Nor need we with unneceffary Care • Endeavour to foment Rebellion there; • For scarce our Naffau's Empire they endur'd, • Tho' he their ancient Liberties reftor'd,

*

T

}

And murm'ring now they afk a foreign Lord. • But (Health fuppos'd) to Ireland I'll repair, And right or wrong ufurp the Commons Chair; • That Point once gain'd, we'll foon fecure our Caufe, • Soon undermine our hot-brain'd tow'ring Foes. • At least I'll fubftitute fome WEALTHY FRIEND, • Who fhall with Heat and Arrogance contend To thwart the Court in ev'ry juft Command." So Cataline the Fate of Rome defign'd, And when he'd form'd the Scheme within his Mind, In fuch a warm Harangue his Friends addreft, And open'd all the Secret of his Breaft, This hit Sigillo's Thoughts, and made him cool, Tho' juft before he fcarcely could controul The ftormy Paffion fwelling in his Soul; His reftlefs Soul that rends his fickly Frame, Worn with a pois'nous and corroding Flame. An unjust Judge, and Blemish of the Mace, Witness the Bankers long-depending Cafe, A fhallow Statesman, tho' of mighty Fame, For who can e'er that curft Partition name But to his foul Difgrace and to his Shame? Befides, in fpite of all his loud Defence, He fhew'd a Want of Honefty or Senfe, In paffing ev'ry plund'ring Courtier's Grants. He is (for Satire dares the Truth declare) Deift, Republican, Adulterer.

Thus his lov'd Cladio for his Speech he prais'd,
And Joy and Wonder in the Hearers rais'd.
There spoke the guardian Genius of our Caufe
• Whofe ev'ry Word deferves divine Applause..

This Project was once talked of, + Somers

• Not

Not e'en Cethego's felf could form a Plot More his immortal envy'd Fame, More nicely fun, more exquifitely wrought Tho he, to

The Glory of the Revolution claim on "on" was his or

infathomable Wit

A

Dide fames and all his fefuit Train defeat. He knew reveal'd Religion was a Jeft, Impos'd upon the World by fonte defigning Priest Nor therefore fear'd, but to their Idols bow'd, • Prevaricating with his King, his God. A Proteus, ever acting in Difguife, WA T A fuit'a Statefnan, intricately wife and • A fecond Machiavel," who scar'd above • The hete Ties of Gratitude • Whore Harden'd' Confcience never felt Remorfe Reflection is the puny Sinner's Cure. But why Thould I Cethego's Praife purfue, 's Praife purfue, When all his 'Virtues, Clodio, Thine in your of n You can another Revolution frame, The fame your Principle, your Skill the fam Whilft then the way ring fri are your Care, Believe we'll ufe our utmost Efforts here,

and Love

e;

Nor Time, nor Paths, nor Health, nor Money, pare. Y

#65 odw 18 L l'ev'ry Confult guide ;abila d O'er our Debates, and ev'ry Confult uide on 108 Like the fupremic directing Hand of fade, ventia aci • Shall act unfeen, and all around him move

Cethego in your Abfence fhall prefide

◄ I, as the Moderator of the Laws,
Will find a Way to fanctify our Caufe
Will prove in Paffive Jacobites Despite,
Rebellion is a free-born People's Right
Then as we take our Circuits thro' the Land,
• We'll mould the ftern Freeholders to our Hand,
• Awe their Elections, and their Votes command.

The Ron here reprefented was living at the Time of this Cabal, old Sunderland. Young Sunderland.

VOL. III.

S

When

• When with our faithful City Friends we dine,
• We'll mingle Treafon with the flowing Wine
• We'll plant in ev'ry Coffee-houfe a Spy
That boldly fhall the Miniftry decry

Shall praise the paft, the prefent Reign condemn,
And all their Measures, all their Councils, blame:
Shall fpread a thousand idle, groundless Tales,
Of foreign Gold, the Pope, and Prince of Wales;
Shall never fail Objections ftill to raife,
(Whatever is tranfacted with Success)
And turn their greatest Honour to Difgrace.
This Chymic Art, perverting Nature's Law,
• From sweetest Things will rankeft Poifons draw."'
Narciffo next, magnificently gay,

