Behold a frothy fubftance rife;
Be cautious, or your bottle flies.
The butter comes, our fears are ceas'd;
And out you squeeze an ounce at least.
Your Rev'rence thus, with like success,
(Nor is your kill or labour lefs),
When bent upon fome fmart lampoon,
Will tofs and turn your brain till noon;
Which in its jumblings round the scull
Dilates, and makes the veffel full :
While nothing comes but froth at first,
You think your giddy head will burst:
But fqueezing out four lines in rhyme,
Are largely paid for all your time.
But you have rais'd your gen'rous mind To works of more exalted kind.
Palladio was not half so skill'd in
The grandeur of the art of building
Two temples of magnific fize
Attract the curious trav'ler's eyes.
That might be envy'd by the Greeks,
Rais'd up by you in twenty weeks:
Here, gentle goddess Cloacine,
Receives all off 'rings at her fhrine.
In fep'rate cells the he's and fhe's
Here pay their vows with bended knees;
For 'tis profane when fexes mingle;
And ev'ry nymph must enter single,
And when the feels an inward motion,
Come fill'd with rev'rence and devotion.
The bafhful maid, to hide her blush,
Shall creep no more behind a bush;
Here unobferv'd the boldly goes,
As who fhould fay, to pluck a rofe.
Ye who frequent this hallow'd scene.
Be not ungrateful to the Dean;
But duly, ere you leave your station,
Offer to him a pure libation,
Or of his own, or Smedley's * lay,
Or billetdoux's, or lock of hay:
And, O! may all who hither come,
Return with unpolluted thumb.
Yet when your lofty domes I praise,
I figh to think of ancient days.
Permit me then to raise my style,
And sweetly moralize a while.
Thee, bounteous goddefs Cloacine,
To temples why do we confine?
Forbid in open air to breathe,
Why are thine altars fix'd beneath ?
When Saturn rul'd the fkies alone, (That golden age to gold unknown), This earthly globe to thee aflign'd Receiv'd the gifts of all mankind.
Ten thoufand altars fmoking round
Were wafted by a gentle gale.
There many a flow'r abfterfive grew,
Thy fav'rite flow'rs of yellow hue!
The crocus and the daffodil,
The cowflip foft and fweet jonquil.
*See his character below, p. 172. VOL. VIII.
But when at last ufurping Jove
Old Saturn from his empire drove;
Then Gluttony with greafy paws
Her napkin pinn'd up to her jaws,
With wat❜ry chaps, and wagging chin.
Brace'd like a drum her oily fkin;
Wedg'd in a fpacious elbow-chair,
And on her plate a treble share.
As if the ne'er could have enough,
Taught harmless man to cram and stuff.
She fent her priest in wooden fhoes
From haughty Gaul to make ragoos;
Inftead of wholfome bread and cheese.
To drefs their foops and frigaffees;
And, for our home-bred British cheer.
Botargo, catfup, and caveer.
This bloated harpy, fprung from hell,
Confin'd thee, goddefs, to a cell;
Sprung from her womb that impious line,
Contemners of thy rites divine.
Firft, lolling Sloth in woollen cap
Taking her after-dinner nap;
Pale Dropfy with a fallow face,
Her belly burft, and flow her pace:
And lordly Gout wrapt up in fur :
And wheezing Afthma, loath to stir.
Voluptuous Eafe, the child of Wealth,
Infecting thus our hearts by ftealth;
None feek thee now in open air,
To thee no verdant altars rear ;
But in their cells and vaults obfcene
Prefent a facrifice unclean;
From whence unfav'ry vapours rose,
Offenfive to thy nicer nofe,
Ah! who in our degen'rate days,
As nature prompts, his off ring pays?
Here nature never diff'rence made
Between the fceptre and the fpade.
great ones, why will ye difdain To pay your tribute on the plain ?
Why will you place in lazy pride
Your altars near your couches fide?
*When from the homelieft earthen ware
Are fent up off'rings more fincere,
Than where the haughty Dutchefs locks
Her filver vafe in cedar-box.
Yet fome devotion still remains
Among our harmlefs northern fwains †,
Whofe off'rings place'd in golden ranks,
Adorn our cryftal rivers banks;
Nor feldom grace the flow'ry downs,
With fpiral tops and copple-crowns;
Or gilding in a funny morn
The humble branches of a thorn.
So, poets fing, with golden bough
The Trojan hero paid his vow *.
Hither by lucklefs error led,
The crude confiftence oft I tread;
Here when my fhoes are out of cafe,
Unweeting gild the tarnish'd lace;
Here by the facred bramble tinge'd,
My petticoat is doubly fringe'd.
Be witness for me, nymph divine,
I never rob'd thee with defign;
Nor will the zealous Hannah † pout
To wash thy injur'd off'rings out.
But ftop, ambitious mufe, in time,
Nor dwell on subjects too fublime.
* Vid Virgil and Lucretius.
The north of Ireland.
Virg. lib. 6.
My Lady's woman,
In vain on lofty heels I tread,
Afpiring to exalt my head;
With hoop expanded wide and light,
In vain I tempt too high a flight.
Me Phoebus 1 in a midnight dream ||
Accofting, faid, "Go fhake your cream" **.
Be humbly minded, know your poft;
Take down thy proudly-fwelling fails,
And rub thy teeth, and pare thy nails :
At nicely carving fhew thy wit;
But ne'er prefume to eat a bit :
Turn ev'ry way thy watchful eye;
And ev'ry gueft be fure to ply:
Let never at your board be known
An empty plate, except your own.
Be thefe thy arts *, nor higher aim
Than what befits a rural dame.
But Cloacina, goddess bright,
Sleek claims her as his right:
And Smedley †, flow'r of all divines,
Shall fing the Dean in Smedley's lines.
** In the bottle to make butter.
++ Guile, the quantity of ale or beer brewed at one time.
It Mrs. Dixon the housekeeper.
Hae tibi erunt artes. Virg.
A very ftupid, infolent, facious, deformed, conceited parfon, a
vi e pretender to poetry, preferred by the Duke of Grafton for his
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