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This Satire was printed about the Year 1704, in a

Collection of satirical Poems.. A Piece which is not deficient in Wit and Fancy, and has many happy Strokes of Humour, deserves to be rescu

ed from Oblivion. I have endeavoured, but in vain, to learn the Name

of the Author.

EAR to the Rose, where Punks in Numbers flock

*

A lofty Fabrick does the Sight invade,
And stretches round the Place a pompous Shade,
Where sudden Shouts the Neighbourhood surprise,
And Thurd'ring Claps and dreadful Hisings rise.

Here thrifty * R-hires Monarchs by the Day,
And keeps his Mercenary Kings in Pay,
With deep mouth'd Actors fills the Vacant Scenes,
And drains the Town for Goddesses and Queens :
Here the lewd Punk, with Crowns and Sceptres grac'd,
Teaches her Eyes a more Majestick Cast,

* Cbristopher Rich, Esq. Father of the late Jobn Rish Patentee of Covent Garden Theatre, R 3

And

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And hungry Monarchs, with a numerous Train Of suppliant Slaves, like Sancho, starve and reign.

But enter in, my Mufe, the Stage survey, And all its Pomp and Pageantry display; Trap-doors and Pit-falls form th’unfaithful Ground, And magick Walls encompass it around: On either Side maim'd Temples fill our Eyes, And intermixt with Brothel-houses rise ; Disjointed Palaces in Order stand, And Groves obedient to the Mover's Hand O'ershade the Stage, and flourish at Command. A Stamp makes broken Towns and Trees entire : So when Amphion struck the vocal Lire, He saw the spacious Circuit all around With crowding Woods, and neighbouring Cities

crown'd. But next the Tiring-room furvey and see False Tides, and promiscuous Quality, Confus'dly swarm, from Heroes, and from Queens,

To those that swing in Clouds, and fill Machines;
Their various Characters they chụse with Art,
The frowning Bully fits the Tyrant's Part :
Swoln Cheeks, and swaggering Belly, makes a Host,
Pale, meagre Looks, and hollow Voice, a Ghost;
From careful Brows, and heavy down-caft Eyes,
Dull Cits, and thick scullid Aldermen, arise :
The Comick Tone, inspir'd by * Fr, draws
At every Word loud Laughter and Applause :
The mincing Dame continues as before,
Her Character's unchang'd, and acts a Whore.

Above the Rest the Prince with mighty Scalks,
Magnificent in purple Buskins walks:
The royal Robe his haughty Shoulders grace,
Proʻuse of Spangles and of Copper Lace :
Officious Rascals to his mighty Thigh,
Guiltless of Blool, th’unpointed Weapon ; ;

tie

* Perhaps Farqubar.

Then

Then the gay glittering Diadem put on,
Pondrous with Brass, and starr'd with Bristol Stone.
His royal Confort next consults her Glass,
And out of twenty Boxes culls a Face.
The Whitning first her ghastly Looks besmears,
All pale and wan th’unfinishid Form appears ;
Till on her Cheeks the blushing Purple glows,
And a false Virgin Modesty bestows;
Her ruddy Lips the deep Vermillion dyes;
Length to her Brows the Pencil's Touch supplies,
And with black bending Arches shades her Eyes.
Well pleas'd, at length the Picture the beholds,
And spots it o'er with artificial Molds ; $
Her Countenance compleat, the Beaux she warms
With Looks not hörs, and spite of Nature charms.

Thus artfully their Persons they disguise,
Till the last Flourish bids the Curtain rise.
The Prince then enters on the Stage in State,
Behind a Guard of Candle-snuffers wait :
There swoln with Empire, terrible and fierce,
He shakes the Dome, and tears his Lungs with Verse:
His Subjects tremble, the submissive Pit
Wrapt up in Silence and Attention fit;
Till freed at length, he lays aside the Weight,
Of publick Business and Affairs of State,
Forgets his Pomp, dead to ambitious Fires,
And to some peaceful Brandy Shop retires,
Where in full Gills his anxious Thoughts he drowns,
And quaffs away the Care that waits on Crowns.

The Princess next her pointed Charms displays,
Where every Look the Pencil's Art betrays.
The Callow Squire at distance feeds his Eyes,
And filently for Paint and Patches dies;
But if the Youth behind the Scenes retreat,
He sees the blended Colours melt with Heat,
And all the trickling Beauty run in Sweat.
The borrow'd Visage he admires no more,
And nauseates every Charm he lov'd before :

f Black
Patchesa

So

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So the fame Spear, for double Force renown'd,
Apply'd the Remedy that gave the Wound.

In tedious Lists 'twere endless to engage,
And draw at length the Rabble of the Stage,
Where one for twenty Years has given Alarms,
And callid contending Monarchs to their Arms.
Another fills a more important Post,
And rises every other Night a Ghoft.
Thro' the cleft Stage his meager Face he rears,

Then stalks along, groans thrice, and disappears;
Others with Swords and Shields, the Soldiers Pride,
More than a thousand Times have chang'd their

Side,
And in a thousand fatal Battles dy’d.

Thus several Perfons several Parts perform ;
Pale Lovers whine, and blustering Heroes storm,
The stern exasperated Tyrants rage,
Till the kind Bowl of Poison clears the Stage ;
Then Honours vanish, and Distinctions cease;
Then with Reluctance haughty Queens undress.
Heroes no more their fading Laurels boast,
And mighty Kings in private Men are loft.
He whom such Titles (well'd, fuch Power made proud,
To whom whole Realms and vanquishid Nations

bow'd, Throws off the gaudy Plume, the purple Train, And is in Statu quo himself again.

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In

a printed Copy of the following Poem which was published foon after the Death of King William, I have seen written, the Name of W. Shippen, Esq. This I must confess does not bear fufficient Authority to fix it upon that. Gentleman, whose Principles indeed were well known ; nor can it be doubted that he was a staunch Tory. But the Writer of Faction Displayed seems to be an utter Stranger to the moderate and patriotic Vietus attributed to W. Shippen: His Satire is sometimes extremely virulent, and often degenerates into meer Abuse. The Poem is upon many Accounts very curious : It gives no ill Picture of the Times in which it was written. We are presented with a Groupe of Charafters remarkable for their Attachment to the illuftrious House of Hanover, who were emplo;ed in the most eminent Posts of the Government during the first eight Years of Queen Ann's Reign. The Character of the famous Marquis of Wharton

seems to be the Outline of Pope's masterly Defcription of the Duke bis Son. The Poetry of this Piece is very unequal: It sometimes : rises to a juft Height, and at other Times finks into

profaic Flatness, The Characters are often overcharged, and aggravated into Caricaturas : such are those of the Earl of 4

Halifax,

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