The daw a thief, the ape a droll,
The hound would scent, the wolf would prole;
A pigeon would, if fhown by
Fly from the hawk, or pick his peafe up.
Far otherwife a great Divine
Has learnt his Fables to refine : He jumbles men and birds together, As if they all were of a feather : You fee him firft the peacock bring, Against all rules, to be a king; That in his tail he wore his eyes, By which he grew both rich and wife. Now, pray, obferve the Doctor's choice, A peacock chofe for flight and voice: Did ever mortal fee a peacock Attempt a flight above a haycock ? And for his finging, Doctor, you know, Himfelf complain'd of it to Juno.. He fqualls in fuch a hellish noise, It frightens all the village boys. This peacock kept a ftanding force, In regiments of foot and horfe; Had ftatesmen too of every kind, Who waited on his eyes behind
(And this was thought the highest post; For, rule the rump, you rule the roast). The doctor names but one at prefent, And he of all birds was a pheasant. This pheasant was a man of wit, Could read all books were ever writ;
Whose wit at beft was next to none, And now that little next is gone. Against the Court is always blabbing, And calls the Senate-houfe a Cabin; So dull, that, but for spleen and spite, We ne'er fhould know that he could write; Who thinks the nation always err'd, Because himself is not preferr'd :
His heart is through his Libel feen, Nor could his malice fpare the Queen;
Who, had the known his vile behaviour, Would ne'er have fhown him fo much favour. A noble Lord hath told his pranks,
And well deferves the nation's thanks. Oh! would the Senate deign to show Refentment on this public Foc; Our Nightingale might fit a cage, There let him ftarve, and vent his rage; Or would they but in fetters bind, This enemy of human-kind! Harmonious Coffee +, how thy zeal, Thou champion for the common-weal: Nor on a theme like this repine, For once to wet thy pen divine: Beftow that Libeler a lafh, Who daily vends feditious trash : Who dares revile the nation's wifdom, But in the praife of virtue is dumb:
L. Allen, the fame who is meant by Traulus. D. S.
That Scribler lafh, who neither knows The turn of verfe, nor ftyle of prole; Whofe malice, for the worst of eurisy Would have us lofe our English friends Who never had one public thongany Nor ever gave the poor a grost. One clincher more, and I have firmey I end my labours with a puz Jove fend this Nightingale may fafti, Who fpends his day and Night in gull! So, Nightingale and Lark, as I see the greatest owls in you That even screecht, or ever fleus.
ON THE IRISH CLUB
YE paultry underlings of bre,
Ye fenators, who love to prate a
Ye rafcals of inferior nont, Who for a dinner feil avons Ye pack of penfonary peers, Whole fingers itch for poets are z Ye bishops far removed from fatty Why all this rage? Why these complaints Why against printers all flin moite » This fummoning of blackguard boys Why fo fagacious in your guelles & Your effs and fees, and arrs, and effes &
*See a new fong on a feditious paroplet, vol. I. p. ang
I know a fhorter way by half.
The point is plain: remove the cause.; Defend your liberties and laws.
Be fometimes to your country true, Have once the public good in vicw: Bravely defpife Champagne at Court, And chufe to dine at home with Port: Let Prelates, by their good behaviour, Convince as they believe a Saviour; . Nor fell what they fo dearly bought, This country, now their own, for nought, Ne'er did a true fatiric Muse
Virtue or Innocence abuse; And 'tis against poetic rules To rail at men by nature fools: But *
A handfome, young, imperious girl,
Nearly related to an Earl.
Her parents and her friends confent,
The couple to the temple went:
They first invite the Cyprian queen;
"Twas anfwer'd, "She would not be feen :"
The date and hero of this poem are unknown. N.
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