But, when he found the boys at play, And faw them dabling in their clay, He stood behind a stall to lurk, And mark the progrefs of their work; With true delight obferv'd them all Raking up mud to build a wall. The plan he much admir'd, and took The model in his table-book ; Thought himself now exactly skill'd, And fo refolv'd a house to build; A real houfe, and rooms, and fairs, Five times at least as big as theirs; Taller than mifs's by two yards; Not a fham thing of clay or cards: And fo he did; for in a while He built up fuch a monftrous pile, That no two chairmen could be found Able to lift it from the ground. Still at Whitehall it ftands in view, Juft in the place where firft it grew : There all the little fchool-boys run, Envying to fee themselves out done. From fuch deep rudiments as these, Van is become by due degrees For building fam'd, and juftly reckon'd At court Vitruvius the fecond: No wonder, fince wife authors fhow That beft foundations must be low:

And

And now the duke* has wifely ta'en him
To be his architect at Blenheim.
But, raillery for once a-part,
If this rule holds in ev'ry art;
Or if his grace were no more skill'd in
The art of batt'ring walls than building,
We might expect to fee next year
A moufe-trap man chief engineer.

THE

VIRTUES OF SID HAMET

TH

THE

MAGICIAN's ROD +.

Written in 1712.

HE rod was but a harmless wand, While Mofes held it in his hand; But, foon as e'er he laid it down, 'Twas a devouring ferpent grown. Our great magician, Hamet Sid, Reverses what the prophet did: His rod was honeft English wood, That senseless in a corner ftood,

raugh.

The duke of Marlbo-
The staff of lord treasurer

Godolphin, which, on the 29th of May 1711, was given to Robert Harley, earl of Oxford. G 3

Till,

Till, metamorphos'd by his grasp,
It grew an all-devouring afp;

Wou'd hifs, and fting, and roll, and twist,
By the mere virtue of his fift;

But, when he laid it down, as quick
Refum'd the figure of a stick.

So to her midnight feaft 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 refumes
The peaceful state of common brooms.
They tell us fomething strange and odd
About a certain magick rod,
That, bending down its top, divines
Whene'er the foil has golden mines
Where there are none, it ftands erect,
Scorning to fhew the least respect :
As ready was the wand of Sid
To bend where golden mines were hid;
In Scotifh hills found precious ore †,
Where none e'er look'd for it before;

*The virgula divina, or divining-rod, is defcribed to be a forked branch of a hazel or willow, two feet and an half long it is to be held in the palms of the hands with the fingle end elevated about eighty degrees; and in this

*

pofition is faid to be attracted by minerals and springs, fo as by a forcible inclination to direct where they are to be found.

+ Supposed to allude to the union of the two kingdoms.

And

And by a gentle bow divin'd
How well a cully's purfe was lin'd;
To a forlorn and broken rake,
Stood without motion, like a ftake.

The rod of Hermes was renown'd
For charms above and under ground;
To fleep could mortal eye-lids fix,
And drive departed fouls to Styx.
That rod was just a type of Sid's,
Which o'er a British senate's lids
Could scatter 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 fish withal; A plaife was faften'd to the hook, And many score of gudgeons took : Yet still so happy was his fate, He caught his fifb, and fav'd his bait, Sid's brethren of the conj'ring tribe A circle with their rod defcribe, Which proves a magical redoubt To keep mischievous fpirits out. Sid's rod was of a larger ftride, And made a circle thrice as wide, Where Spirits throng'd with hideous din,

And he ftood there to take them in : But, when th' enchanted rod was broke, They vanish'd in a ftinking fmoke.

G 4

Achilles

Achilles' fcepter was of wood,
Like Sid's, but nothing near fo good;
That down from ancestors divine
Tranfmitted to the hero's line,

Thence, thro' a long descent of kings,
Came an heir-loom, as Homer fings.
Though this defcription looks fo big,
That Sceptre was a fapless twig,
Which from the fatal day, when first
It left the foreft where 'twas nurs'd,
As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,
Nor leaf, nor fruit, nor bloffom bore.
Sid's fceptre, full of juice, did fhoot
In golden boughs, and golden fruit ;
And he, the dragon, never fleeping,
Guarded each fair Hefperian pippin.
No hobby-horfe, with gorgeous top,
The deareft in Charles Mather's fhop *,
Or glitt'ring tinsel of May-fair,
Could with this rod of Sid compare.

Dear Sid, then why wer't thou fo mad
To break thy rod like naughty lad?
You fhou'd have kifs'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 pifs.

*An eminent toyman in Fleet-freet.

ATLAS,