A CONVERT's but a fly, that turns about, After his head 's pull'd off, to find it out, ALL mankind is but a rabble, As those that, crowding in the street, And, when they chance t' agree, the choice is And all the reasons that prevail Are measur'd, not by weight, but tale. AS in all great and crowded fairs Monsters and puppet-plays are wares, Which in the less will not go off, Because they have not money enough; So men in princes' courts will pass, That will not in another place. LOGICIANS ufe to clap a propofition, And, in as learn'd authentic nonsense writ, THOSE THOSE get the least that take the greatest pains, But most of all i' th' drudgery of brains A natural fign of weakness, as an ant Is more laborious than an elephant ; And children are more busy at their play Than those that wifely'st pass their time away. ALL the inventions that the world contains, Were not by reason first found out, nor brains; But pafs for theirs who had the luck to light Upon them by mistake or overfight. A TRIPLETS UPON A VARICE. S mifers their own laws enjoin, And, though he can produce more spankers Yet after more and more he hankers; And And, after all his pains are done, DESCRIPTION O F HOLL AN D. A COUNTRY that draws fifty foot of water, And, when they die, are caft away and drown'd; ΤΟ TO HIS MISTRESS. O not unjustly blame D° My guiltless breast, For venturing to disclose a flame It had fo long fuppreft. In its own ashes it defign'd But that my fighs, like blasts of wind, D то THE O not mine affection slight, SAME. 'Caufe my locks with age are white : Your breasts have fnow without, and fnow within, T EPIGRA M ON A CLUB OF SOTS. HE jolly members of a toping club, Like pipe-ftaves, are but hoop'd into a tub, And in a close confederacy link, For nothing elfe but only to hold drink. HUDIBRAS'S I HUDIBRAS'S ELEGY*. N days of yore, when knight or fquire By Fate were fummon'd to retire, Some menial poet still was near, To bear them to the hemisphere, And there among the stars to leave them, And fure our Knight, whose very fight wou'd Should he neglected lie, and rot, * Neither this Elegy, nor the following Epitaph, is to be found in The Genuine Remains of Butler, as published by Mr. Thyer. Both however having frequently been reprinted in The Pofthumous Works of Samuel Butler; and as they, befides, relate particularly to the hero of his principal poem; there needs no apology for their being thus preferved. Some other of the postbumous poems would not have difgraced their fuppofed author; but, as they are fo pofitively rejected by Mr. Thyer, we have not ventured to admit them. N. |