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

Triton, who, like the vaft Leviathan,
Long wallow'd in the Treasures of the Main,
Was all Attention, and suspended 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, Bs, and Cits,
Toafters, Kit-Kats, Divines, Buffoons, and Wits,
Compos'd the Medly Crew; but I forbear
To give 'em any Place or Mention here;

For fince the Mufe would blush to paint their Crimes,
Let Decency restrain th' invective Rhimes.

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

Repeated Peals of Acclamations rung.

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

Now the Affembly to adjourn prepar'd,
When Bibliopolo from behind appear'd,
As well defcrib'd by th' old fatirick 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 everliving Fame

That in my Mifcellany plant their Name.

*Orford.

↑ Jacob Tonfon.

• Nor

Nor therefore think that I can bring no Aid
Because I follow a mechanic Trade,

'I'll print your Pamphlets, and your Rumours spread.

I am the Founder of your lov'd Kit-Cat 'A Club that gave Direction to the State; ''Twas there we first inftructed all our Youth To talk profane, and laugh at facred Truth, "We taught them how to toaft, and rhime and bite, To fleep away the Day, and drink away the Night.' Some this fantastick Speech approv'd, fome fneer'd, The Wight grew cholerick, and disappear'd.

Mean time the Fury fmil'd, who all this while
Sat hov'ring on the Summit of the Pile.
A fecret and exulting Joy fhe finds

To see her Influence brooding on their Minds;
And the bare Prospect of fuch noble Ills
Her Thoughts with rapt'rous Speculatious fiils.
Then She-

• With what Delight do I my Sons behold
'So refolutely brave, fo fiercely bold?

Sure nothing can refift their boundlefs Courfe, "Nothing fubdue their well-united Force.

Volpone, who will folely now command "The publick Purfe, and Treasure of the Land, • Wants Conftancy and Courage to oppofe • A Band of fuch exafperated Foes.

For how fhould he that moves by Craft and Fear, 'Or ever greatly think, or ever greatly dare? What did he e'er in all his Life perform,

• But shrink at the Approach of ev'ry Storm?

In a Poem called the Kit-Cat, published in 1708, Jacob Tonfon is addreffed as the Founder of this celebrated Club, which owed its Name to a famous Pastry-Cook, Kit Cat, of whofe Pies the Club was faid to be very fond.

And Kit Cat Wits first sprung from Kit Cat's Pies,

* Lord Godolphin.

S 3

• But

But when the tott'ring Church his Aid requir'd,
With Moderation Principles inspir'd,
Forlock his Friends, and decently retir'd.
Nor has he any real juft Pretence

}

To that vaft Depth of Politicks and Sense.
For where's the Depth, when publick Credit's high,
To manage an o'erflowing Treasury?

< Or where the Senfe to know the Tricks of Game, Since Sms, Sir Ja—, and H-ll—way may claim

'A Knowledge as profound as his, as loud a Fame; 'I fear the Man who dares the Truth affert, Who never plays the double-dealing Part; The Patriot's Soul difdains the Trimmer's Art. Such Celfus is; but I foresee his Fate "To be fupplanted by Sempronia's Hate. (Sempronia of a lewd procuring Race,

}

The Senate's Grievance, and the Court's Difgrace.) 'Tis well he cannot long his Ground maintain, 'For Hell would then employ her Fiend in vain. 'He never knew to prostitute the State,

"Never by being guilty to be great.

Nor yet when publick Storms came rolling on, 'Did he, or Danger, or his Duty fhun. "Rome's fubtle Priests with Sophistry essay'd, • With Wealth and Honour in the Ballance laid, To shock his Faith; but nothing could controul 6 The firm Refolves of his unbiafs'd Soul, "True to his Conscience as the Needle to his Pole. 6 Ally'd in Blood and Friendship to the Throne, He nobly makes his Country's Cause his own; 'Whilft others keep their Int'reft ftill in View, And meaner Spirits meaner Ends pursue. So the fixt Stars harmoniously comply With the first publick Motion of the sky, Whilft wandring Planets oppofitely move • Within the narrow Orbs of private Love.'

Rochefer.

She

She ftopp'd for now her Anger 'gan to rife,
Flufh'd in her Cheeks, and sparkled in her Eyes.
And well it might a Fury's Paffion raise,
That she was forc'd the Worth the hates to praise.

The Dawn difpers'd theCrow'd, she took her Flight To the low Regions of eternal Night.

O England, how revolving is thy State!
How few thy Bleffings? How fevere thy Fate?
O deftin'd Nation, to be thus betray'd
By those whose Duty 'tis to ferve and aid!
A griping, vile, degen'rate, Viper-Brood
That tear thy Vitals, and exhaust thy Blood.
A varying Kind that no fixt Rule pursue,
But often form their Principles anew;
Unknowing where to lodge fupreme Command,
Or in the King, or Peers, or People's Hand.
One while the People's Sov'reignty they own,
To vex and load a peaceful Monarch's Crown;
Who to his Subjects, when at length reftor'd,
Without Distinction was their common Lord.
What Party else to David's happy Throne
Would have preferr'd a giddy Abfalon?
But when a King is moulded to their Mind,
Then they to him would have all Sway confin'd;
Nor in their own defpotick boundless Reign
Of injur'd Rights and Property complain.
Nay, with a Standing Force thy Sons wou'd awe
The Subjects Slavery, the Tyrant's Law.
But if nor King nor Commons will comply
With their detefted Acts of Villany,
They strive the Peers declining Pow'r to raise,
And get Impeachments voted into Praife.
Bleft Patriots thefe, who Liberty employ
T'elude thy Laws, and Liberty destroy!

Where is the noble Roman Spirit fled,
Which once infpir'd thy ancient Patriots dead?

Who were above all private Ends, and joy'd When bravely for the publick Weal they dy'd :Who spread, like branching Oaks, their Arms around, To fhelter and protect the Parent Ground;

}

Tho' Storms of Thunder rattled o'er their Head,
Yet all was fafe beneath their Guardian Shade:
Or fure Hiftorians on our Faith impose,
And never fuch a Race of Men arose;
Or nodding Nature to a Period draws;
Or Providence, incens'd by guilty Times,
Witholds his Grace, and dooms us to our Crimes.

Pardon (for Harmony will bring Relief,
Will footh thy anxious Cares, and charm thy Grief)
If my condoling, mournful, Muse presume
To vifit thy Marcellus' facred Tomb;
For his Hereditary Gifts alone

Could have retriev'd thy Fame, and carried down
The glorious Scene of Triumphs Anna has begun.
O may thy Angel guard Her royal Mind,
That Fav'rites not feduce, nor Trimmers blind.
For 'tis on Her thy Church and Sate depend,
With Her will flourish, and with Her will end.
But my fhock'd Thoughts the fad Idea fhun,
(The fad Idea gives eternal Moan)

}

When the fhall late, but ah! too foon comply
With Nature to adorn her kindred Sky.
For who can then pretend to wear her Crown?
Who represent the Mother, but the Son?
O! had the Power that governs human Fate
His Years extended to a longer Date,
To what Transcendence had his Genius fprung,
Which was fo ripe, fo perfect, yet fo young!
But when fresh-blooming Youth feem'd to proclaim
The lafting Structure of his beauteous Frame,
When Health and Vigour with a kind Prefage
Promis'd the hoary Happiness of Age,

Then