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That, bending down its Top, divines
Whene'er the Soil has Golden Mines ;
Where there are none, it stands erect,
Scorning to shew the least Respect,
As ready was the Wand of Sid
To bend where Golden Mines were hid ;
In Scottish Hills found precious Ore,
Where none e'er look'd for it before ;
And by a gentle Bow divin'd.
How well a Cully's Purse was lin'd; 1
To a forlorn and broken Rake,
Stood without Motion, like a Stake.
The Rid of Hermes was renown'd
For Charms above and under Ground;
To sleep could mortal Eye-lids fix,
And drive departed Souls to Styx.
That Rod was just a Type of Sids,
Which o'er a British Senate’s Lids
Could scatter Opium full as well,
And drive as many Souls to Hell.
SI D’s Rod was slender, white and tall,
Which oft he us’d to fill withal ;
A Plaise was faltend to the Hook,
And many Score of Gudgeons took ;
Yet still so happy was his Fate,
He caught his Fib, and fav'd his Bait.
SID's Brethren of the conj'ring Tribe
A Circle with their Rod describe :
Which proves a magical Redoubt
To keep mischievous Spirits out ;
Sid's Rod was of a larger Stride,
And made a Circle thrice as wide;
Where Spirits throng'd with hideous Din,
And he stood there to take them in.
But when th' enchanted Red was broke,
They vanith'd in a stinking Smoke.
ACHILLES' Scepter was of Wood,
Like Sid's, but nothing near so good ;
That down from Ancestors divine,
Transmitted to the Heroes Line.
Thence thro' a long Descent of Kings,
Came an HEIR-LOOM, as Homer fings ;
Tho' this Description looks so big,
That Sceptre was a sapless Twig ;
Which, from the fatal Day, when first
It left the Forest where 'twas nurs'd,
As Homer tells us o'er and o'er,
Nor Leaf, nor Fruit, nor Blossom bore.
Sid's Sceptre, full of Juice, did shoot
In Golden Boughs, and Golden Fruit ;
And he, the Dragon, never sleeping,
Guarded each fair Hesperian Pippin.
No Hobby-borse, with gorgeous Top,
The dearest in Cbarles Mather's Shop,
Or glite’ring Tinsel of May-Fair,
'Could with this Rod of Sid compare.
Dear Sid, then why wer't thou so mad,
To break thy Rod like naughty Lad?
You Thou'd have kiss'd it in
And then return'd it to your Mistress :
Or made it a Newmarket Switch,
And not a Rod for thy own Breech.
For since old Sid has broken this,
His next will be a Red in Piss.
ATLAS, or the Minister of State;
to the Lord Treasurer Oxford.
TLAS, we read in ancient Song,
Was so exceeding tall and strong, He bore the Skies
Just as a Pedlar does his Pack;
But, as a Pedlar overpress’d,
Unloads upon a Stall to rest ;
Or, when he can no longer stand,
Desires a Friend to lend a Hand
So Atlas, left the pond'rous Spheres
Shou'd sink, and fall about his Ears,
Got Hercules to bear the Pile,
That he might fit and rest a While.
Yet Hercules was not so strong,
Nor could have born it half so long.
Great Statesmen are in this Condition,
And Atlas is a Politician,
A premier Minister of State,
Alcides one of second Rate.
Suppose then Atlas ne'er so wise,
Yet when the Weight of Kingdoms lies
Too long upon his fingle Shoulders,
Sink down he must, or find Upbolders.
The Description of a SALAMANDER.
Out of Pliny's Nat. Hist. Lib. 10.6. 67. and Lib. 29. 6.4.
S Mastive Dogs in modern Phrase are
As Pyes and Daws are often ftild
With Christian Nick-names like a Child;
As we say Monsieur to an Ape,
Without Offence to human Shape ;
So Men have got from Bird and Brute
Names that would beft their Natures fuft.
The Lion, Eagle, Fox, and Boar,
Were Heroes Titles heretofore,
Bestow'd as Hi'roglyphick fit
T'express their Valour, Strength, or Wit.
For what is understood by Fame,
Besides the getting of a Name?
But e'er since Men invented Guns,
A diff'rent Way their Fancy runs ;
To paint a Hero, we enquire
For something that will conquer Fire.
Would you describe Turrenne or Trump,
Think of a Bucket or a Pump.
Are these too low ? then find out Grandeur,
Lord C-a Salamander. 'Tis well;
but since we live among
Detractors with an evil Tongue,
Who may object against the Term;
Pliny shall prove what we affirm ;
Pliny Shall prove, and we'll apply,
And I'll be judg’d by Standers-by.
First, then, our Author has defin'd
This Reptile of the Serpent Kind,
With gaudy Coat, and shining Train,
But loathsome Spots his Body stain ;
Out from some Hole obscure he flies,
When Rains descend, and Tempests rise,
Till the Sun clears the Air; and then
Crawls back neglected to his Den.
So when the War has rais'd a Storm,
I've seen a Snake in human Form,
All stain'd with Infamy and Vice,
Leap from the Dunghill in a Trice,