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'Oft' too with hideous yawn the cavern wide Prefents an orifice on either fide,

A difmal orifice, from fea to fea
Extended, pervious to the God of Day:
Uncouthly join'd, the rocks ftupendous form
An arch, the ruin of a future ftorm:

High on the cliff their nefts the Woodquests make,
And Sea-calves ftable in the oozy lake.

But when bleak Winter with his fullen train
Awakes the winds to vex the watery plain;
When o'er the craggy fleep without control,
Big with the blast, the raging billows roll;
Not towns beleaguer'd, not the flaming brand,
Darted from Heaven by Jove's avenging hand,
Oft' as on impious men his wrath he pours,
Humbles their pride, and blasts their gilded towers,
Equal the tumult of this wild uproar :

Waves rufh o'er waves, rebellows fhore to fhore.
The neighbouring race, though wont to brave the fhocks
Of angry feas, and run along the rocks,..

Now pale with terror, while the ocean foams,
Fly far and wide, nor trust their native homes.

The goats, while pendent from the mountain-top
The wither'd herb improvident they crop,
Wash'd down the precipice with sudden sweep,
Leave their fweet lives beneath th' unfathom'd deep.
The frighted fisher, with defponding eyes,
Though fafe, yet trembling in the harbour lies,
Nor hoping to behold the fkies ferene,


Wearies with vows the monarch of the main.


The Bishop of ROCHESTER'S French Dog *.

In a Dialogue between a WHIG and a TORY. 17226


ASK'D a Whig the other night,

How came this wicked plot to light? He answer'd, that a dog of late

Inform'd a minifter of ftate.

Said I, from thence I nothing know;
For are not all informers fo?

A villain who his friend betrays,
We ftyle him by no other phrafe ;
And fo a perjur'd dog denotes

Porter, and Prendergast, and Oates,

And forty others I could name.

WHIG. But, you must know, this dog was lame.

TORY. A weighty argument indeed!

Your evidence was lame : -- proceed:

Come, help your lame dog o'er the ftyle.

WHIG. Sir, you mistake me all this while

I mean a dog (without a joke)

Can howl, and bark, but never spoke.

TORY. I'm fill to feek, which dog you mean; Whether cur Plunkeit, or whelp Skean,

An English or an Irish hound;

Or t' other puppy, that was drown'd;

See the "State Trials," Vol. VI.


Or Mason, that abandon'd bitch:

Then pray
be free, and tell me which:
For every stander-by was marking
That all the noise they made was barking.
You pay them well; the dogs have got
Their dogs-heads in a porridge pot:
And 'twas but juft; for wife men fay,
That every dog must have bis day.
Dog Walpole laid a quart of nog on 't,
He'd either make a bog or dog on 't ;
And look'd, fince he has got his wifh,
As if he had thrown down a disb.
Yet this I dare foretel you from it,
He'll foon return to bis own vomit.

WHIG. Befides, this horrid plot was found By Neynoe, after he was drown'd.

TORY. Why then the proverb is not right, Since you can teach dead dogs to bite.

WHIG. I prov'd my propofition full :

But jacobites are strangely dull.

Now let me tell you plainly, Sir,
Our witness is a real cur,

A dog of spirit for his years,

Has twice two legs, two hanging ears;
His name is Harlequin, I wot,
And that's a name in every plat:
Refolv'd to fave the British nation,
Though French by birth and education;
His correfpondence plainly dated ́
Was all decypher'd and translated:

His answers were exceeding pretty
Before the fecret wife committee:
Confeft as plain as he could bark :
Then with his fore-foot fet his mark.

TORY. Then all this while have I been bubbled,
I thought it was a dog in doublet:
The matter now no longer sticks;
For ftatefmen never want dog-tricks.
But fince it was a real cur,
And not a dog in metaphor,

I give you joy of the report,
That he 's to have a place at court.

WHIG. Yes, and a place he will grow rich in;

A turn-fpit in the royal kitchen.

Sir, to be plain, I tell you what,

We had occafion for a plot:

And, when we found the dog begin it,

We guess'd the bishop's foot was in it.
TORY. I own, it was a dangerous project;
And you have prov'd it by dog-logick.
Sure fuch intelligence between

A dog and bishop ne'er was feen,
Till you began to change the breed ;
Your bifhops all are dogs indeed !



A House of CHARLES FORD, Efq; near DUBLIN.



Cuicumque nocere volebat, “Vestimenta dabat pretiofa."

DON Carlos, in a merry fpight,

Did Stella to his house invite:

He entertain'd her half a year
With generous wines and costly chear,
Don Carlos made her chief director,
That the might o'er the fervants hector.
In half a week the dame grew nice,
Got all things at the highest price :
Now at the table-head fhe fits,
Prefented with the niceft bits:
She look'd on partridges with fcorn,
Except they tafted of the corn:
A haunch of venifon made her sweat,
Unless it had the right fumette.
Don Carlos earnestly would beg,
Dear madam, try this pigeon's leg;
Was happy, when he could prevail
To make her only touch a quail.
Through candle-light the view'd the wine,
To fee that every glass was fine.
At last, grown prouder than the devil
With feeding high and treatment civil,




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