I wrote o'er and o'er All the Bills for the Poor, 'And abridg'd them to one that was longer; Touch'd again and again By my accurate Pen, Each Claufe grew ftronger and stronger. All my Labour and Law Then I was thrown out, And fent back with the Poor to the Parish. A Book I put out, I wrote it about The Thoughts of a Man of Black-Lift-a; Occafion'd fuch Laughter, My Readers were almoft bepift-a. The Learned allow'd, Of which I am proud, That the Work there had been fome Good in But ftill they would fay, 'Twas all out of the way, And had not one word of the Pudding. When the Poll was declar'd, O then it appear'd, At which I was too much concern'd; By One Hundred and Four, Had Had the Odds been but few, Since Regard had been paid to my Merit; By an Un Writing Knight, Flesh and Blood is not able to bear it. Since they've play'd fuch a Game, They fhall find to their Coft what will follow; I'll retire to my Mines, Where the Sun never fhines, And a Ft for the Sons of Apollo. An ODE on the D. of Marlborough, 1706. WHAT Pow'r of Words can equal thy Re(nown, WHA Illuftrious God of War? What Muse can raise Thalia, Arethusa, skill'd in Song, To Churchill's Race the Theme belongs, (Churchill's Race tranfcend the Nine.) 'Tis Sunderland alone that must inspire, She shares the Godlike Hero's Fire; And she must tune the Voice, and animate the Lyre. O Marlbro', her Influence fhall fupply *The Duke of Marlborough's Daughter married to the Earl of Sunderland. Whilft he to fing prepares The Triumphs of thy Wars; The Terror of thy conq'ring Arms, Which freed the Empire from Alarms, And ftruck the trembling Gaul with pannic Fears. Lewis, once call'd The Great, In Thee beholds his Fate; An Action worthy of thy Cause and Thee : Thousands on Thousands flain, Told the infulting Foe again, That Marlborough, arm'd in ANNA's Cause, Their Rights, their Liberties and Laws. Now Marlbro's thund'ring Arm has broke the Ty(rant's Pow'r. What Pyramids of Praife! What Wreaths of never-dying Bays With all young Ammon's Deeds, are but a Foil And only ferve to raise the Luftre of thy Glory. Great Pompey, Cafar, Anthony, and He Shall blush to fee Themselves fall short, fo infinitely fhort of Thee.' : And And Oh! Thou eldest Son of Fame! Should equal that with which our Hero fought, So faft thy mighty Conquefts flow; The Wonders thou haft done for her;' To thee they owe the Charms of Peace, And Nations emulous shall crown thy vaft Success. Thrice happy Britain! glorious Isle! From whence their great Deliv❜rer came; But Oh! amidst th' extreameft Joy Of thy exulting Swains, How are thy Bards depreft! What dire Confufion fills their Breast! When anxious they behold The British General, with greater Ease, Vanquish the Nation's Enemies, Than they find Words to celebrate his Victories. SEY The Seven Wife Men. Even Sages in these latter Times are seen, Yet ftill fhe's fafe while Patriots guide the Boat. A gentle D comes next in clofe Debate, Next giddy Phaethon begins his Flight, Then |