Se men of old, to gain renown, did

Build Babel with their tongues confounded.
Jove faw the cheat, but thought it best
To turn the matter to a jeft:
Down from Olympus' top he flides,
Laughing as if he'd burst his fides:

Ay, thought the God, are thefe your tricks?
Why then old plays deserve old bricks;
And, fince you're fparing of your stuff,
You building fhall be small enough.
He fpake, and, grudging, lent his aid;

Th' experiene'd bricks, that knew their trade,
(As being bricks at second-hand),
Now move, and now in order ftand.
The building, as the poet writ,
Rofe in proportion to his wit:
And firff the Prologue built a wall
So wide as to encompass al!.

The Scene a wood produc'd, no more
Than a few ferubby trees before.
The Plot as yet lay deep; and fo
A cellar next was dug below:
But this a work fo hard was found,
Two Acts it cost him under ground:
Two other Acts, we may prefume,
Were spent in building each a room.
Thus far advanc'd, he made a fhift
To rife a roof with act the fifth.
The Epilogue behind did frame
A place not decent here to name.

Now poets from all quarters ran
To fee the houfe of brother Van;

Lock'd high and low, walk'd often round;
Et go fuch house was to be found.

One afks the watermen hard-by,

And

Where may the poets palace lie?"
Another of the Thames inquires,
If he has feen its gilded fpires?
At length they in the rubbish spy
A thing refembling a goose-pye.
Thither in hafte the poets throng,
gaze in filent wonder long,
Till one in raptures thus began
To praife the pile and builder Van:
Thrice happy poct! who may'ft trail
Thy boufe about thee like a fuail;
Or, harness'd to a nag, at ease
Take journeys in it like a chaife;
Or in a boat, whene'er thou wilt,
Canft make it ferve thee for a tilt!
Capacious houfe! 'tis own'd by all
Thou'rt well contriv'd, though thou art small;
For every wit in Britain's ifle

May lodge within thy fpacious pile.
Lake Bacchus thou, as poets feign,
Thy mother burnt, are born again,
Born like a phoenix from the flame;
But neither balk nor shape the fame :
As animals of largest size

Corrupt to maggots, worms, and flies;
A type of andern wit and style,
The rubbife of an ancient pile.

So chemifts boaft they have a power
From the dead afhes of a flower
Some faint refemblance to produce,
But not the virtue, tafte, or juice:
So modern rhymers wifely blast
The poetry of ages paft ;

Which after they have overthrown, They from its ruins build their own.

TWO RIDDLES. 1707".

I. ON A FAN.

FROM India's burning clime I'm brought
With cooling gales like zephyrs fraught.
Not Iris, when he paints the sky,
Can fhow more different hue than I:
Nor can fhe change her form fo faft;
I'm now a fail, and now a mast:

I here am red, and there am green;
A beggar there, and here a queen.
I fometimes live in houfe of hair,
And oft' in hand of lady fair;
I please the young, I grace the old,
And am at once both hot and cold:
Say what I am then, if you can,

And find the rhyme, and you're the man.

ANSWER.

YOUR houfe of hair, and lady's hand, At first did put me to a stand.

I have it now-'tis plain enough-
Your hairy bufinefs is a muff.
Your engine fraught with cooling gales,
At once fo like your mafts and fails;
Your thing of various fhape and hue,
Must be some painted toy, I knew:
And for the rhyme to you're the man,
What fits it better than a fan?

11. ON A BEAU.

I'M wealthy and poor,
I'm empty and full,
I'm humble and proud,
I'm witty and dull.
I'm foul, and yet fair;
I'm old, and yet young;
I lie with Moll K-r,
And toaft Mrs.

ANSWER, BY MR. FR.

IN rigging he's rich, though in pocket he's poor y He cringes to courtiers, and cocks to the cits; Like twenty he dreffes, but looks like threefcore; He's a wit to the fools, and a fool to the wits. Of wisdom he's empty, but full of conceit; [fcab; He paints and perfumes, while he rots with the 'Tis a Beau you may fwear by his fenfe and his gait; He boafts of a beauty, and lies with a drab.

THE HISTORY OF VANBRUGH's HOUSE,

WHEN mother Clud had rofe from play,
And call'd to take the cards away,
Van faw, but feem'd not to regard,
How Mifs pick'd every painted card,

Originally communicated by Sarift to Oldifworth, avho publiked them in The Mafe's_Mercury?”.

