Extremes in nature prove the fame,
The profligate is dead to shame,

No conscious pangs enfue ;
Satire can't wound the virtuous heart,
Nor Savile feel her venom'd dart,

No more, my Lord, than you.

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To 'peach th' accomplice of one's crime,
A gracious pardon gains fometimes

When treachery recommends;
For you, my Lord, its clearly seen
How close the sacred tye between

King's evidence and friends!


With HARLEY's gang you job and curse
Vile contrats + drain the nation's purse,

To bribe such fawning dogs ;
Commerce and glory's out of date,
And Britain's thunder guard's a freight

Of pickles, crout, and hogs.


+ Many of the addresses are the spurious spawn of con, wracts,


Sir Peter's spirit you invoke,
To fanction a forecaftle joke,

And Yankies rob of glory;
Yet faith I think your lordfhip right,
As dead-men I can't gainsay, or fight,

To make him vouch your Atory.


Employ again that magic spell,
Which charm'd the French at Aix-Chapelle 9,

And civil war shall cease ;
Some coalition now you're hatching,
We know your Lordship's kill in patching

-Up rotten thips, or peace!


To fons of tweedle-dum and dec,
You fing your gold, ---Soft nymphs with glee


1 Sir Peter Warren's ghoft was conjured up by Lord S. to countenance his own false and malignant reflections on the behaviour of the Americans, at the fiege of Louisburgh in 1746.

$ The honourable hostage peace, which, according to Lord Sandwich's boast, descended like the heavenly manna, from the clouds.

Embrace you round the middle; Ship-wrights and captains well deserve, In Yorkshire,---or in dock, to starve,

They neither fing or fiddle.

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Your moral sense, my Lord, is nice,
The public good of private vice,

You prove to all the realm ;
In pointed lays, I ling the man,
Who acting on this | ethic plan,

Muft well deserve the helm !


The truth from Gage,or Graves you dread,
A sword suspended o'er your head,

Can Kidgell footh yout woes !
In vain you tempt. Jack Wilkes to dine,
By, copious draughts of * chalic'd wine,
And anthems to Moll's Rofe!


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| Lord S..even from his boyish years, has always actes on Mandeville's system, so finely elucidated in the Fable of the Becs,

Dashwood shall pour from a communion cup
Libations to the goddess without eyes,
And hob, or nob in cyder and excise.



No more will Britain's Neptune vapour, 1
Te Deum fing o'er + Miller's Paper,

'Or laugh at Spain's alarms:
Alas his buckram fleet is funk,
And the 1 King's coufins hawl him drunk,

From Thetis' s golden arms.



Nullus argento color eft avaris
Abditæ terris enemicæ lamnæ
Crispe fallusti ; nifi temperato
Splendeat ufu.


The colour of a Boston fhilling
Your Lordship cannot tell-tho' willing

To shine a Financier :
When your Tea duties cash produce,
You'll turn them to some noble use,

Nor dream of taxing beer.
Vol. II.

II. + The London Evening Porte

| The Hon. Mr. Luttrel, who may perhaps impeach his Lord thip.

$ Homer calls Thetis, silver-footed. The epither golden arms is not clasical, tho'it may have a political meaning, and allude to some anecdotes of our British Neptunc's mil. tress.


To glorious deeds, O NORTH! aspire,
And I'll unstring my sneering lyre,

If you act right and handsome:
On the poor Yankies deign to.smile
We fret no more for Falkland's ille,

Or the Manilla ransom.


Quack med'cines but increase our ills;
For MANSFIELD's drops and vile Scotch pills,

Too dear the nation pays ;
Our sov'reign fick, and worn with cares,
Will kick his doctors down the stairs,

And send again to HAYES.


Camden shall head the learned band,
With magna charta in is hand,

And comments Locke hath writ;
Let drawling Apsley nod and doze,
And early creep to dull repose,

Escap'd from BATHURST's wit.


Can penal acts the saints subdue,
Or breach of charters trade renew,


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