Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

His rump well pluck'd with nettles stings,
And claps the brood beneath his wings.
The feather'd dupe awakes content,
O'erjoy'd to see what God had sent;
Thinks he's the hen, clocks, keeps a pother,
A foolish foster-father-mother.
Such, lady Mary, are your tricks;
But since you hatch, pray own your chicks.

THE ELEPHANT;
OR,

THE PARLIAMENT MAN.

WRITTEN MANY YEARS SINCE.

TAKEN FROM coke's INSTITUTES.

ERE bribes convince you whom to choose,
The precepts of lord Coke peruse:
Observe an Elephant, says he,
And let like him your member be:
First, take a man that's free from gall;
For elephants have none at all:
In flocks or parties he must keep;
For elephants live just like sheep:
Stubborn in honour he must be ;
For elephants ne'er bend the knee:
Last, let his memory be sound,
In which your elephant's profound;
That old examples from the wise
May prompt him in his Noes and Ies.

Thus

Thus the lord Coke hath gravely writ,
In all the form of lawyers wit ;
And then with Latin, and all that,
Shows the comparison is pat.

Yet in some points my lord is wrong:
One's teeth are sold, and t'other's tongue:
Now men of parliament, God knows,
Are more like elephants of shows,
Whose docile memory and sense
Are turn'd to trick, to gather pence.
To get their master half a crown,
They spread their flag, or lay it down:
Those who bore bulwarks on their backs,
And guarded nations from attacks,
Now practise every pliant gesture,
Opening their trunk for every tester.
Siam, for elephants so fam’d,
Is not with England to be nam'd:
Their elephants by men are sold;
Ours sell themselves, and take the gold. o

[ocr errors][merged small]

SOME Colinaeus + praise, some Bleauf,
Others account them but so so;
Some Plantin to the rest prefer,
And some esteem old Elzevir f ;

* The Oxford and Cambridge Miscellany. t Printers, famous for having published fine editions of the Bible, and of the Greek and Roman classicks.

Others

Others with Aldus *would besot us; I, for my part, admire Lintottus.His character's beyond compare, Like his own person, large and fair. They print their names in letters small, But LINTOT stands in capital: Author and he with equal grace Appear, and stare you in the face. Stephens prints heathen Greek, 'tis said, Which some can't construe, some can't read: But all that comes from Lintot's hand Ev’n Rawlinson might understand. Oft in an Aldus or a Plantin, A page is blotted, or leaf wanting: Of Lintot's books this can't be said, All fair, and not so much as read. Their copy cost 'em not a penny To Homer, Virgil, or to any ; They ne'er gave sixpence for two lines To them, their heirs, or their assigns: But Lintot is at vast expense, And pays prodigious dear for—sense. Their books are useful but to few, A scholar, or a wit or two: Lintot's for gen'ral use are fit; For some folks read, but all folks sh—.

* A famous printer.

TO MR. JOHN MOORE,
AUTHOR OF THE CELEBRATED WORM-POWDER.

HOW muth, egregious MooRE, are we
Deceiv'd by shows and forms'

Whate'er we think, whate'er we see,
All human kind are worms.

Man is a very worm by birth,
Vile, reptile, weak, and vain

A while he crawls upon the earth,
Then shrinks to earth again.

That Woman is a worm, we find,
E’er since our Grandame's evil;

She first convers'd with her own kind,
That ancient worm, the Devil.

The learn'd themselves we bookworms name,
The blockhead is a slowworm ;

The nymph, whose tail is all on flame,
Is aptly term'd a glowworm.

The fops are painted butterflies,
That flutter for a day;

First from a worm they take their rise,
And in a worm decay.

The flatterer an earwig grows;
Thus worms suit all conditions;

Misers are muckworms, silkworms beaus,
And deathwatches physicians.

Vol. XVII. D D That

That statesmen have the worm, is seen
By all their winding play;

Their conscience is a worm within,
That gnaws them night and day.

Ah MooRE! thy skill were well employ'd,
And greater gain would rise,
If thou couldst make the courtier void
The worm that never dies'

O learned friend of Abchurch lane,
Who sett'st our entrails free

Vain is thy art, thy powder vain,
Since worms shall eat ev'n thee!

Our fate thou only canst adjourn
Some few short years, no more

Ev’n Button's + wits to worms shall turn,
Who maggots were before.

[ocr errors]

occasios ED BY AN &c. At THE END OF MR. D'URFy's NAME, IN THE TITLE TO ONE OF HIS PLAYS f.

JOVE call'd before him t'other day
The vowels, U, O, I, E, A.;
All diphthongs, and all consonants,
lither of England, or of France;
And all that were, or wish'd to be,
Rank'd in the name of Tom D'Urfy.

* Button's coffeehouse, in Covent garden, frequented by the wits of that time. + This accident happened by Mr. D'Urfy's having made a sourish there, which the printer mistock for an &c.

« AnteriorContinuar »