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Without their Indian drapery, they'd prove,
Whilft wool would help to warm us into love!
Then, like the famous Argonauts of Greece,
We'd all contend to gain the Golden Fleece !



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Spoken by Mr. GRIFFITH.

HO dares affirm, this is no pious age,

When charity begins to tread the stage?
When actors, who, at best, are hardly savers,”
Will give a night of benefit to Weavers ?
Stay-let me fee, how finely will it found! @
Imprimis, From his Grace* an hundred pound.
Peers, clergy, gentry, all are benefactors;
And then comes in the item of the actors.
Item, The actors freely gave a day--
The Poet had no more who made the Play.

But whence this wondrous charity in Players?
They learnt it not at Sermons, or at Prayers :
Under the rofe, fince here are none but friends,
(To own the truth) we have fome private ends.
Since waiting-women, like exacting jades,
Hold up the prices of their old brocades ;
"We'll drefs in manufactures made at home;
Equip our kings and generals at The Comb †.

*Abp. King..

Aftreet famous for Woollen Manufactures.


We'll rig from Meath-ftreet Egypt's haughty queen,
And Antony fhall court her in raiteen.

blue fballoon fhall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irith purple plaid.
In drugget drest, of thirteen pence a yard,
See Philip's fon amidst his Persian guard;
And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous rage,
With fifty yards of crape shall sweep the stage.
In fhort, our kings and princeffes within
Are all refolv'd this project to begin;
And you, our fubjects, when you here resort,
Muft imitate the fashion of the Court.

Oh! could I fee this audience clad in ftuff,
Though money 's fcarce, we fhould have trade enough:
But chintze, brocades, and lace, take all away,
And scarce a crown is left to fee a play.

Perhaps you wonder whence this friendship springs
Between the Weavers and us Play-houfe Kings;
But Wit and Weaving had the fame beginning;
Pallas first taught us Poetry and Spinning:
And, next, obferve how this alliance fits,
For Weavers now are just as poor as Wits:
Their brother quill-men, workers for the stage,
For forry Auff can get a crown a page;
But Weavers will be kinder to the Players,
And fell for twenty-pence a yard of theirs.
And, to your knowledge, there is often lefs in
The Poet's wit, than in the Player's dreffing.

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"Fœminco generi tribuantur "

HE Mufes, whom the richest filks array,
Refufe to fling their fhining gowns away:
The pencil cloaths the Nine in bright brocades,
And gives each colour to the pictur'd maids
Far above mortal-dress the sisters shine,
Pride in their Indian robes, and must be fine.
And fhall two Bards in concert rhyme and huff,
And fret thefe Mufes with their Play-house stuff?
The Player in mimic piety may storm,
Deplore the Comb, and bid her Heroes arm;
The arbitrary mob, in paltry ragé,

May curfe the Belles and Chintzes of the


Yet ftill the Artift Worm her Silk fhall fhare,
And fpin her thread of life in fervice of the fair,

The Cotton-plant, whom fatire cannot blast,
Shall bloom the favourite of thefe realms, and laft;
Like yours, ye Fair, her fame from cenfure grows,
Prevails in charms, and glares above her foes:
Your injur'd plant fhall meet a loud defence,
And be the emblem of your innocence.

Some Bard, perhaps, whofe landlord was a Weaver,
Penn'd the low Prologue, to return a favour :
Some neighbour Wit, that would be in the vogue,
Work'd with his friend, and wove the Epilogue.


Who weaves the chaplet, or provides the bays,
For fuch Wool-gathering Sonnetteers as these è
Hence then, ye bomefpun Witlings, that perfuade
Mifs Cloe to the fafhion of her maid.


Shall the wide Hoop, that standard of the town,
Thus act fubfervient to a Poplin Gown?
Who'd smell of wool all over? 'Tis enough
The under-petticoat be made of ftuff.
Lord! to be wrapt in flannel juft in May,
"When the fields drefs'd in flowers appears fo
And fhall not Mifs be flower'd as well as they?
In what weak colours would the plaid appear,
Work'd to a quilt, or ftudded in a chair!
The skin, that vies with filk, would fret with Auff;
Or who could bear in bed a thing fo rough?
Ye knowing Fair, how eminent that bed,


Where the Chintze diamonds with the Silken Thread, Where rustling curtains call the curious


And boast the streaks and paintings of the fky!

Of flocks they'd have your milky ticking full;

And all this for the benefit of wool!

"But where," say they," fhall we beftow thefe "Weavers,

"That fpread our streets, and are fuch piteous cravers ?"
The Silk-worms (brittle beings!) prone to fate,
Demand their care to make their webs complete :
Thefe may they tend, their promises receive;
We cannot pay too much for what they give!






IS fo old, and fo ugly, and yet fo convenient, You 're fometimes in pleasure, though often in pain in 't.

'Tis so large you may lodge a few friends with ease in 't. You may turn in and ftretch at your length if you please

in 't ;

'Tis fo little, the family live in a prefs in 't,

And poor lady Betty † has fcarce room to drefs in 't; 'Tis fo cold in the winter, you can't bear to lie in 't, And fo hot in the fummer, you're ready to fry in 't ; "Tis fo brittle 'twould fcarce bear the weight of a tun, Yet fo ftaunch, that it keeps out a great deal of fun; 'Tis fo crazy, the weather with eafe beats quite through it,


you 're forc'd every year in fome part to renew it, 'Tis fo ugly, so useful, so big, and so little,

"Tis fo ftaunch, and fo crazy, fo ftrong, and fo brittle, 'Tis at one time fo hot, and another fo cold,

It is part of the new, and part of the old ;
It is just half a bleffing, and just half a curfe—
I wish then, dear George, it were better or worse.

*The feat of George Rochfort, efq. (father to the carl of Belvidere); where Dr. Swift and an agreeable fett of friends fpent part of the fummer of 1721.

† Daughter to the earl of Drogheda, and the wife of Mr. Rochfort.


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