Then fudden draws it back again;
O what a pleasure mixt with pain!
You ev'ry moment think an age,
Till he appears upon the stage:
And firft his bum you fee him clap.
Upon the Queen of Shebah's lap :
The Duke of Lorrain drew his fword;
Punch roaring run, and running roar'd,
Revil'd all people in his jargon,
And fold the King of Spain a bargain;
St George himself he plays the wag on,
And mounts aftride upon the dragon;
He gets a thousand thumps and kicks,
Yet cannot leave his roguifh tricks ;
In ev'ry action thrufts his nofe;
The reason why, no mortal knows:
In doleful fcenes that break our heart,
Punch comes, like you, and lets a fart.
There's not a puppet made of wood,
But what would hang him, if they could
While teafing all, by all he's teas'd,
How well are the spectators pleas'd!
Who in the motion have no share,
But purely come to hear and stare;
Have no concern for Sabra's fake,
Which gets the better, faint or fnake,
Provided Punch (for there's the jeft)
Be foundly maul'd, and plague the reft.
THUS, Tim, philofophers fuppofe,

The world confifts of puppet-shows;
Where petulant conceited fellows

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Perform the part of Punchinelloes:

So at this booth, which we call Dublin,

Tim, thou'rt the Punch to ftir up troubl'in;

You wriggle, fidge, and make a rout,

Put all your brother-puppets out,

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Run on in a perpetual round

To teafe, perplex, difturb, confound,
Intrude with monkey grin and clatter
To interrupt all serious matter,
Are grown the nuisance of your clan,
Who hate and scorn you to a man :
But then the lookers on, the Tories,
You ftill divert with merry stories;
They would consent, that all the crew
Were hang'd, before they'd part with you.
BUT tell me, Tim, upon the fpot,
By all this coil what hast thou got?
If Tories must have all the sport,

I fear you'll be disgrac'd at court.

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T. Got? D-my blood, I frank my letters, 145 Walk to my place before my betters,

And, fimple as I now ftand here,

Expect in time to be a peer

Got? D

me, why, I got my will !

Ne'er hold my peace, and ne'er stand still:

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I fart with twenty ladies by;

They call me beaft; and what care I?

I bravely call the Tories Jacks,

And fons of whores. behind their backs.

But could you bring me once to think,

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That when I ftrut, and ftare, and stink,

Revile and flander, fume and storm,

Betray, make oath, impeach, inform,
With fuch a conftant loyal zeal
To serve myself and commonweal,
And fret the Tories fouls to death,

I did but lofe my precious breath,

And when I damn my foul to plague 'em,
Am, as you tell me, but their maygame;
Confume my vitals! they should know
I am not to be treated fo;

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I'd rather hang myself by half,

Than give thofe rascals cause to laugh.
But how, my friend, can I endure,
Once fo renown'd to live obfcure?
No little boys and girls to cry,
There's nimble Tim a paffing by?

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No more my dear delightful way trade

Of keeping up a party-hatred?

Will none the Tory dogs purfue,

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When thro' the streets I cry Halloo?

Muft all my d-mee's, bloods, and wounds,

Like thee to please this thankless town!
Or blefs'd with fuch engaging parts

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To win the truant schoolboy's hearts!
Thy virtues meet their juft reward,
Attended by the fable guard.

Charm'd by thy voice, the 'prentice drops
The fnow-ball deftin'd at thy chops:
Thy graceful fteps, and col'nel's air,

Allare the cinder picking fair.

M. No more- -in mark of true affection,

I take thee under my protection:

Thy parts are good, 'tis not deny'd;

I wish they had been well apply'd.
But now obferve my counsel (viz.)
Adapt your habit to your phyz;

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You must no longer thus equip ye,

As Horace fays, optat ephippia;
(There's Latin too, that you may fee

How much improv'd by Doctor

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-).

I have a coat at home, that you may try ;
"Tis juft like this, which hangs by geometry.
My hat has much the nicer air;

Your block will fit it to a hair.

That wig, I would not for the world

Have it fo formal and fo curl'd;
"Twill be fo oily and fo fleek,
When I have lain in it a week,

You'll find it well prepar'd to take
The figure of toupee or fnake.
Thus dress'd alike from top to toe,
That which is which 'tis hard to know,
When firft in public we appear,

I'll lead the van, keep you the rear ;
Be careful, as you walk behind ;
Ufe all the talents of your mind;
Be ftudious well to imitate

My portly motion, mien, and gate;

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And in the streets divert the city;
The ladies from the windows gaping,
The children all our motions aping.
Your converfation to refine,
I'll take you to fome friends of mine,
Choice fpirits, who employ their parts
To mend the world by useful arts;
Some cleanfing hollow tubes to fpy
Direct the zenith of the sky;

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Some have the city in their care,

From noxious steams to purge the air;
Some teach us in these dang'rous days

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How to walk upright in our ways;
Some whofe reforming hands engage
To lafh the lewdness of the age;
Some for the public service go
Perpetual envoys to and fro;

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Whose able heads fupport the weight
of twenty minifters of state.

We fcorn, for want of talk, to jabber
Of parties o'er our bonny-clabber:
Nor are we ftudious to inquire,

Who votes for manors, who for hire:

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Knock'd down the boy, the lantern broke.
One tells the rife of cheefe and oat-meal;
Another when he got a hot meal;
One gives advice in proverbs old,
Inftructs us how to tame a fcold;
Or how by almanacks 'tis clear,

That herrings will be cheap this year.
T. Dear Mullinix, I now lament
My precious time fo long mif-fpent,
By nature meant for nobler ends :
O introduce me to your friends!
For whom by birth I was defign'd,

Till politics debas'd my mind:

I give myself entire to you;

Gd the Whigs, and Tories too.

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EPL