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To the Earl of PETERBOROW, who com

manded the British forces in Spain *.

Written in the year 1706.

Ordanto fills the trump of fame, ,

The Christian world his deeds proclaim, And prints are crouded with his name.

In journies he outrides the post, Sits up till midnight with his hoft, Talks politics, and gives the toast.


Knows ev'ry prince in Europe's face, Flies like a fquib from place to place, And travels not, but runs a race.


This noble Lord had made a most considerable figure in his day. Hischaracter was amiable and uncommon. His life was a continued series of variéty. In his public and private conduct he differed from most men, He had visited all climates, but had staid in none. was a citizen of the world. He conquered and maintained armies without money. His actions and expressions were peculiar to himself. He was of a vivacity superior to all fatigue, and his courage was beyond any conception of danger. He verified, in many instances, whatever has heen said of romantic heroes. He seems to have been fixed only in his friendthips and moral principles. He had a most true regard and affection for Swift and Pope. The Dean has here de. fcribed him in a very particular manner, but so justly, that the four laft Atanzas will give a moft perfect and complete idea of Lord Peterborrow's perfon and military virtue. - His wit in the letter, vol. 9. is easy and unaffected. At the time when he wrote that letter, he had hung up his belmet and his buckler, and was retired to his plough and his wheelbarrow, wearied of courts, and disgusted with falesmen. Orrery,


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From Paris gazette A-la-main, This day arriv'd, without his train, Mordanto in a week from Spain.

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Next day the postboy, winds his horn, And rides through Dover in the morn: Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.

Mordanto gallops on alone,
The roads are with his foll’wers strown,
This breaks a girth, and that a bone:


His body active as his mind, Returning found in limb and wind, Except fome leather loft behind.


A skeleton in outward figure,
His meagie corpfe, though full of vigour,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.

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So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the least fufpicion,
He's with you like an apparition.


Shines in all climates like a star; In senates bold, and fierce in war; A land-commander, and a tar.

Heroic actions early bred in,
Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading,
But by his name-fake Charles of Sweden,



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Idas, we are in story told,

Turn'd ev'ry thing he touch'd to gold :
He chip’d his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd, like spankles on the ground:
A codling ere it went his lip in,
Would strait become a golden pippin :


* The Dean, though he did not much change the natural order of words, was yet very exact in his velification But it my be remarked, that verses of eight fyllables are never harmonious, if the accent be placed on the first, and not repeated till the third or four h. The first, fourth and eighth verses are, among others, examples of this rule; which will be illustrated by changing the structure, fu as to remove the accent from the firit fyllable to the second. If instead of,

“ Glitter'd, like Spangles on the ground.”

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the fourth verfe be read,

“ Like spangles glitter'd on the ground.”

the ear will easily determine which should be preferred. It is howe.
ever true, that when the accent is placed on the first fyllable, and
and repeaied at the fecond, the measure is not only harmcnious, but
acquires a peculiat force. The eleventh verse is of this kind,
" Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders.'?

T wbich would be greatly enfeebled,' by 'hanging it to

“ It pass’d untouch'd between his grinders:" though the cadence w uld still be poetical, as the first accent would fall on the second syllable.


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He callid for drink; you saw him fup
Potable gold in golden cup;
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He fuck'd his victuals through a quill ;
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or't had been happy for gold-finders :
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head :
Whene’er he chance'd his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear’d, instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence by wife farmers we are told,
Old hay is equal to old gold;
And hence a critic deep maintains,
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.




This fool had got a lucky hit;
And people fancy'd he had wit,
Two gods their skill in music try'd,
And both chose Midas to decide ;
He against Phæbus' harp decreed,

it for Pan's oaten reed :.
The god of wit, to shew his grudge,
Clapt affes' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.

And gave



And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims,
The golden fcurf peels off his limbs :
Fame spreads the news, and people'travel.
From far to gather golden gravel ;
Midas, expos'd to all their jeers,
Had lost his art, and kept his ears.


This tale inclines the gentle reader think upon a certain leader;


To whom from Midas down descends
That virtue in the finger ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per cent.
By places and commiffions fold,
And turning dung itself to gold ?
By starving in the midst of store,
As t'other Midas did before ?





None e'er did modern Midas chuse
Subject or patron of his mufe,
But found him thus their merit scan,
That Phoebus must give place to Pan :
He values not the poet's praise,
Nor will exchange his plumbs * for bays.
To Pan alone rich misers call;
And there's the jest, for Pan is ALL.
Here English wits will be to feek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek,

Besides, it plainly now appears
Our Midas too has affes' ears ;
Where ev'ry fool his mouth applies,
And whispers in a thousand lies ;
Such gross delusions could not pass
Through any ears but of an ass.

But gold defiles with frequent touch;
There's nothing fouls the hand so much :
And fcholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws;
Which while the senate strove to fcour,
They wath'd away the chymic power.
While he his utmost strength apply’d,
To swim againft the pop'lar tide,
The golden spoils flew off apace ;
Here fell a pension, there a place :

* A cant-word for 100,000 !.




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