juft by the church-yard ftile;
The walls in tumbling gave a knock;
And thus the fteeple got a flock;
From whence the neighbouring farmer calls
The fteeple, Knock; the vicar, Walls.

Mr. Beaumont of Trim.

+ Archdeacon Wall, a correfpendent of Swift's.

The vicar once a week creeps in, Sits with his knees up to his chin; Here conns his notes, and takes a whet, Till the fmall ragged flock is met.

A traveller, who by did pafs, Obferv'd the roof behi d the grafs; On tiptoe stood, and rear'd his fnout, And faw the parfon creeping out; Was much furpriz'd to fee a crow Venture to build his neft fo low.

A fchool-boy ran unto 't, and thought, The crib was down, the blackbird caught. A third, who loft his way by night, Was forc'd for fafety to alight; And, ftepping o'er the fabric-roof, His horfe had like to fpoil his hoof. Warburton took it in his noddle, This building was defign'd a model Or of a pigeon-houfe or oven, To bake one loaf, and keep one dove in.

Then Mrs. Johnsont gave her verdict, And every one was pleas'd that heard it: All that you make this ftir about, Is but a ftill which wants a fpout. The reverend Dr Raymond guess'd More probably tha all the reft; He faid, but that it wanted room, It might have been a pigmy's tomb. The Doctor's family came by, And little mifs began to cry; Give me that houfe in my own hand! Then madam bade the chariot ftand, Call'd to the clerk, in manner mild, Pray, reach that thing here to the child; That thing, I mean, among the kale: And here's to buy a pot of ale.

The clerk faid to her, in a heat, What! fell my mafter's country feat, Where he comes every week from town! He would not fell it for a crown. Poh! fellow, keep not fuch a pother; In half an hour thou 'lt make another, Says Nancy, I can make for miss A finer houfe ten times than this; The Dean will give me willow-sticks, And Joe my apron-full of bricks,

Till, metamorphos'd by his grasp,
It grew an all-devouring afp;
Would hifs, and fting, and roll, and twift,
By the mere virtue of his fif;
But, when he laid it down, as quick
Refum'd the figure of a ftick,

So to her midnight-feaits the hag
Rides on a broomstick for a nag,
That, rais'd by magick of her breech,
O'er fea and land conveys the witch;
But with the morning-dawn re umes
The peaceful ftate of common brooms,

They tell us fomething ftrange and odd
About a certain magic red*,
That, bending down its top, divines
Whene'er the foil has golden mines;
Where there are none, it ftands erect,
Scorning to fhew the leaft refpect.
As ready was the wand of Sid

To bent where golden mines were hid;
In Scottish hills found precious ore,†
Where none e'er look'd for it before;
And by a gentle bez divin'd,
How well a cully's purie was lin'd:
To a forlorn and broken rake
Stood without motion, like a stake.

The rod of Hermes was renown'd
For char.ns above and under ground;
To fleep could mortal eye-lids fx,
And drive departed fouls to Styx.
That rod was just a type of Sid's,
Which o'er a British fenate's lids

Could fcatter opium full as well,
And drive as many fouls to hell.
Sid's rod was flender, white, and tall,
Which oft he us'd to withal;

A plaice was faften'd to the hook,
And many score of gudgeons took:
Yet fill fo happy was his fate,
He caught his fish, and fav'd his buit.
Sid's brethren of the conjuring tribe
A circle with their red defcribe,
Which proves a magical redoubt
To keep mischievous spirits out.
Sid's rod was of a larger ftride.
And made a circle thrice as wide,
Where firits thror g'd with leous din,
And he ftood there to take them in:
But, when th' inchanted ro' was broke,
They vanid in a ftinking fmoke,

Achilles' fceptre was of wood,
Lite Sid's, but nothing near fo good;
That down from anceñors divine
Tranfmitted to the hero's line,
Thence, through a long defcent of kings,
Came an HEIR-LOOM, as Homer fings.
Though this defcription looks fo big,
That fceptre was a aplefs twig,
Which, from the fatal day, when frft
It left the foreft where 'twas nurs'd,
As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,

Nor leaf, nor fruit, nor blofiom, bore.

Sid's feeptre, full of juice, did fhont
In golden boughs, and golden fruit ;
And he, the dragon never fleeping,
Guarded each fair Hefperian pippin.
No hobby-horse, with gorgeous top,
The dearest in Charles Mather's shop,
Or glittering tintel of May-fair,
Could with this rod of Sid compare.

Dear Sid, then, why wert thou fə mad
To break thy red lile naughty lad!
You fould have kiss'd it in your distress,
And then return'd it to your mij refs;
Or made it a Newmarket switch,
And not a rod for thy own breech,
But fince old Sid has broken this,
His next may be a rod in gifs.

ATLAS; OR, THE MINISTER OF STATE.

A1

TO THE

LORD TREASURER OXFORD.
TLAS, we read in ancient song,
Was fo exceeding tall and ftrong,
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.
Yet Hercules was not fo ftrong,
Nor could have borne it half fo long.
Great fiatefmen are in this condition;
And Atlas is a politician,

A premier minister of state;
Alcides one of fecond rate.
Suppofe then Atlas ne'er fo wife;
Yet, when the weight of kingdoms lies
Too long upon his fingle fhoulders,
Sink down he muft, or find upholders.

1710.

A TOWN ECLOGUE. 1710.
Scene, The ROYAL EXCHANGE.
CORYDON.

[OW the keen rigour of the winter 's o'er,

No No hail defcends, and frofts can pinch n

more;

Whilst other girls confefs the genial ipring, And laugh aloud, or amorous ditties fing, Secure from cold their lovely necks display, And throw each ufelefs chafing-dish away;

minerals.

Ejays,

Supposed to allude to the Union.