Up to the walls enclos'd with flames you led, And overlook'd the works on mighty heaps of dead. In you the hero and the poet meet, Your sword is fatal, but your numbers sweet. When in Maria's praise your lyre was strung, You charm'd the heavenly nymph to whom you

Oh honour! more than all thy bays, [sung. Than all the trophies fame and conquest raise, To 've charm'd Maria's breast, and gain'd Maria's praise.

Indulge one grateful labour more, my Muse,

A subject Friendship bids thee chuse :

Let Codrington's lov'd name inspire thy thought, With such a warmth and vigour as he fought: In vain thou dost of arms and triumphs sing, Unless he crown thy verse, and tune thy sounding

string,

Victorious youth! your Charwell's greatest pride,
Whom glorious arms, and learned arts divide :
Whilst imitating great Nassau you fight,
His person guard, and conquer in his sight:
Too swift for Fame your early triumphs grow,
And groves of laurel shade your youthful brow.
In you the Muses and the Graces join,

The glorious palm, and deathless laurels thine : Like Phœbus' self your charming Muse hath sung, Like his your warlike bow and tuneful lyre is strung. But who fam'd William's valour dares express, No Muse can soar so high, nor fancy paint

Each image will appear too faint:

[verse.

Too weak's the pencil's art, and all the pow'r of How calm he look'd, and how serene!

Amidst the bloody labours of the field: Unmov'd he views the bullets round him fly, And dangers move with horrour by; Whilst judgment sway'd his nobler rage within, And his presaging brow with hopes of conquest smil'd, His chearful looks a gayer dress put on,

His eyes with decent fury shone: Dangers but serv'd to heighten every grace, And add an awful terrour to the hero's face. Where'er in arms the great Nassau appears, Th' extreme of action 's there: Himself the thickest danger shares, Himself th' informing soul that animates the war. Heroes of old in wondrous armour fought,

By some immortal artist wrought:
Achilles' arms, and Ajax' seven fold shield,
Were proof against the dangers of the field.
But greater William dares his breast expose
Unarm'd, unguarded to his foes:

A thousand deaths and ruins round him fied,
But durst not violate his sacred head:

For angels guard the prince's life and throne,
Who for his empire's safety thus neglects his own.
Had he in ages past the sceptre sway'd,
When sacred rites were unto heroes paid;
His statue had on every altar stood,
His court a temple been, his greater self a god.
Now tune thy lyre, my Muse, now raise thy voice,
Let Albion hear, her distant shores rejoice:
Thy solemn pans now prepare,
Sweet as the hymns that fill'd the air,
When Phoebus' self return'd the Python's conqueror,
When every grove, with a triumphant song,
Confess'd the victor as he pass'd along,
Whilst with the trophies every hill was crown'd,
And every echoing vale dispers'd his fame around:

As loud the British shore their voices ra'se, And thus united sing the godlike William's praise. What the fam'd Merlin's sacred verse of old And Nostradam's prophetic lines foretold; To thee, oh happy Albion 's shown, And in Nassau, the promise is out-done. Behold a prince indulgent Heaven has sent, Thy boundless wishes to content:

A prophet great indeed, whose powerful hand Shall vanquish hosts of plagues, and heal the groaning land.

The great Nassau now leads thy armies forth, And shows the world the British worth: Beneath his conduct they securely fight, Their cloud by day, their guardian flame by night. His bounty too shall every bard inspire, Reward their labours, and protect their lyre; For poets are to warlike princes dear,

VICTORIOUS prince ! form'd for supreme command,
Worthy the empire of the seas and land!
Whilst impious Faction swells with native pride,
Parties distract the state, and church divide!
And senseless libels, with audacious style,
Insult thy senate, and thy power revilo!
Vouchsafe to hear th' admired truths of old,
Which birds and beasts in sportive tales unfold;
To curb the insolent, advance the good,
And quell the ragings of the multitude.
O fam'd for arms, and matchless in renown!
Permit old Esop to approach thy throne:
To you the labours of his Muse belong;
Accept the humble, but instructive, song.

FABLE I.

THE RIVER AND THE FOUNTAINS.

A RIVER, insolent with pride,
The Fountain and its Springs defied;
That Fountain, from whose watery bed
Th' ungrateful Flood was daily fed.

And thus the rabble Waves began:
"We're the delight of gods and man!
How charming do our banks appear!
How swift the stream, the flood how clear!

