THE POWER OF TIME.
F neither brafs nor marble can withstand
The mortal force of Time's deftructive hand;
If mountains fink to vales, if cities die,
And leffening rivers mourn their fountains dry :
When
my old caffock (faid a Welfh divine)
Is out at elbows; why fhould I repine?
ON MR. PULTENEY'S ' BEING PUT OUT OF THE COUNCIL. 173:16 IR Robert, weary'd by Will Pulteney's teazings, Who interrupted him in all his leafings, Refolv'd that Will and he fhould meet no more: Full in his face Bob fhuts the council-door ; Nor lets him fit as juftice on the bench, To punish thieves, or lafh a fuburb-wench. Yet ftill St. Stephen's chapel open lies
For Will to enter.-What fhall I advife?
Ev'n quit the HOUSE, for thou too long haft fat in 't,
Produce at laft thy dormant ducal patent;
There, near thy master's throne in shelter plac'd,
Let Will unheard by thee his thunder waste.
Yet ftill I fear your work is done but half:
For, while he keeps his pen, you are not safe.
Hear an old fable, and a dull one too;
It bears a moral, when apply'd to you.
A hare had long efcap'd purfuing hounds.
By often shifting into diftant grounds;
Till, finding all his artifices vain,
To fave his life he leap'd into the main.
But there, alas! he could no fafety find,
A pack of dog-fish had him in the wind.
He fcours away; and, to avoid the foe,
Defcends for shelter to the fhades below:
There Cerberus lay watching in his den
(He had not feen a hare the lord knows when).
Out bounc'd the maftiff of the triple head;
Away the hare with double swiftness fled;
Hunted from earth, and fea, and hell, he flies
(Fear lent him wings) for fafety to the skies.
How was the fearful animal diftreft !.
Behold a foe more fierce than all the rest:
Sirius, the swifteft of the heavenly pack,
Fail'd but an inch to feize him by the back.
He fled to earth, but firft it coft him dear:
He left his fcut behind, and half an ear.
Thus was the hare pursued, though free from guilt; Thus, Bob, fhalt thou be maul'd, fly where thou wilt. Then, honeft Robin, of thy corpfe beware;
Thou art not half fo nimble as a hare:
Too ponderous is thy bulk to mount the fky;
Nor can you go to hell, before you die.
So keen thy hunters, and thy fcent so strong,
Thy turns and doublings cannot fave thee long *.
* This hunting ended in the promotion both of Will and Bob. Bob was no longer first minister, but earl of Orford; and Will was no longer his opponent, but earl of Bath. H.
FREDERICK DUKE OF SCHOMBERG*,
Hic infra fitum eft corpus FREDERICI DUCIS DE SCHOMBERG, ad BUDINDAM occifi, A. D. 1699. DECANUS et CAPITULUM maximopere etiam atque etiam petierunt,
Ut HÆREDES DUCIS monumentum
In memoriam PARENTIS erigendum curarent:
Sed poftquam per epiftolas, per amicos,
diu ac fæpè orando nil profecêre ;
Hunc demum lapidem ipfi ftatuerunt,
+ Saltem ut fcias, hofpes,
Ubinam terrarum SCONBERGENSES cineres
"Plus potuit fama virtutis apud alienos,
Quam fanguinis proximitas apud fuos."
A. D. 1731.
The duke was unhappily killed, in croffing the river Boyne, July 1, 1990; and was buried in St. Patrick's cathedral; where the dean and chapter erected fmall monument to his honour, at their own expence.
The words that Dr. Swift firft concluded the epitaph with, were "Saltem ut fciat viator indignabundus, quali in cellula tanti ductoris ĉineres delitefcunt." "VOL. II.. CASSINUS
WO college fophs of Cambridge growth,
Both special wits, and lovers both,
Conferring as they us❜d to meet
On love, and books, in rapture sweet
(Mufe, find me names to fit my metre,
Caffinus this, and t' other Peter);
Friend Peter to Caffinus goes,
To chat a while, and warm his nose :
But fuch a fight was never seen,
The lad lay fwallow'd up in spleen.
He feem'd as juft crept out of bed;
One greasy stocking round his head,
The other he fat down to darn
With threads of different-colour'd yarn ;
His breeches torn expofing wide
A ragged shirt and tawny hide.
Scorch'd were his fhins, his legs were bare,
But well embrown'd with dirt and hair.
A rug was o'er his fhoulders thrown
(A rug; for night-gown he had none).
His jordan flood in manner fitting
Between his legs to fpew or spit in;
His ancient pipe, in fable dy'd,
And half unfmok'd, lay by his fide.
Him thus accoutred Peter found,
With eyes in smoke and weeping drown'd;
The leavings of his last night's pot
On embers plac'd, to drink it hot.
Why, Caffy, thou wilt doze thy pate:
What makes thee lie a-bed fo late?
The finch, the linnet, and the thrush,
Their mattins chant in every bush :
And I have heard thee oft' falute
Aurora with thy early flute.
Heaven fend thou haft not got the hyps!
How! not a word come from thy lips?
Then gave him fome familiar thumps;
A college-joke, to cure the dumps.
The fwain at laft, with grief opprest,
Cry'd, Calia! thrice, and figh'd the rest.
Dear Caffy, though to ask I dread,
Yet afk I muft. Is Cælia dead?
How happy I, were that the worst!
But I was fated to be curft.
Come, tell us, has she play'd the whore?
Oh, Peter, would it were no more!
Why, plague confound her fandy locks!
Say, has the small or greater pox
Sunk down her nose, or feam'd her face?
Be easy, 'tis a common case.
Oh, Peter! beauty 's but a varnish,
Which time and accidents will tarnish:
But Cælia has contriv'd to blast
Those beauties that might ever last.
Q 2
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