1797.

And, bufy both with hand and eye,
Soon rear'd a houfe two fories high.
Van's genius, without thought or icclure,
Is hugely turn'd to architecture:
He view'd the edifice, and fmil'd,
Vow'd it was pretty for a child;
It was fo perfect in its kind,
He kept the model in his mind.

But, when he found the boys at play,
And faw them dabbling in their clay,
He ftood behind a ftall to lurk,
And mark the progrefs of their work;
With true delight obferv'd them all,
Raking up mud to build a wall.
The plan he much admir'd, and took
The model in his tabic-book ;
Thought himfeif now exactly skill'd,
And fo refolv'd a boufe to build;
A real boufe, with rooms and flairs,
Five times at leaft as big as theirs;
Taller than M's by two yards;
Not a tham thing of clay or cards:
And fo he did; for, in a while,
He built up fuch a monftrous pile,
That no two chairmen could be found
Able to lift it from the ground.
Still at Whitehall it ftands in view,
Juft in the place where first it grew;
There all the little fchool-boys run,
Envying to fee themfelves outdone.

From fuch deep rudiments as thefe,
Van is become by due degrees

For building fam'd, and justly reckon'd,
At Court, Vitruvius the fecond:
No wonder, fince wife authors fhow
That beft foundations must be lorv:

And now the Duke has wifely ta'en him
To be his architect at Blenheim.

But, raillery for once apart, If this rule holds in every art;

Or if his Grace were no more skill'd in
The art of bartering walls than building,
We might expect to fee next year
A mouse-trap man chief engineer!

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.

ON THE EVER-LAMENTED LOSS OF THE TWO YFW TREES IN THE PARISH OF CHILTHORNE, SOMERSET. 1703.

Imitated from the Eighth Book of Ovid.

IN ancient times, as ftory tells,
The faints would often leave their cells,
And stroll about, but hide their quality,
To try good people's hofpitality.

It happen'd on a winter-night,
As authors of the legend write,
Two brother-hermits, faints by trade,
Taking their tour in masquerade,
Difquis & in tatter'd habits, went
To a small village down in Kent;
Where, in the ftrollers' canting rain,
They begg'd from door to door in vain,
Tried every tone might pity win;
But not a foul world let them in.

Our wandering faints, in woful state,
Treated at this ungodly rate,

Having through all the village past,
To a fmall cottage came at laft!
Where dwelt a good old honeft ye'man,
Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon;
Who kindly did thefe faints invite
In his poor hut to pafs the night;
And then the hofpitable fire
Bid goody Baucis mend the fire;
While he from out the chimney took
A flitch of bacon off the hook,
And freely from the fatteft fide
Cut out large flices to be fry'd;
Then ftepp'd afide to fetch them drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
And faw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful!) they found
'Twas ftill replenish'd to the top,
As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop.
The good old couple were amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;
For both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry,-What ar't!
Then foftly turn'd afide to view
Whether the lights were burning blue.
The gentle pilgrims, foon aware on't,
Told them their calling, and their errand:
Good folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but faints, the hermits faid;
No hurt fhall come to you or yours:
But for that pack of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on Chriftian ground,
They and their houfes fhall be drown'd;
Whilft you fhall fee your cottage rife,
And grow a church before your eyes.

They fearce had fpoke, when fair and foft
The roof began to mount aloft;
Aloft rofe every beam and rafter;
The heavy wall climb'd flowly after.
The chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Became a fteeple with a fpire.

The kettle to the top was hoift,
And there ftood faften'd to a joift,
But with the upfide down, to fhow
Its inclination for below:
In vain; for a fuperior force,
Apply'd at bottom, ftops its course :
Doom'd ever in fufpence to dwell,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.

A wooden jack, which had almost
Loft by difufe the art to roaft,
A fudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by new inteftine wheels;
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion dower:
The flier, though 't had leaden feet,
Turn'd round fo quick, you fcarce could fee 't
But, flacken'd by fome fecret power,
Now hardly moves an inch an hour.
The jack and chimney, near ally'd,
Had never left each other's fide:
The chimney to a steeple grown,
The jack would not be left alone;
But, up against the fteeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and still adher'd;
And fill its love to household cares,
By a fhrill voice at noon, declares,
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roaft-meat which it cannot turn

The groaning-chair began to crawl, Uke a huge frail, along the wall; There frock aloft in public view, And, with fmall change, a pulpit grew. The porringers, that in a row Hang high, and made a glittering fhow, To a les noble fubftance chang'd, Were now but leathern buckets rang'd. The ballads, pafted on the wall, Of Jan of France, and English Moll, Far Roamond, and Robin Hood, The Little Children in the Wood, Now item d to look abundance better, Improv'd in picture, fize, and letter; And, high in order plac'd, defcribe The heraldry of every tribe *.