"See how, by Nature's bounty strong, We whirl our legion waves along t In soft meanders winding play, And glitter in the face of day,

"But thou, poor Fountain, silly soul!
Thy head absconding in a hole,
Run'st meddling on from place to place,
Asham'd to show thy dirty face;
In rocks and gloomy caverns found,
Thou creep'st inglorious under ground:
D' you hear? henceforth your lords obey!
We the grand Waves assume the sway."

"Well, angry sirs, the Fountain cry'd,
And how 's your streams to be supply'd?
Ye senseless fools, that would command,
Should I withdraw my bounteous hand,
Or backward turn my watery store,
That hour you 'd cease, and be no more.
Go ask that blustering fop the Wind,
That puts this whimsy in your mind,
And makes your factious surges rise,
If he'll recruit you with supplies.

"And when to native mud you turn,
Such as a common-sewer would scorn,
Too late you'll curse this frantic whim,
When carriers' steeds shall piss a nobler stream.

THE MORAL.

Unhappy Britain! I deplore thy fate, When juries pack'd, and brib'd, insult thy state: Like waves tumultuous, insolently wise, They tutor kings, and senators advise; Whilst old republicans direct the stream, Not France and Rome, but monarchy 's their aim: Fools rode by knaves! and paid as they deserve, ·Despis'd whilst us'd! then left to hang or starve.

FABLE. II.

THE LION'S TREATY OF PARTITION.

A MIGHTY Lion heretofore,
Of monstrous paws and dreadful roar,
Was bent upon a chase:
Inviting friends and near allies
Frankly to share the sport and prize,
During the hunting-space.

The Lynx and royal Panther came,
The Boar and Wolf of Wolfingham,
The articles were these:

Share and share like, whate'er they got,
The dividend upon the spot,

And so depart in peace.
A royal Hart, delicious meat!
Destin'd by inaupicious Fate,

Was started for the game:
The hunters run him one and all,
The chase was long, and, at the fall,
Each enter'd with his claim.
One lov'd a haunch, and one a side,
This ate it powder'd, t' other dried,

Each for his share alone :

Old Grey-beard then began to roar,
The whiskers twirl'd, bully'd, and swore,
The Hart was all his own.

"And thus I prove my title good;
My friend deceas'd sprung from our blood,
Half's mine as we 're ally'd:
My valour claims the other part;
In short, I love a hunted Hart:
And who dares now divide ?"

The bilk'd confederates they stare,
And cry'd, "Old gentleman, deal fair,
For once be just and true.'
Quoth he, and looking wondrous grum,
"Behold my paws, the word is mum;
And so messieurs, adieu!"

THE MORAL.

Tyrants can only be restrain'd by might,
Power's their conscience, and the sword their right:
Allies they court, to compass private ends,
But at the dividend disclaim their friends.
Yet boast not, France, of thy successful fraud,
Maintain'd by blood, a torment whilst enjoy'd:
Imperial Cæsar drives the storm along,
And Nassau's arms avenge the public wrong.

FABLE III.

THE BLIND WOMAN AND HER DOCTORS.

A WEALTHY matron, now grown old,
Was weak in every part :
Afflicted sore with rheums and cold,
Yet pretty sound at heart.
But most her eyes began to fail,
Depriv'd of needful light:
Nor could her spectacles avail,
To rectify their sight.

Receipts she try'd, she doctors fee'd,
And spar'd for no advice

Of men of skill, or quacks for need
That practise on sore eyes.

Salves they daub'd on, and plaisters both.
And this, and that was done :
Then flannels, and a forehead-cloth,
To bind and keep them on.

Her house, though small, was furnish'd neat,
And every room did shine
With pictures, tapestry, and plate,

All rich, and wondrous fine.
Whilst they kept blind the silly soul,

Their hands found work enough!
They pilfer'd plate, and goods they stole,
Till all was carry'd off.

When they undamm'd their patient's eyes,
And now pray how 's your sight?"
Cries t' other, "this was my advice,

I knew 't would set you right:"
Like a stuck pig the woman star'd,
And up and down she run :

With naked house and walls quite scar'd,
She found herself undone.

"Doctors, quoth she, your cure 's my pain,
For what are eyes to me:
Bring salves and forehead-cloths again,
I've nothing left to see."

THE MORAL,

See, injur'd Britain, thy unhappy case,
Thou patient with distemper'd eyes:
State-quacks but nourish the disease,
And thrive by treacherous advice.
If fond of the expensive pain,

When eighteen millions run on score: Let them clap mufflers on again,

And physic thee of eighteen more.

FABLE IV.

THE SATYR'S ADDRESS.

