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He's the Register of All
In our Ken, both great and small;
By us forms his Laws and Rules,
He's our Master, we his Tools;
Yet we can, with greatest Ease,
Turn and wind him where we please.

One of us alone can sleep,
Yet no Watch the rest will keep,
But the Moment that he closes,
Ev'ry Brother else reposes.

If Wine's bought, or Victuals drest, One enjoys them for the rest.

Pierce us all with wounding Steel, One for all of us will feel.

Tho ten thousand Cannons roar,
Add to them ten thousand more,
Yet but one of us is found
Who regards the dreadful Sound.

Do what is not fit to tell, There's but one of us can smell.




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HEN on my Bosom thy bright Eyes,

Florinda, dart their heav'nly Beams, I feel not the least Love Surprize,

Yet endless Tears flow down in Streams. There's nought so beautiful in thee, But you may find the same in me.

The Lilies of thy Skin compare,

In me you see them full as white;
The Roses of your Cheeks, I dare

Affirm, can't glow to more Delight.
Then, since I shew as fine a Face,

refuse a soft Embrace.

Ah, lovely Nymph, thou’rt in thy Prime !

And so am I whilst thou art here ; But soon will come the fatal Time,

When all we see shall disappear. 'Tis mine to make a just Reflection, And yours to follow my


Then Then catch Admirers while

you may, Treat not your Lovers with Disdain ; For Time with Beauty flies away,

And there is no Return again.
To you the fad Account I bring,
Life's Autumn has no second Spring.



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EVER speaking, still awake,

Pleasing most when most I speak,
The Delight of old and young,
Tho' I speak without a Tongue.
Nought but one Thing can confound me,
Many Voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the Labourers of Babel.
Now I am a Dog, or Cow,
I can bark, or I can low,
I can bleat, or I can sing,
Like the Warblers of the Spring.
Let the Love-fick Bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel Pain;
Let the happy Swain rejoice,
And I join my helping Voice;
Both are welcome, Grief or Joy,
I with either sport and toy.


Tho' a Lady, I am stout,
Drums and Trumpets bring me out;
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the Din of Battle.
Hove, with all his loudest Thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep me under ;
Yet so tender is my Ear,
That the lowest Voice I fear ;
Much I dread the Courtier's Fate,
When his Merit's out of Date,
For I hate a filent Breath,
And a Whisper is my Death.

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Α Ν Ο Τ Η Ε R.

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OST Things by me do rise and fall,

And as I please they're great and small
Invading Foes without Resistance,
With Ease I make to keep their Distance:
Again, as I'm dispos’d, the Foe
Will come, tho' not a Foot they go.
Both Mountains, Woods, and Hills and Rocks,
And gaming Goats, and fleecy Flocks,
And lowing Herds, and piping Swains,
Come dancing to me o'er the Plains.
The greatest Whale that swims the Sea,
Does instantly my Power obey.
Vol. VIII.



In vain from me the Sailor fies,
The quickest Ship I can surprize,
And turn it as I have a Mind, ;
And move it against Tide and Wind :
Nay, bring me here the tallest Man,
I'll squeeze him to a little Span ;
Or bring a tender Child and pliant,
You'll see me stretch him to a Giant:
Nor shall they in the least complain,
Because my Magick gives no Pain.

A N O T H E R.


E are little Brethren twain,

Arbiters of Loss and Gain,
Many to our Counters run,
Some are made, and some undone :
But, Men find it to their Cost,
Few are made, but Numbers lost;
Tho' we play them Tricks for ever,
Yet, they always hope our Favour.


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