You reach'd me Ph-s ruftick Strain ;

Pray take your mortal Bards again.

Come bind the Victim,

there he lies,

And here between his num'rous Eyes

This venerable Dust I lay,

From Manuscripts just swept away.

The Goblet in my Hand I take,

(For the Libation's yet to make)
A Health to Poets! all their Days
May they have Bread, as well as Praise;
Sense may they seek, and less engage
In Papers fill'd with Party-Rage.
But if their Riches spoil their Vein,
Ye Muses, make them poor again.

Now bring the Weapon, yonder Blade,

With which my tuneful Pens are made.

I ftrike the Scales that arm thee round,

And twice and thrice I print the Wound
The facred Altar floats with red,

And now he dies, and now he's dead.

How like the Son of Jove I ftand,
This Hydra ftretch'd beneath my Hand!
Lay bare the Monster's Entrails here,
To see what Dangers threat the Year:
Ye Gods! what Sonnets on a Wench?
What lean Tranflations out of French?
'Tis plain, this Lobe is so unfound,
S- prints, before the Months go round.

But hold, before I close the Scene,

The facred Altar fhou'd be clean.

Oh had I Sh- -l's Second Bays,

Or T ! thy pert and humble Lays!

(Ye

(Ye Pair, forgive me, when I vow
I never miss'd your Works 'till now)
I'd tear the Leaves to wipe the Shrine,
(That only way you please the Nine)
But fince I chance to want these two,
I'll make the Songs of Dy do.

<

Rent from the Corps, on yonder Pin,
I hang the Scales that brac'd it in;
I hang my studious Morning Gown,
And write my own Inscription down.

This Trophy from the Python won,

This Robe, in which the Deed was done,

Thefe, Parnell glorying in the Feat,

'Hung on these Shelves, the Mufes Seat. • Here Ignorance and Hunger found

• Large Realms of Wit to ravage round;

• Here

• Here Ignorance and Hunger fell;

• Two Foes in one I fent to Hell.

• Ye Poets, who my Labours fee,
• Come share the Triumph all with me!
• Ye Criticks! born to vex the Muse,
• Go mourn the grand Ally you lofe.

An

An ALLEGORY on MAN.

A

Thoughtful Being, long and spare,

Our Race of Mortals call him Care:

(Were Homer living, well he knew

What Name the Gods have call'd him too)
With fine Mechanick Genius wrought,

And lov'd to work, tho' no one bought.

This Being, by a Model bred
In Jove's eternal fable Head,
Contriv❜d a Shape impow'r'd to breathe,
And be the Worldling here beneath.

The Man rose staring, like a Stake;

Wond'ring to see himself awake!

Then