The RAPE of the TR a f.

A BALLA D, 1737.

WAS in a land of learning,
The mufes favourite city,

Such pranks of late

Were play'd by a rat,

As-tempt one to be witty.

All in a college study,

Where books were in great plenty ;

This rat would devour

More fenfe in an hour,

Than I cou'd write-in twenty.

Corporeal food, 'tis granted,

Serves vermin lefs refin'd, Sir;

But this, a rat of taste,

All other rats furpass'd;

And he prey'd on the food of the mind, Sir;

His breakfaft, half the morning,

He conftantly attended;

And when the bell rung

For evening fong,

His dinner fcarce was ended!

He fpar'd not ev'n heroics,

On which we poets pride us;

And

And wou'd make no more
Of king Arthur's*, by the score,
Than all the world befide does.

In books of geo-graphy,

He made the maps to flutter:

A river or a fea

Was to him a dish of tea;,

And a kingdom, bread and butter..

But if fome mawkish potion

Might chance to over-dose him,:

To check its rage,

He took a page

Of logic-to compofe him

A trap, in haste and anger,

Was bought, you need not doubt on't; And, fuch was the gin,

Where a lion once got in,

He could not, I think, get out on't.

With cheese, not books, 'twas baited,
The fact I'll not belye it-

Since none-I'll tell you that-
Whether scholar or rat

Mind books, when he has other diet.

But more of trap and bait, Sir,

Why should I fing, or either?

Since the rat, who knew the flight,
Came in the dead of night,

And dragg'd them away together:
Both trap and bait were vanish'd,
Through a fracture in the flooring;
Which, though fo trim

It now may feem,

Had then a dozen or more in.

Then answer this, ye fages!

Nor deem a man to wrong ye,
Had the rat which thus did feize on
The trap, less claim to reason,
Than many a fcull among ye?
Dan Prior's mice, I own it,
Were vermin of condition;
But this rat who merely learn'd
What rats alone concern'd,
Was the greater politician.

That England's topfy-turvy,

Is clear from thefe mishaps, Sir;
Since traps we may determine,
Will no longer take our vermin,
But vermin* take our traps, Sir.

Let fophs, by rats infested,

Then truft in cats to catch 'em;

Left

*Written at the time of the Spanish depredations.

No mortal fits to watch 'em.

Good luck betide our captains;
Good luck betide our cats, Sir:
And grant that the one

May quell the Spanish Don,

And the other destroy our rats, Sir.

On certain PASTORALS.

So rude and tunelefs are thy lays,

The weary audience vow,

'Tis not th' Arcadian fwain that fings, But 'tis his herds that low.

THY verfes, friend, are Kidderminster * stuff,
And I must own you've measur'd out enough.

To the VIRTUOSO S.

HAIL, curious wights! to whom fo fair

The form of mortal flies is!

Who deem thofe grubs beyond compare,
Which common fense despises.

Whether

Famous for a coarfe woollen manufacture,

Whether o'er hill, morafs, or mound,

You make your sportsman fallies;
Or that your prey in gardens found
Is urg'd through walks and alleys.
Yet, in the fury of the chace,
No flope could e'er retard you;
Bleft if one fly repay the race,

Or painted wings reward you.

Fierce as Camilla o'er the plain
Purfued the glittering ftranger;
Still ey'd the purple's pleafing ftain,
And knew not fear nor danger.

'Tis you difpenfe the favourite meat
To nature's filmy people;

Know what conferves they chufe to eat,

And what liqueurs to tipple.

And if her brood of infects dies,

You fage affiftance lend her;
Can ftoop to pimp for amorous flies,
And help them to engender.

'Tis you protect their pregnant hour;
And when the birth's at hand,
Exerting your obstetric power,

Prevent a mothless land.

Yet oh! howe'er your towering view
Above grofs objects rifes,

Whate'er refinements you pursue,

Hear, what a friend advises:

A friend,