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In which all modern bards agree,
Being each as great a thief as he:
But even this deity's existence

Shall lend my fimile affiftance.

Our modern bards! why, what a pox Are they but fenfelefs ftones and blocks!

7

STANZAS

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND
BY LIGHTENING.

SURE 'twas by Providence defign'd,
Rather in pity, than in hate,
That he should be, like Cupid, blind,
To fave him from Narciffus' fate.

ON WOMAN.

WHEN lovely woman ftoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray, What charm can foothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bofom-is, to die.

F

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind:
Reason, they fay, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wife Ariftotle and Smiglefius,

By ratiocinations fpecious,

Have ftrove to prove with great precision, With definition and divifion,

Homo eft ratione preditum;

But for my foul I cannot credit 'em,
And muft in fpite of them maintain,
That man and all his ways are vain;
And that this boafted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature;
That inftinct is a furer guide

Than reafon, boasting mortal's pride;

And that brute beafts are far before 'em

Deus eft anima brutorum.

Whoever knew an honest brute

At law his neighbour profecute,

Bring action for affault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,

No politics difturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport, Nor know who's in or out at court;

They never to the levee go

To treat as dearest friend a foe;

They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob.
Fraught with invective, they ne'er go
To folks at Pater-nofter-row:
No judges, fidlers, dancing-mafters,
No pick-pockets, or poetafters,
Are known to honest quadrupeds;
No fingle brute his fellows leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each other's throats for pay.
Of beafts, it is confefs'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape;
Like man, he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling paffion:
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape furpasses.
Behold him, humbly cringing, wait
Upon the minister of state;

View him foon after, to inferiors,
Aping the conduct of superiors-
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators—

At court, the porters, laqueys, waiters,
Their mafters' manners ftill contract,
And footmen lords and dukes can act :
Thus, at the court, both great and small
Behave alike for all ape all.

(84)

AN ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

GOOD people all, of every fort,
Give ear unto my fong;
And if you find it wonderous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Iflington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,
That ftill a godly race he ran—
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad-
When he put on his cloaths.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be-

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain his private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

Around, from all the neighbouring streets,

The wond'ring neighbours ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite fo good a man.

The wound it feem'd both fore and fad To every christian eye;

And while they fwore the dog was mad,
They fwore the man would die.

But foon a wonder came to light,
That shew'd the rogues they ly'd—
The man recover'd of the bite,
The dog it was that dy'd.

AN ELEGY

ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX,
MRS. MARY BLAIZE.

GOOD people all, with one accord,

Lament for madam Blaize,

Who never wanted a good word-
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy feldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.

She ftrove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wond'rous winning,
And never follow'd wicked ways-
Unless when he was finning.

At church, in filks and fatins new,
With hoop of monftrous fize;
She never flumber'd in her pew-
But when she shut her eyes.

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