T

Smil'd his Affent, but not a Word would fay;
He fear'd to ftrain his Voice by talking loud,
Nor was his Quail-pipe made for fuch a Crowd.
A batter'd Beau, yet youthful in Decay,
Who dreffes, whores, and games his Time away.
Fond of Sedition, but indulging Vice
With all that Wealth, profufely spent, fupplies.
And yet this Debauchee pretends to claim
An injur'd Patriot's meritorious Name.
Then squeal'd Orlando ‡, but his furious Heat
Shew'd him for cool mature Debates unfit,
Nor will we here the bluft'ring Speech repeat.
A Bully Lord, whofe wild, mad Looks, proclaim
His Bofom warm'd with more than Hero's Flame.
Fighting and Railing are his chief Delight,
Promifcuoufly oppofing Wrong and Right.
Whate'er he does is always in Extremes,
Sometimes the Whig, fometimes the Tory, damns.
His various Temper and impetuous Mind
To ev'ry Party is by Starts inclin'd.
He never was, nor e'er will be content
With any Prince, with any Government.

* Duke of Devonshire.

Earl of Peterborough,

Laft

Laft role Bathilo deck'd with borrow'd Bays,
Renown'd for others Projects, others Lays.
A gay, pragmatical, pretending Tool,
Opinionatively wife, and pertly dull.
A Demi-Statefman, talkative and loud,
Hot without Courage, without Merit proud,
A Leader fit for the unthinking Crowd.
With dapper Gefture, but with haughty Look,
His lewd Affociates vainly he befpoke.

Do you perform the Politician's Part,

I'll bring th' Affiftance of the Muses Art;
The Poet-Tribe are all at my Devoir,
And write as I command, as I inspire.
Congreve for me Paftora's Death did mourn,
And her white Name with fable Verfe adorn.
Rowe too is mine, and of the Whiggish Train,
'Twas he that fung immortal Tamerlane,

}

Tho' now he dwindles to an ‡ humbler Strain.
I help'd to polifh Garth's rough, aukward Lays,
Taught him in tuneful Lines to found our Party's
Praife.

Walsh votes with us, who, tho' he never writ,
Yet paffes for a Critic and a Wit.

Van's bawdy, plotlefs Plays, were once our Boast,
But now the Poet's in the Builder loft.
On Addifon we fafely may depend,

A Penfion never fails to gain a Friend.
Thro' Alpine Hills he thall my Name refound,
And make his Patron known in Claffic Ground.
These pay the Tribute to my Merit due,
Call me their Horace, and Mecenas too.

• Princes but fit unfettled on their Thrones,
Unless fupported by Apollo's Sons.

6

Auguftus had the Mantuan and Venufian Muse,
And happier Nassau had his Mountagues.

The Fair Penitent,

• Hallifax.

• But

$ 2

But Anna, that ill-fated Tory Queen,
Shall feel the Vengeance of the Poet's Pen.

Triton, who, like the vaft Leviathan, 1 Long wallow'd in the Treasures of the Main Was all Attention, and fufpended hung, For ev'ry Rebel Heart has not a Tongue. Befides, there ftood a numerous Train of Peers, Below the Notice of recording Verse. Beaus, Biters, Pathicks, B. -s, and Cits, Toafters, Kit-cats, Divines, Buffoons, and Wits, Compos'd the Medley Crew; but I forbear To give 'em any Place or Mention here ; For fince the Mufe would blush to paint their Crimes, Let Decency reftrain th' invective Rhimes.

When thus their Chiefs had fpoke, thro' all the Throng

Repeated Peals of Acclamations rung.

Not ancient Demagogues with more Applaufe
Afferted and efpous'd the Rabble's Caufe.

Now the Affembly to adjourn prepar❜d,
When Bibliopolot from behind appear'd,
As well defcrib'd by th'old fatiric Bard;
With leering Looks, Bull-fac'd, and freckled Fair,
With two left Legs, and Judas-colour'd Hair,
With frowy Pores that taint the ambient Air.
Sweating and puffing for a while he stood,
And then broke forth in this infulting Mood."
I am the Touchstone of all modern Wit,
Without my Stamp in vain your Poets write.
Thofe only purchase ever-living Fame
That in my Miscellany plant their Name,