Thus to confound heaven, earth, the air, and main,
Whom I but first I'll calm the waves again.
But if you tempt my rage a fecond time,
Know, that some heavier vengeance waits the crime.
Hence fly with speed; from me your tyrant tell,
That to my lot this watery empire fell.
Bid him his rocks, your gloomy dungeons, keep;
But leave to me the trident of the deep :
There let him reign with undisputed power,
And hear within his blustering fubjects roar.
He spoke; and speaking chac'd the clouds away,
Hush'd every billow, and reftor'd the day.
Cymothoe guards the veffels in the shock,
And Triton heaves them from the pointed rock.
He with his trident difengag'd the ships,
And clear'd the Syrtes, and compos'd the deeps.
Then mounted on the radiant car he rides
Swift o'er the feas, and smoothly fkims the tides:
As when fedition fires th' ignoble crowd,
And the wild rabble storms and thirsts for blood,
Of stones and brands a mingled tempeft flies,
And all the fudden arms that rage fupplies :
If fome grave fire appears amidst the strife,
In morals ftrict, and innocence of life,
All fix'd in filence ftand; their fury cools ;
While his refiftless eloquence controls
Their frantic rage, and gently calms their fouls.
So did the roaring deeps their rage compofe,
When the great father of the floods arofe.
Rapt by his steeds, he flies in open day,
Throws up the reins, and skims the watery way.
On his MAJESTY's playing with a TIGER in Kenfington Gardens.
"Primâ Dicte mihi, fummâ Dicende Camoenâ."
AMIDST the den, the lions prey,
Seal'd up for death the prophet lay ;
But couch'd the hungry monsters fit,
And fawning lick his facred feet;
Swift fhot an angel from above,
And chang'd their fury into love.
As fwift did Britain's genius fly,
And for her charge stand trembling by ;
When Brunswick, pious, brave, and wife,
Like Him the favourite of the skies,
Play'd with the monfter's dreadful teeth,
And sported with the fangs of death.
Genius of Britain, fpare thy fears,
For know, within, our fovereign wears
The fureft guard; the best defence;
A firm untainted innocence.
So fweet an innocence difarms
The fierceft rage with powerful charms,
So far rebellion it beguiles,
That faction bends;
that envy
That furious favages submit,
And pay due homage at his feet.
Britain! by this example prove
Thy duty, loyalty, and love.
See the fierce brutes thy king carefs,
And court him with a mute address ;
Well may'st thou own his gentle sway,
If tigers bend, and savages obey.
A DIALOGUE between a POET and his SERVAN T.
To enter into the beauties of this fatire, it must be remembered, that flaves, among the Romans, during the feafts of Saturn, wore their mafters habits, and were allowed to fay what they pleased.
IR,-I've long waited in my turn to have
A word with you---but I'm your humble flave. P. What knave is that? my rafcal!
No knave nor rascal, but your trusty Guy.
P. Well, as your wages ftill are due, I'll bear Your rude impertinence this time of year.
S. Some folks are drunk one day, and fome for ever, And fome, like Wharton, but twelve years together. Old Evremond, renown'd for wit and dirt, Would change his living oftener than his shirt; Roar with the rakes of ftate a month; and come To ftarve another in his hole at home. So rov'd wild Buckingham the public jest, Now fome innholder's, now a monarch's guest;
His life and politics of every shape,
This hour a Roman, and the next an ape.
The gout in every limb from every vice,
Poor Clodio hir'd a boy to throw the dice.
Some wench for ever; and their fins on those,
By cuftom, fit as eafy as their cloaths.
Some fly, like pendulums, from good to evil,
And in that point are madder than the devil :
For they
P. To what will these wild maxims tend?
And where, fweet fir, will your reflections end?
S. In you.
P. In me, you knave? make out your charge.
S. You praise low-living, but you live at large.
Perhaps you scarce believe the rules you teach,
Or find it hard to practise what you preach.
Scarce have you paid one idle journey down,
But, without business, you 're again in town.
If none invite you, fir, abroad to roam,
Then-Lord, what pleasure 'tis to read at home:
And fip your two half-pints, with great delight,
Of beer at noon, and muddled port at night.
From Encome, John comes thundering at the door,
With "Sir, my mafter begs you to come o'er,
"To pass these tedious hours, these winter nights,
"Not that he dreads invafions, rogues, or fprites."
Strait for your two beft wigs aloud you call,
This ftiff in buckle, that not curl'd at all,
The feat of John Pitt, Efq; in Dorfetshire.
And where, you rascal, are the fpurs," you cry; "And O! what blockhead laid the bufkins by?" your old batter'd mare you 'll needs be gone, (No matter whether on four legs or none)
Splash, plunge, and stumble, as you fcour the heath;
All fwear at Morden 'tis on life or death:
Wildly through Wareham ftreets you scamper on,
Raife all the dogs and voters in the town;
Then fly for fix long dirty miles as bad,
That Corfe and Kingston gentry think you mad.
And all this furious riding is to prove
Your high respect, it seems, and eager love:
And yet, that mighty honour to obtain,
Banks, Shaftesbury, Doddington, may fend in vain.
Before you go, we curfe the noife you make,
And blefs the moment that you turn your back:
As for myfelf, I own it to your face,
I love good eating, and I take my glass:
But fure 'tis ftrange, dear fir, that this should be
In you amusement, but a fault in me.
All this is bare refining on a name,
To make a difference where the fault's the fame.
My father fold me to your service here,
For this fine livery, and four pounds a year.
A livery you should wear as well as I,
And this I'll prove-but lay your cudgel by.
You ferve your paffions-Thus, without a jeft,
Both are but fellow-fervants at the beft.
Yourself, good Sir, are play'd by your defires,
A mere tall puppet dancing on the wires.
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