Then to his Library let him confine
The undigested Notions of his Brain;
In curious Speculation fpend his Days,

And labour to preferve J-s F-rb—s's Praise. To Learning, 'tis confefs'd, he'as fome Pretence, For he abounds in Books, tho not in Sense.

O valiant Sc! with unan'mous Voice, The Nation does applaud the Senate's Choice; Grown old in Wars, thou must in Council fit, For Councils now, as once for Actions, fit. Thy penetrating Senfe can foon unfold Mysterious Truth in thy own Cyphers told. As a raw Youth, of the Patrician Race, In that August Affembly claims a Place, Only with awful Silence to attend,

And by the Sire's wife Precepts form his tender Our modern Sages prudently admit

(Mind, Young T-f-d fhould in the Committee fit; Provided still the firft like Stamp he bear, And, like the Infant Carthaginian, fwear Immortal Hatred to his Father's Foes, And ever to fupport The Good Old Caufe. Unheard came creeping next a crafty Bard, Who factious Business never did retard; An antient Stock, in covert Sawpits bold, In Plots confummate, and in Tricks grown old; Since among Knaves he holds the foremost place, Old Fern's Footsteps who so well can trace? Tho twice his Marriage-bed has been betray'd, Good reason still his Vengeance has allay'd. The Injury his former Spouse has done, A large Eftate moft amply did atone; He is content his prefent Spouse should strole To gain young Bullies to the Kit-kat Bowl.

-S

, thou mighty Genius, next arife, Nor let young Jes thy Vigilance furprize;

Let

Let neither Guilt, or Crime, nor fenfe of Pain
Distract the Projects of thy teeming Brain,
Thofe Labours may be crown'd another Reign.
With thy accuftom'd Art expound the Laws,
Weighing the Party's Merit, not the Cause.
Above the common Honour of a P

Thy restless Soul difdains that humble Sphere,
A Blazing-Comet to amaze the Sight,
And with a fiery Tail the People fright.

Thus, for a while, thou may'ft with Luftre fhine,
But foon to Primitive Dregs thou must return again.
Oh Albion, on these Shoulders ne'er repofe,
These are thy dangerous inteftine Foes;
These are the Tyrants who would thee enthral,
Refolve to govern, or o'erthrow the Ball,
Tho they, like Sampfon, in the Ruin fall.

}

An Allufion to the Bishop of Cambray's Supplement of Homer, 1706.

Ambray, whilft of Seraphick Love you fet'
The nobleft Image in the clearest Light;
A Love by no Self-Intereft debas'd,

But on th'Almighty's high Perfections plac'd;
A Love in which true Piety confifts,

That foars to Heav'n without the help of Priests:
Let partial Rome the great Attempt oppose,
Support the Cheats from which her Income flows.
Her Cenfures may condemn, but not confute,
If beft your elevated Notions fuit

With what to Reason feems th' Almighty's Due,
They have th' Appearances of being true:
And what can animated Clay produce
Beyond a Guess, in Matters fo abftrufe?

But

But when, defcending from Empireal Height,
You ftoop of fublunary Things to treat,
Minerva feems your Moral to difpenfe;
How great the Subject, how fublime the Senfe!
Not the Meonian Bard with fuch a Flame
E'er fung of ruling Arts (your lofty Theme)
In your Telemachus (his Hero's Son)
We fee the great Original outdone.

There is in Virtue fare a hidden Charm
To force Efteem, and Envy to difarm;

Elfe in a flatt'ring Court you ne'er had been defign'd T' inftruct the future Troublers of Mankind.

Happy your Native Soil (at least by Nature fo)
On none her Treasures more profufely flow.
The Hills adorn'd with Vines,with Flow'rs thePlain,
Without the Sun's too near Approach, ferene.
But Heav'n in vain does on your Vineyards fmile,
The Monarch's Glory mocks the Lab'rer's Toil;
Whilft to fet up Pretenders to the Throne
Of other Kingdoms, he deftroys his own.
Neglected Ceres with Reluctance yields
Her Tribute to uncultivated Fields.

