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The ducal coffers, trufted to your charge,
Your honeft care may fill, perhaps enlarge.
His vaffals eafy, and the owner blest,
They pay a trifle, and enjoy the reft.
Not fo a nation's revenues are paid;
The fervant's faults are on the master laid.
The people with a figh their taxes bring:
And curfing Bob, forget to blefs the King.

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Next hearken, Gay, to what thy charge requires. With fervants, tenants, and the neighb'ring 'fquires. Let all domestics feel your gentle sway :

Nor bribe, infult, nor flatter, nor betray,

Let due reward to merit be allow'd;

Nor with your kindred half the palace crowd.

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Nor think yourself fecure in doing wrong,
By telling nofes with a party strong.

Be rich; but of your wealth make no parade; At least before your master's debts are paid. Nor in a palace, built with charge immenfe, Prefume to treat him at his own expence. Each farmer in the neighbourhood can count, To what your lawful perquifites amount. The tenants poor, the hardness of the times, Are ill excufes for a fervant's crimes. With int'reft, and a premium paid befide, The mafter's preffing wants must be supply'd; With hafty zeal behold the steward come By his own credit to advance the fum;

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Who, while th' unrighteous Mammon is his friend,
May well conclude his pow'r will never end.
A faithful treas'rer! what could he do more?
He lends my Lord, what was my Lord's before.

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The law fo ftri&tly guards the monarch's health, That no phyfician dares prefcribe by ftealth The council fit; approve the Doctor's fkill; And give advice before he gives the pill.

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But

But the ftate-imp'rie acts a fafer part;
And while he poifons, wins the royal heart.

But how can I defcribe the rav'nous breed?
Then let me now by negatives proceed.

Suppofe your Lord a trufty fervant fend
On weighty bus'nefs to fome neighb'ring friend;
Prefume not, Gay, unless you ferve a drone,
To countermand his orders by your own.

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Should fome imperious neighbour fink the boats,
And drain the fifh ponds, while your mafter dotes;
Shall he upon the ducal rights intrench,
Because he brib'd you with a brace of tench?

Nor from your Lord his bad condition hide.
To feed his luxury, or footh his pride.
Nor at an under-rate his timber fell,
And with an oath affure him, all is well.
Or fwear it rotten *; and with humble airs
Requeft it of him to compleat your stairs.
Nor when a mortgage lies on half his lands,
Come with a purfe of guineas in your hands.

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Have Peter Waters always in your mind; That rogue of genuine ministerial kind Can half the peerage by his arts bewitch; Starve twenty lords to make one scoundrel rich; And when he gravely has undone a score, Is humbly pray'd to ruin twenty more †.

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A dextrous steward, when his tricks are found, Hufh-money fends to all the neighbours round;

Thefe lines are thought to allude to fome story concerning a great quantity of mahogony declared rotten, and then applied by fomebody to wainscot, ftairs, door cafes, &c.

He had practifed this trade for many years with fuccefs.

His mafter, unfufpicious of his pranks,
Pays all the coft, and gives the villain thanks.
And fhould a fiend attempt to fet him right,
His lordship would impute it all to spite :
Would love his fav'rite better than before,
And truft his honesty just so much more.
Thus families, like realms, with equal fate,
Are funk by premier minifters of state.

Some, when an heir fucceeds, go bold'y on,
And, as they rob'd the father, rob the fon.
A knave who deep imbroils his lord's affairs,
Will foon grow neceffary to his heirs.
His policy confifts in fetting traps.

In finding ways and means, and stopping gaps;
He knows a thousand tricks whene'er he please,
Though not to cure, yet palliate each disease.
In either cafe an equal chance is run;

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For keep, or turn him out, my Lord's undone.

You want a hand to clear a filthy fink;

No cleanly workman can endure the ftink,

A ftrong dilemma in a dep'rate cafe!

To act with infamy, or quit the place,

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A bungler thus, who fcarce the nail can hit, With driving wrong will make the pannel split : Nor dares an abler workman undertake

To drive a fecond, left the whole fhould break.

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In every court the parallel will hold ; And kings, like private folks, are bought and fold. The ruling rogue who dreads to be cashier'd, Contrives, as he is hated, to be fear'd; Confounds accounts, perplexes all affairs; For vengeance more embroils, than fkill repairs. 140 So robbers, (and their ends are just the fame), To 'fcape inquiries, leave the house in flame.

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I knew a brazen minister of state, Who bore for twice ten years the public hate. In ev'ry mouth the question moft in vogue Was, When will they turn out this odious rogue? A juncture happen'd in his highest pride : While he went robbing on, old master dy'd. We thought there now remain'd no room to doubt; His work is done, the minister must out. The court invited more than one or two; Will you, Sir Spencer? or, Will you, or you? But not a foul his office durft accept ; The fubtle knave had all the plunder fwept; And fuch was then the temper of the times, He ow'd his preservation to his crimes. The candidates obferv'd his dirty paws, Nor found it difficult to guefs the cause :

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But when they fmelt fuch foul corruptions round him, i

Away they fled, and left him as they found him. 160

Thus, when a greedy floven once has thrown His fnot into the mefs, 'tis all his own.

The HARDSHIP put upon the LADIES.

Written in the year 1733.

poor ladies! though their bus'nefs be to play, "Tis hard they must be bufy night and day : Why should they want the priviledge of men. Nor take fome small diverfions now and then? Had women been the makers of our laws; (And why they were not, I can fee no cause): The men fhould flave at cards from morn to night; And female pleasures be to read and write.

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The

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The following poem was firft printed in Fog's journal of the 17th of September 1733. The fubject of it is now over; but our author's known zeal against that project, made it be generally fuppofed to be his. It was occafioned by the bishops of Ireland endeavouring to get an act to divide the church-livings; which bill was rejected by the Irish houfe of Commons *.

Written in the year 1731.

LD Latimer preaching did fairly defcribe

OLD

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A bishop, who rul'd all the rest of his tribe; And who is this bishop? and where does he dwell ?. Why, truly, 'tis Satan, Archbishop of hell. And He was a primate, and He wore a mitre Surrounded with jewels of fulphur and nitre. How nearly this bifhop our bishops refembles! But he has the odds, who believes and who trembles. Could you fee his grim Grace, for a pound to a

penny,

ΙΟ

You'd fwear it must be the baboon of K-y:
Poor Satan will think the comparifon odious:
I wish I could find him out one more commodious.
But this I am fure, the most rev'rend old dragon
Has got on the bench many bps fuffragan;
And all men believe he prefides there incog.
To give them, by turns, an invisible jog.

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* See confiderations on this bill, in vol. 4. p. 92.

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