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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