Here various Kinds by various Fortunes led,
Commence Acquaintance underneath a Shed.
Triumphant Tories, and defponding Whigs,
Forget their Feuds, and join to save their Wigs.
Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient sits,
While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Roof by Fits;
And ever and anon with frightful Din
The Leather founds, he trembles from within.
So when Troy Chair-men bore the wooden Steed,
Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed;
(Those Bully Greeks, who, as the Moderns do,
Instead of paying Chair-men, run them thro'.)
Laocon ftruck the Outside with his Spear,
And each imprison'd Hero quak'd for Fear.
NOW from all Parts the fwelling Kennels flow,
And bear their Trophies with them as they go : Filth of all Hues and Odours seem to tell
What Street they fail'd from, by their Sight and
They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force From Smithfield, or St.Pulchre's fhape their Courfe, And in huge Confluent join at Snow-bill Ridge, Fall from the Conduit prone to Holborn-bridge.
Sweepings from Butchers Stalls,Dung,Guts,and
Drown'd Puppies, ftinking Sprats, all drench'd (down the Flood. Dead Cats and Turnip-tops come tumbling
The following Poem being judged by fome to be af ter the Author's manner, I have ventured to Print it.
Sid Hamet the MAGICIAN'S
ROD.
HE Rod was but a harmless Wand,
While Mofes held it in his Hand,
But foon as e'er he laid it down,
'Twas a devouring Serpent grown.
OUR great Magician, Hamet Sid,
Reverses what the Prophet did;
His Rod was honest English Wood,
That, fenfless, in a Corner stood,
Till Metamorphos'd by his Grasp,
It grew an all-devouring Afp;
Would hifs, and fting, and roll, and twist,
By the meer Virtue of his Fift:
But when he laid it down, as quick
Refum'd the Figure of a Stick.
SO to her Midnight Feasts the Hag,
Rides on a Broomstick for a Nag,
That, rais'd by Magick of her Breech,
O'er Sea and Land conveys the Witch
But, with the Morning-Dawn, refumes
The Peaceful State of common Brooms.
THEY tell us fomething strange and odd, About a certain Magick Rod,
That, bending down its Top, divines
When e'er the Soil has golden Mines :
Where there are none, it stands erect,
Scorning to fhow the leaft Refpect.
As ready was the Wand of Sid
To bend where Golden Mines were hid
In Scottish Hills found precious Ore,
Where none e'er look'd for it before
And, by a gentle Bow, divin'd
How well a Cully's Purfe was lind:
To a forlorn and broken Rake,
Stood without Motion, like a Stake.
THE Rod of Hermes was renown'd
For Charms above and under Ground
To fleep could mortal Eye-lids fix,
And drive departed Souls to Styx.
That Rod was just a Type of Sid's,
Which, o'er a British Senate's Lids,
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