A beditead of the antique mode, Compact of timber many a load, Such as our ancestors did ufe, Was metamorphos'd into pews; Which fill their ancient nature keep Er lodging folks difpos'd to fleep. The cottage by fuch feats as thefe Grews to a church by just degrees, The bermits then defir'd their hoft Tak for what he fancy'd moft. Alemon, having paus'd a while, end them thanks in homely ftyle:

faid, My houfe is grown fe fine, Methinks I ftill would call it mine; I'm old, and fain would live at ease; Make me the parfon, if you pleafe. He fpoke, and prefently he feels He grazier s coat fall down his heels: Hees, yet hardly can believe, At each arm a pudding-fleeve; His Fatcoat to a caflock grew, And both affum'd a fable hue; Er, being old, continued juft Astread-bare, and as full of duft. Hulk was now of tithes and dues: He frick'd his pipe, and read the news; Krew how to preach old fermons next, Varp'd in the preface and the text; At dienings well could act his part, And had the fervice all by heart; Wad women might have children fast, And thought whofe fow had farrow'd last; Ansters would repine, And food up firm for right d'vine ; Fend his head fill'd with many a fyftem: But claffic authors, he ne'er mifs'd 'em. This having furbish'd up a parfon, De Eancis next they play'd their farce on. Head of home-fpun coifs, were feen

Good

pinners edg'd with colberteen; Her petticoat, transform'd apace, Becare black fattin flounc'd with lace. Plan Cy would no longer down; "Twas Malum, in her grogram gown. 15ton was in great furprife, Al hardly could believe his eyes, And to fee her look fo prim; And the admir'd as much at him.

*The trils of Ifrael are fometimes diflinguified in try churches by the enfiges given to them by Jacob.

Thus happy in their change of life Were feveral years this man and wife; When on a day, which prov'd their laft, Difcourfing o'er old ftories paft,

They went by chance, amidit their talk, To the church-yard to take a walk; When Baucis haftily cry'd out,

My dear, I fee your forchead fprout!

Sprout! quoth the man; what's this you tell us?

I hope you don't believe me jealous!
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really yours is budding too-
Nay-now I cannot ftir my foot;
It feels as if 'twere taking root.

Defcription would but tire my Mufe;
In fhort, they both were turn'd to yews.
Old Goodman Dobfon of the green
Remembers, he the trees has feen;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to fhow the fight:
On Sundays, after evening-prayer,
He gathers all the parifh there;
Points out the place of either yew;
Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew:
Till once a parfon of our town,
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;
At which 'tis hard to be believ'd
How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew fcrubbed, dy'd a-top, was stunted;
So the next parfon stubb'd and burnt it.

ELEGY

On the fuppofel Death of Partridge, the Almanacks Maker. 1708.

WELL; 'tis as Bickerftaff has guefs'd,
Though we all took it for a jeft:
Partridge is dead; nay more, he dy'd
Ere he could prove the good 'fquire ly'd.
Strange, an aftrologer fhould die
Without one wonder in the fky!
Not one of all his crony ftars
To pay their duty at his herfe!
No meteor, no eclipfe appear'd!
No comet with a flaming beard!
The fun has rofe, and gone to bed,
Juft as if Partridge were not dead;
Nor hid himfelf behind the moon,
To make a dreadful night at noon.
He at fit periods walks through Aries,
Howe'er our earthly motion varies;
And twice a-year he 'll cut th' equator,
As if there had been no fuch matter.

Some wits have wonder'd what analogy
There is 'twist cobling and aftrelury;
How Partridge made his optics rife
From a fo-fole to reach the fkies.

A lift the cobler's temples ties,
To keep the Lair out of his eyes;
From wherce 't's plain, the diedem
That princes wear, derives from them:
And therefore as are now a-days
Adorn'd with golden fiars and rays;
Which plainly fhows the near ailiance
"I wixt celing and the flarets fiience.

