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And make each puny rogue a prey,
O England, how I mourn thy fare !
To-day", or e'er the fun goes down, Will die the Cenfor, Mr. Town!
September 30th, 1756, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoiffeur, a periodical Effay (hnce published in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London), took leave of his readers, with an humorons account of himself.
lle dies, whoe'er takes pains to con him,
these verses save, Be these inscrib’d upon his
Know, Reader, that on Thursday died, ri The Connoisseur, a Suicide! 66 Yet think not that his soul is fled, " Nor rank him 'mongst the vulgar dead, " Howe'er defun&t you fet him down, " He's only going out of Town."
Nor is it wealth's decree ;
Tho' not to thee or me.
Tho' he'd give millions for’t :
Or waits on him to court.
It is not in a coach aud fix,
It is not in a garter ;
But 'tis in Hodge the carter.
Veni Creator Spiritus, paraphrafed.
, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
O source of increated light,
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Refine and purge your earthly parts ;
Our frailties help, our vice controul,
Chase from our minds th' infernal foe,
peace the fruit of love, beltow ; And left our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
Immortal honour, endless fame,
ARD by the gates of hell her dwelling is,
There whereas all plagues and harmes abounds Which punish wicked men, that walk amiss : It is a darksome delve farre under ground, With thornes and barren brakes environd round,
That none the same way may out-win; Yet many ways to enter may be found,
But none to issue forth when one is in ;
And all within the riven walles were hung
Of which, the sad effect of discord sung : There were rent robes, and broken scepters plac't ; Altars defil'd, and holy things defac't
Difhevered spears, and shields ytorne in twaine,
Nations captived, and huge armies slaine :
There was the figne of antique Babylon,
Of sacred Salem, and fad Ilion,
For which the three faire goddesses did ftrive :
Of Alexander, and the princes five,
And there the reliques of the drunken fray, The which amongst the Lapithees befell,
And of the bloody feast, which fent away So many centaurs drunken souls to hell, That under
Alcides' furie fell :