A Miscellaneous Collection of Poems, Songs and Epigrams

Why would'st thou then make ev'ry Bliss thy own,
Muft mighty ANNA live for thee alone;
The Sun difplays his Beams from Place to Place,
And Shines on all before he ends his Race:
So Britain's brighter QUEEN delights to move,
And blefs her SU BJECTS with delighted Love.
Subjects to her should study how to please,
And tho' they lofe their own, confult her Ease.
Go then, retire, no more my Anger move,

But in your fwift Obedience fhew her LovE..

She faid. And gliding from her Prefence went,

And fad AUGUSTA ftrove, but could not be content.

LL ye Beaux, Virtuofo's, rich Heirs, and
Musicians,

Away, and in Troops to the JUBILEE

jog;

Leave Difcord and Death to the College Physicians,
Let the Lufty Whore on, and the Impotent Flog;

Already ROME opens her Arms to receive ye,
And freely Tranfgreffions her LORD will forgive ye.

II. IA

Indulgences, Pardons, and fuch Holy Lumber,
As cheap now in Rome, as our Cabbages grown,
With musty old Relicks of Saints without Number,
For barely the looking upon to be fhewn;
Thefe, were you an Atheist, muft needs overcome ye,
Which first were made Martyrs, and afterwards Mummy.

III.

They'll fhew you the Place fo much fung by the Poets, And the Rock from whence Martyrs were knock'd on

the Head;

They'll fhew you the Place too, nay, and fome will avow it,

Where once a She-Pope was brought fairly to Bed,
For which, ever fince, to prevent Interloping,.
In a Chair of Succeffion they fuffer a Groping.

IV.

What a Sight 'tis to fee the Gay Idol accoutred,

With Mitre, and Cope, and two KEYS by his Side? Be his Inside what it will, yet the form of his Outward Shews Servus Servorum, no Hater of Pride;

These KEYS into Heav'n will as furely admit ye,
As the Clerk of a Parish to a Pew in the City.

What a Sight 'tis to fee the Old Man in Proceffion,
Thro' Rome in fuch Pomp as her Cæsars did ride ?
Here fcattering of Pardons, here Croffing, there Bleffing,
With all his Spiritual Train'd-bands by his fide;

As Confeffors, Cardinals, Monks fat as Bacon,
From Rev'rend Arch-Bifhop, to Rofy Arch-Deacon.

VI.

And when at New Babylon fome Time you have been, And in Punks, and in Pardons, all your Rhino have spent,

And when

you have feen what is to be feen,

You'll return not fo Rich, tho' as wife as you went ; And 'twill be but fmall Comfort, after all your Expence, That your Heirs will do the fame just an Hundred Years hence.

SONG.

OME hither