Partridge was a cobler.

Befides, that flow-pac'd fign Bootes,
As 'tis mifcall'd, we know not who 'tis :
But Partridge ended all difputes;
He knew his trade, and call'd it boots.
The borned moon, which heretofore
Upon their fhoes the Romans wore,
Whose widenefs kept their toes from corns,
And whence we claim our foeing-horns,
Shows how the art of cobling bears
A near refemblance to the pheres.

A fcrap of parchment hung by geometry
(A great refinement in barometry)
Can, like the ftars, foretel the weather;
And what is parchment elfe but leather?
Which an aftrologer might ufe
Either for almanacks or foes.

Thus Partridge by his wit and parts
At once did practife both thefe arts:
And as the boding owl (or rather
The bat, because her wings are leather)
Steals from her private cell by night,
And flies about the candle-light;
So learned Partridge could as well
Creep in the dark from leathern cell,
And in his fancy fly as far
To peep upon a twinkling ftar.

Befides, he could confound the spheres,
And fet the planets by the ears;
To fhow his fkill, he Mars could join
To Venus in afpect malign ;
Then call in Mercury for aid,

And cure the wounds that Venus made.

Great fcholars have in Lucian read,
When Philip king of Greece was dead,
His foul and Spirit did divide,
And each part took a different fide:
One rofe a ftar; the other fell
Beneath, and mended fhoes in hell.

Thus Partridge ftill fhines in each art,
The cabling and far-gazing part;
And is inftall'd as good a star
As any of the Cæfars are.

Triumphant ftar! fome pity fhow
On coblers militant below,

Whom roguish boys, in ftormy nights,
Torment by piffing out their lights;
Or through a chink convey their smoke,
Inclos'd artificers to choke.

Thou, high exalted in thy fphere,
May'ft follow ftill thy calling there.
To thee the Bull will lend his bide,
By Phœbus newly tann'd and dry'd;
For thee they Argo's hulk will tax,
And fcrape her pitchy fides for wax :
Then Ariadne kindly lends
Her braided hair to make the ends:
The points of Sagittarius' dart
Turns to an awl by heavenly art;
And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife,
Will forge for thee a paring-knife.
For want of room by Virgo's fide,
She 'll train a point, and fet aftride,
To take thee kindly in between ;
And then the figns will be thirteen.

See bis almanack.

THE EPITAPH.

HERE, five feet deep, lies on his back, A cobr, farmonger, and quack; Who to the fars in pure good will Does to his best look upward ftill. Weep, all you customers that ufe His pills, his almanacks, or foes: And you that did your fortunes feek, Step to his grave but once a-week. This earth which bears his body's print, You'll find has fo much virtue in 't, That I durft pawn my ears 'twill tell Whate'er concerns you full as well, In phyfic, fiolen-goods, or love, As he himself could when above.

MERLIN'S PROPHECY. 1709.

SEVIN and ten addyd to nine,

Of Fraunce her woe this is the fygne;
Tamys rivere twys y-frozen,
Walke fans wetyng fhoes ne hozen.
Then comyth foorthe, ich understonde,
From towne of ftoffe to fattyn londe,
An hardie chiftan woe the morne,
To Fraunce that evere he was born.
Then fhall the fythe + beweyle his boffe;
Nor shall gr.n berrys make up the loffe.
Yonge Symnele | fhall again mifcarrye;
And Norways pryd § again fhail marrey:
And from the tree where blofums feele,
Rife fruit fhall come, and all is wele.
Reaums fhall daunce honde in honde
And it fhall be merye in old Inglonde;
Then old Inglonde fhall be no more,
And no man fhall be foric therefore.
Geryon ft shall have three hedes agayne,
Till Hapfburge ‡‡ makyth them but twayne.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING. 1709.

Now hardly here and there an hackney coach
Appearing, fhow'd the ruddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And foftly ftole to difcompofe her own;
The flipfhod 'prentice from his master's door
Had par'd the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor
Now Moil had whirl'd her mop with dextrous air
Prepar'd to fcrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy ftumps began to trace
The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the plac
The fmall-coal-man was heard with cadence deep
Till drown'd in fhriller notes of chimney-fwecp.
Duns at his Lordship's gate began to meet;
And brick-duft Moll had feream'd through half th
The turnkey now his flock returning fees, [ftree
Duly let out a-nights to fteal for fees:

The watchful bailiffs take their filent stands,
And fchool-boys lag with satchels in their hands.

