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


Spoken by Mr. Griffith.
WHO dares affirm,luis 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 sound ! *
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 Poct 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 rose, fince here are none but friends,
(To own the truth) we have some private ends.
Since waiting-women, like exacting jades,
Hold up the prices of their old brocades ;
We'll dress in manufactures made at home ;
Equip our kings and generals at The Comb.t.

* Abp. King..
* A street famous for Woollen Manufactures.


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We'll rig from Meath-street Ægypt's haughty queen,
And Antony fhall court her in ratteen.
In blue sballoon shall Hannibal be clad,

And Scipio trail an Irith purple plaid.
In drugget drest, of thirteen pence a yard,
See Philip's son amidst his Persian guard.;
And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous rage,
With fifty yards of crape snall tweep the stage.
In short, our kings and princesses within
Are all resolu'd this project to begin ;
And you, our subjects, when you here resort,
Muft imitate the fashion of the Court.

Oh! could I see this audience clad in fuff,
Though money 's scarce, we should have trade enough:
But chintze, brocades, and lace, take all away,
And scarce is left to see a play.
Perhaps you wonder whence this friendship springs
Between the Weavers and us Play-house Kings ;
But Wit and Weaving had the same beginning;
Pallas first taught us Poetry and Spinning:
And, next, observe 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 less in
The Poet's wit, than in the Player's dressing.

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Fominco generi tribuantur "
"HE Muses, whom the richest silks array,

Refuse to-fling their shining gowns away :
The pencil cloaths the Nine in bright brocades,
And gives each colour to the pictur'd maids ;
Far above mortal-dress the filters shine,
Pride in their Indian robes, and inust be fine.
And shall two Bards in concert rhyme and huff,
And fret thefe Muses 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 rage,
May curse the Belles and Chintzes of the age :
Yet still the Artist Worm her Silk shall share,
And spin her thread of life'in service of the fair,

The Cotton-plant, whom satire cannot blast,
"Shall bloom the favourite of these realms, and last;
Like yours, ye Fair, her fame from censure

Prevails in charms, and glares above her foes :
Your injur'd plant fhall meet a loud defenc,
And be the emblein of your innocence.

Some Bard, perhaps, whose 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 such Wool-gathering Sonnetteers as these?
Hence then, ye bome pun Witlings, that persuade
Miss Cloe to the fashion of her maid.
Shall the wide Hoop, that standard of the town,

Thus act subservient to a Poplin Gown ?
Who'd smell of wool all over? 'Tis enough
The under-petticoat be made of stuff.
Lord ! to be wrapt in flannel just in May,
"When the fields dress’d in flowers appears so gay !
And shall not Mifs be flower!d as well as they?

In what weak colours would the plaid appear,
Work'd to a quilt, or studded in a chair !
The skin, that vies with filk, would fret with Ruff;
Or who could bear in bed a thing so rough ?
Ye knowing Fair, how eminent that bed,
Where the Chintze diamonds with the Silken Thread,
Where rustling curtains call the curious eye,
And boast the streaks and paintings of the fky!
Of Aocks they'd have your milky ticking full;
And all this for the benefit of wool !
" But where," say they, '“ shall we bestow these

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


'IS fo old, and so ugly, and yet so convenient,

You 're sometimes in pleasure, though often in

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

in 't ;

'Tis so little, the family live in a press it't, And poor lady Betty + has scarce room to dress in 't.; 'Tis so cold in the winter, you can't bear to lie in 't, And so hot in the summer, you 're ready to fry in 't ; 'Tis so brittle 'twould scarce bear the weight of a tun, Yet so staunch, that it keeps out a great deal of sun; 'Tis so crazy, the weather with ease beats quite

through it, And you ’re forc'd every year in some part to renew it," "Tis so ugly, so useful, so big, and so little, ”Tis so staunch, and so crazy, so strong, and so brittle, 'Tis at one time so hot, and another so cold, It is part of the new, and part of the old ; It is just half a blefling, and just half a curse I wish then, dear George, it were better or worse.

* The seat of George Rochfort, esq. (father to the earl of Belvidere); where Dr. Swift and an agreeable sett of friends {pent part of the summer of 1721.

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


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