To the Earl of PETERBOROW, who commanded the British forces in Spain *.

Written in the year 1706.

Ordanto fills the trump of fame,

The Chriftian 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.

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This noble Lord had made a most confiderable figure in his day. His character was amiable and uncommon. His life was a continued series of variety. In his public and private conduct he differed from moft men. He had visited all climates, but had staid in none. He was a citizen of the world. He conquered and maintained armies without money. His actions and expreffions were peculiar to himfelf. He was of a vivacity fuperior to all fatigue, and his courage was beyond any conception of danger. He verified, in many inftances, whatever has been faid of romantic heroes. He feems to have been fixed only in his friendships and moral principles. He had a moft true regard and affection for Swift and Pope. The Dean has here defcribed him in a very particular manner, but fo justly, that the four laft ftanzas will give a moft perfect and complete idea of Lord Peterborrow's perfon and military virtue. His wit in the letter, vol. 9. is eafy and unaffected. At the time when he wrote that letter, he had hung up his helmet and his buckler, and was retired to his plough and his wheelbarrow, wearied of courts, and difgufted with ftatelmen. Orrery.

From

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

A meffenger comes all a-reek Mordanto at Madrid to feek; He left the town above a week.

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 ftrown,
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 fkeleton in outward figure,

His meagre corpfe, though full of vigour,

Would halt behind him, were it bigger.

So wonderful his expedition,

When you have not the leaft fufpicion,
He's with you like an apparition.

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

Heroic actions early bred in,

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Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading,

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But by his name-fake Charles of Sweden.

The

The FABLE of MIDAS.

Written in the year 1712.

*MIdas, 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 fpankles 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 vefification But it may be remarked, that verfes of eight fyllables are never harmonious, if the accent be placed on the first, and not repeated till the third or fourth. The firft, fourth and eighth verfes are, among others, examples of this rule; which will be illuftrated by changing the ftructure, fo as to remove the accent from the firit fyllable to the fecond. If instead

of,

the fourth verfe be read,

"Like fpangles glitter'd on the ground."

the ear will easily determine which fhould be preferred. It is howe ever true, that when the accent is placed on the first fyllable, and and repeated at the fecond, the measure is not only harmonious, but acquires a peculiar force. The eleventh verfe is of this kind,

"Untouch'd it pafs'd between his grinders."

which would be greatly enfeebled, by changing it to

"It pafs'd untouch'd between his grinders:"

though the cadence would ftill be poetical, as the first accent would fall on the fecond fyllable.

He

He call'd for drink; you faw 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 pafs'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 mufic try'd,
And both chofe Midas to decide;
He against Phoebus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to fhew his grudge,
Clapt affes' ears upon the judge;
A goodly pair erect and wide,

Which he could neither gild nor hide.

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And now the virtue of his hands

Was loft among Pactolus' fands,

Againft whofe torrent while he fwims,

The golden fcurf peels off his limbs :

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Fame fpreads the news, and people travel
From far to gather golden gravel;
Midas, expos'd to all their jeers,
Had loft his art, and kept his ears.

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

Το

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

None e'er did modern Midas chufe
Subject or patron of his muse,

But found him thus their merit fcan,
That Phoebus must give place to Pan :
He values not the poet's praife,

*

Nor will exchange his plumbs for bays.
To Pan alone rich mifers call;

And there's the jeft, for Pan is ALL.
Here English wits will be to feek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.

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

But gold defiles with frequent touch;
There's nothing fouls the hand fo much :
And scholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws;
Which while the fenate ftrove to fcour,
They wash'd away the chymic power.

While he his utmost strength apply'd,
To fwim against the pop'lar tide,
The golden fpoils flew off apace;
Here fell a penfion, there a place :

* A cant-word for 100,000 !.

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The