What tho elab'rate Brafs with Nature ftrive,
And proud Equeftrian Figures feem alive?
With various Terrors on their Basis wrought,
With yielding Cittadels furpriz'd or bought?
Such Prodigies of Art and coftly Pains,
Serve but to gild th' unthinking Rabbles Chains.
O despicable State of all that groan

Under a blind Dependency on One!
How far inferior to the Herds that range

With Native Freedom o'er the Woods and Plains:
With them no Fallacies of Schools prevail,
Nor of a Right Divine the naufeous Tale,
Can give to one among themfelves a Pow'r,
Without Controul his Fellows to devour.

Το

To reas'ning Humankind alone belong

The Arts to hurt themselves, by reas'ning wrong,
Howe'er the foolish Notion firft began,
Of trusting abs❜lute Pow'r to lawless Man;
Howe'er a Tyrant may by Force subsist,
(For who would be a Slave that can resist?)
Those fit the safeft, easiest on the Throne,
That make their Peoples Intereft their own;
And chufing rather to be lov'd than fear'd,
Are Kings of Men, not of a Șervile Herd.

Oh Liberty! wifh'd for too late, when lost;
Like Health, by those that want thee, valu'd most.
In Regions, where no Property is known,
Thro which the Garonne runs, and rapid Rhone,
Where Peasants toil for Harvests not their own,
How gladly would they quit their fruitful Soil,
How gladly change for thee their Wine and Oil!
As Wretches chain'd and lab'ring at the Oar,
In fight of Italy's delightful Shore,

Reflect on their unhappy Fate the more.

Thy Laws have ftill their Force above the reft
Of Gothic Kingdoms; happy Albion, blest:
Long fince their antient Freedom they have loft,
And fervilely of their Subjection boast.
Thy better Fate the vain Attempt refifts
Of faithlefs Monarchs, and designing Priests;
Unshaken yet thy Government subsists.

While Streams of Blood the Continent o'erflow,
Red'ning the Maefe, the Danube, and the Po;
Thy Thames, aufpicious Ifle, her Thunder fends
To crush thy Foes, and to relieve thy Friends.
Say Mufe (fince no Surprize, or foreign Stroke
Can hurt her guarded by her Walls of Oak,
Since wholesom Laws her Liberty transfer
To future Ages) what can Albion fear?
Can the the dear-bought Treasure throw away?
Have Universities fo great a Sway?

The

The Mufe is filent, cautious to reflect

On Mansions where the Muses keep their Seat.
Barren of Thought, and niggardly of Rhime,
My creeping Numbers fhe forbids to climb;
Vent'ring too far, my weary Genius fails,
And o'er my drooping Senfes Sleep prevails.
An Antique Pile near Thames's Silver Stream
Was the fantastick Object of my Dream;
In antient time a confecrated Fane,

But fince apply'd to Ufes more profane :
Fill'd with a popular debating Throng,
Oft in the Right, and oftner in the Wrong:
Of Good and Bad the variable Test,
Where the Religion that is voted best
Is ftill inclin'd to perfecute the rest.

On the high Fabrick stood a Monster fell,
Of hideous Hue, fecond to none in Hell;
No Fury to be more abhor'd and fear'd,
Her Teeth and Jaws with Clods of Gore befmear'd;
Her Party-colour'd Robe obfcenely ftain'd
With pious Murders, Freemen rackt and chain'd;
With the implacable and brutal Rage

Of fierce Dragoons, fparing nor Sex, nor Age;
With all the horrid Inftruments of Death
Torturing the Innocent, to improve their Faith,
Piercing the Roof with her infectious Breath,
Thus She began; Are then my Labours vain,
That to the Pow'r of France have added Spain?
Vain my Attempts to make that Empire great?
And fhall a Woman my Defigns defeat?
Baffle th'infernal Project I've begun,
And break the Measures of my fav'rite Son?
How diff'ring from the Heroes of her Race,
Who made their Humour of their Laws take place;
And, flighting Coronation-Oaths, difdain'd
Their high Prerogative fhould be restrain'd.