Upon a wheel of amethyft she fits,
Gives and resumes, and fimiles and frowns by fits.
In this ftill labyrinth, around her lie
Spells, philters, globes, and schemes of palmistry :
A figil in this hand the gypsy bears,
In th' other a prophetic fieve and fheers.
The Dame, by divination, knew that foon The Magus would appear - and then begun :
Hail facred feer! thy embassy I know :
Wars muft enfue, the fates will have it fo.
Dread feats fhall follow, and difafters great,
Pills charge on pills, and bolus bolus meet:
Both fides fhall conquer, and yet both shall fail;
The mortar now, and then the urinal.
To thee alone my influence I owe;
Where Nature has deny'd, my favours flow.
'Tis I that give, fo mighty is my power,
Faith to the Jew, complexion to the Moor.
I am the wretch's with, the rook's pretence,
The fluggard's cafe, the coxcomb's providence.
Sir Scrape-quill, once a fupple fmiling slave,
Looks lofty now, and infolently grave;
Builds, fettles, purchases, and has each hour
Caps from the rich, and curfes from the poor.
Spadillio, that at table ferv'd of late,
Drinks rich Tockay himself, and eats in plate;
Has levees, villas, mistresses in store,
And owns the racers which he rubb'd before.
Souls heavenly-born my faithless boons defy; The brave is to himself a deity
Though bleft Aftrea's gone, fome foil remains
Where Fortune is the flave, and Merit reigns.
The Tiber boafts his Julian progeny,
Thames his Naffau, the Nile his Ptolomy.
Iberia, yet for future fway defign'd,
shall, for a Heffe, a greater Mordaunt find.
Thus Ariadne in proud triumph rode;
She loft a hero, and fhe found a god.
WHEN the ftill night, with peaceful poppies crown'd,
Had fpread her fhady pinions o'er the ground;
And flumbering chiefs of painted triumphs dream,
While groves and streams are the soft virgin's theme;
The furges gently dafh against the shore,
Flocks quit the plains, and gally-flaves the oar;
Sleep fhakes its downy wings o'er mortal eyes;
Mirmillo is the only wretch it flies;
He finds no refpite from his anxious grief;
Then feeks from this foliloquy relief.
Long have I reign'd unrival'd in the town,
Opprefs'd with fees, and deafen'd with renown.
None e'er could die with due folemnity,
Unless his paffport first was fign'd by me.
My arbitrary bounty 's undeny'd ;
I give reverfions, and for heirs provide.
None could the tedious nuptial ftate fupport,
But I, to make it easy, make it fhort.
I fet the difcontented matrons free,
And ranfom husbands from captivity.
Shall one of fuch importance then engage
In noify riot, and in civil rage?
No: I'll endeavour ftraight a peace, and fo
Preferve my character, and perfon too.
But Difcord, that ftill haunts with hideous mien 25
Those dire abodes where Hymen once hath been,
O'erheard Mirmillo's anguish; then begun
In peevish accents to exprefs her own:
Have I fo often banifh'd lazy peace
From her dark folitude, and lov'd recefs?
Have I made South and Sherlock disagree,
And puzzle truth with learn'd obfcurity?
And does the faithful Ferguson profess
His ardour ftill for animofities?
Have I, Britannia's fafety to enfure,
Expos'd her naked, to be most secure?
Have I made parties oppofite, unite,
In monstrous leagues of amicable spite,
To curfe their country, whilft the common cry
Is freedom; but their aim, the ministry?
And fhall a daftard's cowardice prevent
The war, fo long I've labour'd to foment?
No, 'tis refolv'd, he either fhall comply,
Or I'll renounce my wan divinity.
With that, the Hag approach'd Mirmillo's bed, 45 And, taking Querpo's meagre shape, she said: At noon of night I hasten, to difpel
Thofe tumults in your pensive bofom dwell.,
I dreamt but now I heard your heaving fighs,
Nay, faw the tears debating in your eyes.
O that 'twere but a dream! but threats I find
Lour in your looks, and rankle in your mind.
Speak, whence it is this late diforder flows,
That shakes your foul, and troubles your repose.
Mistakes in practice fcarce could give you pain;
Too well you know, the dead will ne'er complain.
What looks discover, faid the homicide,
Would be a fruitless induftry to hide.
My fafety firft I must confult, and then
I'll ferve our suffering party with my pen.
All should, reply'd the Hag, their talent learn;
The most attempting oft' the leaft difcern.
Let Peterborough fpeak, and Vanbrugh write,
Soft Acon court, and rough Cæcinna fight :
Such muft fucceed; but, when th' enervate aim
Beyond their force, they ftill contend for fhame.
Had Colbatch printed nothing of his own,
He had not been the Saffold of the town.
Afies and owls, unfeen, their kind betray,
If thefe attempt to hoot, or thofe to bray.
Had Welley never aim'd in verfe to please,
We had not rank'd him with our Ogilbys.
Still cenfures will on dull pretenders fall;
A Codrus fhould expect a Juvenal.
Ill lines, but like ill paintings, are allow'd,
To fet off, and to recommend the good.
So diamonds take a luftre from their foil;
And to a Bentley 'tis, we owe a Boyle.
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