FIVE Satyrs of the woodland sort,

Thought politicians then,

Their ears prick'd up, their noses short,
And brows adorn'd like aldermen ;
With asses hoofs, great goggle eyes,
And ample chins of Be-m's size,
To Jove tript up with an address,
In favour of the plains:
That it would please him to suppress

All beats and colds, his winds and rains;
The Sun that he'd extinguish too,
And in the skies hang something new.
"My wise reforming friends, quoth Jove,
Our elements are good!

We manage for the best above,

Though not so rightly understood; But since such profound squires are sent, We'll treat you like the cream of Kent." Then Jove brought out etherial fire

In a gilt chafing-dish:

The sparkling flame they all admire,

Twas fine, they vow'd, as heart could wish: They gap'd, they grin'd, they jump'd about! Jove, give us that, the Sun put out!·

The charming flames they all embrace,
Weich, urg'd by Nature's laws,
Their shaggy hides set in a blaze,

And soundly sing'd their paws;

In corners then they sneak'd with terrour dumb, And o'er th' immortal pavements scud it home.

I know thee watchful, just, and brave,
Right worthy such a place:
No wily fox shall thee deceive,

Nor wolf dare show his face."

But ne'er did wolves a fold infest,

At regent Towser's rate:

He din'd and supp'd upon the best,
And frequent breakfasts ate.
The Farmer oft receiv'd advice,
And laugh'd at the report:
But coming on him by surprize,
Just found him at the sport.
"Ingrateful beast, quoth he, what means
That bloody mouth and paws?

I know the base, the treacherous stains,
Thy breach of trust and laws.
The fruits of my past love I see :
Roger, the halter bring;
E'en truss him on that pippin tree,
And let friend Towser swing.

I'll spare the famish'd wolf and fox,
That ne'er my bounty knew:
But, as the guardian of my flocks,
This neckcloth is your due."

THE MORAL.

When ministers their prince abuse,
And on the subjects prey:
With ancient monarchs 'twas in use,
To send them Towser's way.

FABLE VI.

Ill-manners never found a just pretence, And rude expressions shew a barren sense : But, when high birth descends to mean abuse, The crime runs foulest, and finds no excuse.

FABLE VII.

THE FOX AND WEAZLE.

TO THE LATE HONOURABLE THE COMMISSIONERS OF

THE PRIZE-OFFICE.

A NEEDY Weazle heretofore,
Very rapacious, lank, and poor,
That had no place, small comings-in,
And liv'd in terrour of the gin;
Nor got a morsel to his hole,

But what he either begg'd or stole ;
One night, a foraging for prey,
He found a store-house in his way:
Each cranny then he nimbly past,
With lantern jaws and slender waist;
And made long time his quarters good,
On slaughter'd mice and wheaten food.

But growing corpulent and round, Too small the widest chink was found: And now he squeez'd and thurst in vain, For liberty and home again.

A Fox that chanc'd to stroll that way, For meditation's sake, or prey, Stood grinning at him for a while, With rogueish looks and sneering smile And though he shrewdly gave a guess, Yet ask'd him how and what's the case; And why his Weazleship would keep In durance vile, and play boh-peep.

;

Quoth he, "Alack, sir, I was lean, Haggard and poor, when I came in: A skeleton, mere skin and bone! Though now so gross and bulky grown, That with good chear and dainties fed, My rump is bigger than my head. But if a helping paw you 'll lend, To force a board and serve a friend; So fain I would my bacon save, I'll kiss your foot and live your slave." Quoth Ren, "We doctors hold it best, After a long debauch, to fast: Then as for discipline, 'tis fit, You take a quantum sufficit. Slacken with abstinence your skin, And you'll return as you got in: For, till each collop you refund, You 're like to quarter in Lob's-pound."

THE MORAL.

Cæsar, no more in foreign camps expose Your sacred life, to Britain's generous foes> Thy dread tribunal now erect at home, And, arm'd with vengeance, to her rescue come. In power her basest enemies remain, Oppress thy subjects, and thy treasures drain : With sums immense they raise their fortunes high, Though armies starve, and fleets neglected lie.

Bane of the war! curse of thy martial reign! You share the toil and dangers, they the gain : To justice then the known offenders bring, Avenge thy people, and assert the king.

FABLE VIII.

AN OWL AND THE SUN

A SAUCY buffle-headed Owl
One morning on the Sun fell foul,
Because it made him blind:
But by his sophistry you'll guess
Him not of the Athenian race,

But a more modern kind.

The morn was fragrant, cool, and bright,
The Sun illustrious with his light,

Dispensing warmth to all:
Madge on a pinnacle was got,
Sputtering and hooting like a sot,
And thus began the brawl.

