Quiet the Raging of the Sea,

And fill the Madness of the Crowd.

But never fhall our Ifle have Rest,
Till these devouring Swine run down,
(The Devils leaving the Poffeft,)

And headlong in the Waters drown.

The Nation then too late will find,
Computing all their Coft and Trouble,
Directors Promises but Wind,

South-Sea at beft a mighty Bubble.

Apparent rari nantes in Gurgite vafto,

Arma virum, tabulæque, & Troia gaza per

undas.

Virg.

*A BALLAD on QUADRILLE.

WHEN as Corruption hence did go,

And left the Nation free;

Wheen Ay faid Ay, and No faid No,
Without a Place or Fee;

Then Satan, thinking Things went ill,
Sent forth his Spirit call'd Quadrille.

VOL. IV.

Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.

M

II. Kings,

II.

Kings, Queens, and Knaves made up his Pack,

And four fair Suits he wore;

His Troops they are with red and black
All blotch'd and spotted o'er ;

And ev'ry Houfe, go where you will,
Is haunted by the Imp Quadrille, &c.

III.

Sure Cards he has for ev'ry Thing,
Which well Court-Cards they name,
And Statesmen like, calls in the King,
To help out a bad Game;

But if the Parties manage ill,
The King is forc'd to lofe Codille, &c.

IV.

When two and two were met of old,
'Tho' they ne'er meant to marry,
They were in Cupid's Books enroll'd,
And call'd a Party Quarree;

But now meet when and where you will,
A Party Quarree is Quadrille, &c.

V.

The Commoner, and Knight, the Peer,

Men of all Ranks and Fame,

Leave to their Wives the only Care
To propagate their Name;

And

And well that Duty they fulfil,

When the good Husband's at Quadrille, &c.

VI.

When Patients lie in piteous Cafe,

In comes the Apothecary

And to the Doctor cries, Alas!

Non debes Quadrillare :

The Patient dies without a Pill,

For why the Doctor's at Quadrille, &c.

VII.

Should France and Spain again grow loud,
The Muscovite grow louder;

Britain to curb her Neighbours proud,
Wou'd want both Ball and Powder;
Muft want both Sword and Gun to kill;
For why, the Gen'ral's at Quadrille, &c.

VIII.

The King of late drew forth his Sword,
(Thank God 'twas not in Wrath)
And made of many a Squire and Lord,
An unwash'd Knight of Bath;

What are their Feats of Arms and Skill?
They're but nine Parties at Quadrille, &c.

IX.

A Party late at Cambray met,
Which drew all Europe's Eyes;

M 2

'Twas

'Twas call'd in Poft-Boy and Gazette The Quadruple Allies;

But fomebody took fomething ill,

So broke this Party at Quadrille, &c.

X.

And now, God fave this noble Realm,

And God fave eke Hanover;

And God fave those who hold the Helm,
When as the King goes over;
But let the King go where he will,
His Subjects must play at Quadrille.
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.

*MOLLY MOGG: Or, the Fair Maid of the Inn.

SAYS my Uncle, I pray you discover

What

hath been the Caufe of your Woes,

Why you pine, and you whine, like a Lover
I have feen Molly Mog of the Rofe.

O Nephew! your Grief is but Folly,
In Town you may find better Prog;
Half a Crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mog.

I know that by Wits 'tis recited,
That Women at best are a Clog :
But I'm not so easily frighted,

From loving of sweet Molly Mog.

The School-Boy's Defire is a Play-Day,
The School-Mafter's Joy is to flog:
The Milk-Maid's Delight is on May-Day,
But mine is on sweet Molly Mog.

Will-a-wifp leads the Traveller a gadding

Thro' Ditch, and thro' Quagmire and Bog; But no Light can fet me a madding,

Like the Eyes of my fweet Molly Mog.

For Guineas in other Mens Breeches
Your Gamefters will palm and will cog;
But I envy them none of their Riches,
So I may win fweet Molly Mog.

The Heart, when half wounded, is changing,
It here and there leaps like a Frog;
But my Heart can never be ranging,
'Tis fo fix'd upon fweet Molly Mog.

Who follows all Ladies of Pleasure,

In Pleasure is thought but a Hog; All the Sex cannot give fo good Measure Of Joys, as my fweet Molly Mog.