If we who wear our wigs

With fan-tail and with fnake, Are bubbled thus by prigs;

Zds, who would be a rake?

Had I a heart to fight,

I'd knock the Doctor down; Or could I read or write,

l'gad I'd wear a gown.

Then leave him to his birch *.

And at the Rofe on Sunday,

The parfon fafe at church,
I'll treat you with burgundy.

*He kept a fchool.

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40.

A

On BURNING a dull POEM.

Written in the year 1729.

Nafs's hoof alone can hold

That pois'nous juice which kills by cold.
Methought, when I this poem read,
No veffel but an afs's head

Such frigid fuftian could contain,
I mean the head without the brain.
The cold conceits, the chilling thoughts
Went down like ftupifying draughts:
I found my head began to fwim,
A numbnefs crept through ev'ry limb.
In hafte, with imprecations dire,
I threw the volume in the fire:
When, who could think? tho' cold as ice,
It burnt to afhes in a trice.

How could I more inhance its fame? Though born in fnow, it dy'd in flame.

5

10

15

A

A LIBEL on the Reverend Dr. DELANY, and his Excellency JOHN Lord CAR

TERET.

To Dr. DELANY, occafioned by his epiftle to his Excellency JOHN Lord CARTERET.

Written in the year 1729.

DEluded mortals, whom the great

Chufe for companions téte a téte;
Who at their dinners en famille,
Get leave to fit whene'er you will ;
Then boafting tell us where
you din'd,
And how his Lordship was fo kind;
How many pleafant things he spoke,
And how you laugh'd at ev'ry joke:
Swear he's a most facetious man;
That you and he are cup and can ::
You travel with a heavy load,
And quite mistake preferment's road.

Suppofe my Lord and you alone;
Hint the leaft int'reft of your own;
His vifage drops, he knits his brow,
He cannot talk of bus'nefs now:
Or mention but a vacant poft,
He'll turn it off with, "Name your
Nor could the niceft artift paint
A countenance with more constraint.

toast."

For as, their appetites to quench, Lords keep a pimp to bring a wench;

So men of wit are but a kind

Of pandars to a vitious mind;
Who proper objects must provide
To gratify their luft of pride,

When weary'd with intrigues of state,
They find an idle hour to prate.
Then fhould you dare to ask a place,
You forfeit all your patron's grace,
And difappoint the fole defign,

For which he fummon'd you to dine.

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30

Thus Congreve spent in writing plays,

And one poor office half his days;

While Montague *, who claim'd the ftation
To be Mæcenas of the nation,

35

For poets open table kept,

But ne'er confider'd where they slept :
Himself as rich as fifty Jews,

Was eafy though they wanted fhoes;
And crazy Congreve fcarce could fpare
A fhilling to discharge his chair:
Till prudence taught him to appeal
From Pæan's fire to party-zeal;
Not owing to his happy vein
The fortunes of his latter fcene,
Took proper principles to thrive ;

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45

And fo might ev'ry dunce alive.

Thus Steele, who own'd what others writ,

And flourish'd by imputed wit,

50

From perils of a hundred jails,

Withdrew to starve, and die in Wales.

Thus Gay, the hare + with many friends, Twice feven long years the court attends :

Earl of Halifax.

See his fables.

Who

Who under tales conveying truth,
To virtue form'd a princely youth *:
Who paid his courtship with the croud,
As far as modeft pride allow'd;
Rejects a fervile uíher's place,

And leaves St. James's in difgrace +.

Thus Addifon, by Lords carefs'd,
Was left in foreign lands diftrefs'd;
Forgot at home, became for hire
A trav❜ling tutor to a 'fquire:
But wifely left the mufes hill,
To bus'nefs fhap'd the poet's quill,
Let all his barren laurels fade,

Took up himfelf the courtiers trade,
And grown a minifter of ftate,

Saw

poets at his levee wait.

Hail, happy Pope! whofe gen'rous mind.

Detefting all the statesmen kind,

Contemning courts, at courts unseen,

Refus'd the vifits of a queen.

A foul with ev'ry virtue fraught,
By fages, priefts, or poets taught;
Whofe filial piety excels

Whatever Grecian story tells;

A genius for all ftations fit,

Whofe meaneft talent is his wit;

His heart too great, though fortune little,

To lick a rafcal ftatefman's fpittle;

Appealing to the nation's tafte,

Above the reach of want is place'd:
By Homer dead was taught to thrive,
Which Homer never could alive:

His Royal Highness William Duke of Cumberland, fecond fon of K. George II.

For fome account of this, fee Letters to and from Dr. Swift.

And