The Winds my Pray'rs, my Sighs, my Numbers. bear, The flying Winds have loft them all in Air! And either ceafe to live, or cease to love! 菜批 A SATIRE. By Mr. WHITEHEAD. Paulus vel Coffus vel Drufus MORIBUS efto. JUVENAL. LONDON: that worft Plague — a Court. "'Midft the mad Manfions of Moor-fields, I'd be "A Straw-crown'd Monarch, in mock Majesty; "Rather than Sovereign rule Britannia's Fate, "Curs'd with the Follies and the Farce of State. "Rather in Newgate Walls, O! let me dwell, "A doleful Tenant of the darkling Cell, "Than fwell in Palaces the mighty Store ་་ Of Fortune's Fools, and Parafites of Pow'r. "Than "Than Crowns, Ye Gods! be any State my Doom; "Or any Dungeon; but a Drawing-Room. "THRICE happy Patriot, whom no Courts debafe, "No Titles leffen, and no Stars disgrace. "Still nod the Plumage o'er the brainless Head ; "Still o'er the faithless Heart the Ribband spread. "Such Toys may serve to fignalize the Tool, "To gild the Knave, or garnish out the Fool; "While, You, with Roman Virtue arm'd, difdain "The tinfel Trappings and the glitt'ring Chain : "Fond of your Freedom fpurn the venal Fee, "And prove He's only Great Free. who dares be THUS fung Philemon in his calm Retreat, Too wife for Pow', too virtuous to be great. BUT whence this Rage at Courts? reply'd his Grace. Say, is the mighty Crime, to be in Place? Is that the deadly Sin, mark'd out by Heav'n, Can |