"D'ye hear, you prince of red-fac'd fools! Hot-headed puppy! foe to owls!

Why this offensive blaze?
Behind some cloud go sneak aside,
Your carbuncles and rubies hide,

And quench that flaming face.
"When I'm a taking the fresh air,
Whip in my eyes you come full glare,
And so much rudeness show!

I wonder when the modest Moon
Would serve an Owl as you have done,
Or tan and burn one so!"

Bright Phoebus smil'd at what was said,
And cry'd," "Tis well, sir Logger-head
You've neither sense nor shame!
Because a blinking fool can't bear
An object so transcending fair,

The Sun must take the blame.
Shall I the universe benight,
And rob the injur'd world of light,
Because you rail and scowl;
When birds of the most abject sort
Deride and grin you for their sport,
And treat you like an Owl?"

THE MORAL.

Who libel senates, and traduce the great, Measure the public good by private hate : Interest 's their rule of love; fierce to oppose All whom superior virtue makes their foes.

Thy merits, Rochester 1, thus give offence; The guilty faction hates discerning sense: [find, Thus Harley 2, Seymour 3, Howe, and Mackworth Great eye-sores to the loud rapacious kind; But, whilst in holes addressing Owls repine, Bright as the Sun their patriot names will shine.

FABLE IX.

THE SEA AND THE BANKE

As out at sea a ruffling gale it blew,
And clouds o'ercast the gloomy skies:
The surges they began to rise,
And terrify the sailors, jocund crew.

1 Laurence Hyde, earl of Rochester, was then lord-lieutenant of Ireland. See an account of him in the Supplement to Swift. N.

2 Afterwards earl of Oxford. N

3 Charles Seymour, duke of Somerset. N 'John Howe, esq; of famous memory. N.

This to the wanton billows was but sport,
They roar'd and gambol'd it along,
This was the burthen of their song,
They'd have a storm, and show good reason for't.
Then a fresh maggot takes them in the head,
To have one merry jaunt on shore:
They'd not be fetter'd-up, they swore,
But thus to the insulted margin said:

"Hey, slugs! d' ye hear, ye lazy hounds!
Open to right and left! make way,
And give free passage to the Sea,

The Cuckow's note was one unvary'd tone, Exceeding hoarse, yet pleas'd, she roar'd it on. Appeal was made; the judge this sentence gave, "You, sirrah, Nightingale !

Of music you some smatterings have,

And may in time do well;

But for substantial song, I needs must say, My friend, the Cuckow, bears the bell away."

THE MORAL.

Mackworth 1, who reads thy well-digested lines, Where eloquence with nervous reason shines,

The patriot's zeal free from indecent rage;
So pure thy style, thy manners so refin'd,
Your pen transmits the candour of your mind.

Yet happier he that has the answer wrote,
In penury of sense, and dearth of thought:
Whilst Asses judge, and Faction claims a vote.
Abusive nonsense is th' admired note:

Where want of art and manners merit praise, He robs the Cuckow of her ancient bays.

FABLE XL

THE SUN AND THE WIND.

THE Sun and Wind one day fell out
In matters they discours'd about.
Old Boreas, in a rage,
Call'd the Sun fool, and swore he ly'd,
Spit in his face, his power defy'd,
And dar'd him to engage.
Quoth he, "Yon goes a traveller,
With formal cloak and looks demure,
The whiggish signs of grace:
Who fairly off the cloak can force,
From one so stiff, proud, and morose,
Deserves the upper place."

With that the Wind began to rise,
Bluster'd and storm'd it through the skies,
Making a dismal roar :

The non-con wrapp'd his cloak about,
Trudg'd on, resolv'd to weather 't out,

And see the tempest o'er.

The storm being spent, with piercing rays,
Full on his shoulders Phoebus plays,

Which soon the zealot felt;
Aside the cumberous cloak was thrown,
Panting and faint, he laid him down,

More decently to melt.

The Sun then ask'd his blustering friend, If farther yet he durst contend,

And try some other way: But, conscious of so plain a truth, He put his finger in his mouth, Without a word to say.

THE MORAL.

Your Whigs disgrac'd, like bullies of the town,
Libel and rail, the more they 're tumbled down:
Superior merit still prevails at last,
The fury of their feeble storin is past.

1 Sir Humphry Mackworth, to whom Yalden addressed an excellent poetical epistle On the Mines late of Sir Carbery Price, p. 74.-SirHumphry wrote some political pamphlets about this time. N.