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Vere all those Arts and Graces mine,
Which make thy finishid Merit shine,
Then would I raise the founding Strain,
Alarm, around, the lift'ning Plain,
And with thy various Praise the Verse sustain.
Id paist Thee then, with Matchlefs Art,
The clearest Head, the brayeft Heart,
Boldly honest to advise,
Bless'd Effect of being Wise!
Ever prompt thy Aid to lend:
Swift thy Country to defend : And doom'd th' Impostor's blafted Hopes to end.
But ftay, fond Muse, th' Attempt refrain;
The Theme ill suits thy humble Strain;
Welfted, O! begin thy Song!
Blooming Poet, bright and young!
Exert thy Heav'nly Art anew,
In lofty Verse the Foil pursue,
In Verse to Glory, and CADOGAN due.
His past and present A&ions fung,
Let thy Lyre again be ftrung;
Let thy sweet prophetick Lays
Anticipate his coming Praise;
Place the Scene before our Eyes,
That wrap'd in Clouds and Darkness lyes The Scene ordain'd in distant Times to rise.
Many Years the HERO give !:
Lov'd and happy make him live!
Draw him at the Helm of State,
As in Arms, in Council great!
Let the god-like Portrait shin!
So thou for Poets may divine,
Shalt. Thare his Fame, and make his Triumphs thinei
B UR LE Š QUE
On the foregoing
ELL! Sm since thou wilt expose
Thy self in Verse, as well as Profe,
And teaze thy Friends as well as Foes:
Be patient my Advice to hear,
Rave within thy proper Sphere.
Treat not of Subjects so sublime,
In gingling, empty, dogrel Rhyine ;
But hit thy Genius, Suit thy Muse,
And Ballad-swelling Matter chafe;
Chuse something whimsical and odd,
But spare, besure, the Word of GOD.
Tell us what Swift is now a doing :
Or whining Politicks, or Wooing :
With-Sentence gravé, or Mirth uncommon,"
Pois'ning the Clergy, or the Women;
Do! prithee, flutt'ring, smatt'ring Poet,
For thou, dear DEAN, or none must do it.
Shew us in Sympathetick Strain,
The Twin-Conceit of Brother-DEAN;
He's always Odd, and always New,
Idle and Humourous as you.
Is he at Ombre, or at Tea ?
Writing a Pamphlet, or a Play?
Sneaking to Nuttly's, in a Chair,
Or riding on the Strand, for Air ?
Or is he lolling on his Elbow,
Thinking what, often, John and Nell do,
Shewing how well he can rehearse
The naftieth Thing in cleanest Verse:
Inventing Whims, preparing Rhymes,
To bless the World in better Tiines?
Or is he cafting Perkin's Doom, And prophecying Things to come;
When staunch old Tory's fhall take place?
Or new Apoftates yern with Grace ?
When Bolingbrooke shall be restor'd,
And He himself ydypd, MY LORD:
Or is he settling Schemes of Life..
Honey be sure; be sure no Wife..
4'th' Morning fixing Water-Gruel,
Tea is damn'd dear, and will not do well;
At Noon no Dishes; No! a Chop,
Stolin in by Fabn from Neighb'ring Shop,
Where Dyet ready-dress'd is fold,
Griskin hot, or Sausage cold;
And for the Night, a Crust of Bread,
And Pint of Wine, and so to. Bed.
Unless, when Winds have been full-East,..
And Racquets bring a Rebel-Guest,
Full fraught with News; then ev'ry Door-
Being shut to Chat their Treason o'er,
And o'er again, ful Bowls go round,
With sprightly Mirth and Faction crown'd,
And John is bid to cut; and Cut on,
"Till a whole Yard of Neck of Mutton,
He into Chops diffects, to cloy
Th' admiring Family for joy.