A DESCRIPTION OF

A CITY SHOWER.
In Imitation of Virgil's Georgies. 1710.
CARIIL obfervers may fortel the hour
(By fare prognoftics) when to dread a shower.
Whe rain depends, the penfive cat gives o'er
Her tracks, and purfues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you 'll find the fink
Strike your offending fenfe with double flink.
If you be wife, then go not far to dine;
You'l fpend in coach-hire more than fave in wine.
A coming fhower your shooting corns prefage,
Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage.
Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.
Mean while the fouth, rifing with dabbled wings,
A fable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That fwill'd more liquor than it could contain,
↑ And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Brifk Sufan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling fhower is borne aflope:
Such is that fprinkling which fome careless quean
Farts on you from her mop, but not fo clean :
You fly, invoke the gods; then, turning, stop
To rail; the, finging, ftill whirls on her mop.
Not yet the duft had fhunn'd th' unequal ftrife,
But, aided by the wind, fought still for life;
And, wafted with its foe by violent guft,
Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was duft.
Ah! where must needy poet feek for aid,
When dust and rain at once his coat invade?"
Sole coat! where duft cemented by the rain
Ereds the nap, and leaves a cloudy ftain!
Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To hops in crowds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The templar fpruce, while every spout's abroach,
Says till 'tis fair, yet feems to call a coach.
The tuck'd-up femftrefs walks with hafty ftrides,
While ftreams run down her oil'd umbrella's fides.
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a fhed.
Triumphant Tories and defponding Whigs
Forget their feuds, and join to fave their wigs.
Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient fits,
While (pouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits,
And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather founds; he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden fteed,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed,
(Thofe bully Grecks, who, as the moderns do,

ad of paying chairmen, ran them through)
Laccoon ftruck the outfide with his fpear,
And each imprifon'd hero quack'd for fear.

Now from all parts the fwelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go :
Filths of all hues and odours feem to tell
What ftreet they fail'd from by their fight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,
From Smithfield or St. 'Pulchre's fhape their course,
And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge,
And from the enduit prone to Holbourn bridge.

|

Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood,

Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in mud,

Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.

ON THE LITTLE HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD OF CASTLENOCK. 1710.

WHOEVER pleafeth to inquire
Why yonder fteeple wants a fpire,
The gray old fellow poet * Joe
The philofophic caufe will fhow.
Once on a time a western blast
At least twelve inches overcast,
Reckoning roof, weathercock, and all,
Which came with a prodigious fall;
And turning topsy-turvy round,
Light with its bottom on the ground;
For, by the laws of gravitation,
It fell into its proper station.

This is the little ftrutting pile,
You fee juft by the church-yard ftile;
The walls in tumbling gave a knock;
And thus the steeple got a fhock;
From whence the neighbouring farmer calls
The steeple, Knock; the vicar, † Watls.
The vicar once a week creeps in,
Sits with his knees up to his chin;
Here conns his notes, and takes a whet,
Till the fmall ragged flock is met.

A traveller, who by did pass, Obferv'd the roof behind the grass; On tiptoe ftood, and rear'd his fnout, And law the parfon creeping out; Was much furpris'd to fee a crow Venture to build his nest fo low.

A school-boy ran unto 't, and thought,
The crib was down, the blackbird caught.
A third, who loft his way by night,
Was forc'd for fafety to alight;
And, ftepping o'er the fabric-roof,
His horfe had like to spoil his hoof.

Warburton took it in his noddle,
This building was defign'd a model
Or of a pigeon-houfe or oven,
To bake one loaf, and keep one dove in.

Then Mrs. Johnson § gave her verdict,
And every one was pleas'd that heard it:
All that you make this ftir about,
Is but a ftill which wants a fpout.
The reverend Dr. || Raymond guefs'd
More probably than all the reft;
He faid, but that it wanted room,
It might have been a pigmy's tomb.
The Doctor's family came by,
And little mifs began to cry;
Give me that houfe in my own hand!
Then madam bade the chariot stand,
Call'd to the clerk, in manner mild,
Pray, reach that thing here to the child;

*Mr. Beaumont of Trim.

+ Archdeacon Wall, a correspondent of Savift's. Dr. Suift's curate at Lavacar. 5 Stella. Minister of Trim,