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For long the whirling winds and beating tides:
Had scoop'd a vault into its nether fides.

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Now yields the base, the summits nod, now urge
Their headlong course, and lash the founding surge.
Not louder noise could shake the guilty world,
When Jove heap'd mountains upon mountains hurld;
Retorting Pelion from his-dread abode,

15 To crush earth's rebel-sons beneath the load.

Ort too with hideous yawn the caverns wide
Present an orifice on either side,
A dismal orifice from sea to sea
Extended, pervious to the god of day :
Uncouthly join'd the rocks stupendous form
An arch, the ruin of a future storm :
High on the cliff their nefts the woodquests make,
And sea-calves stable in the

oozy

lake.. But when bleak Winter with his sullen train

25 Awakes the winds to vex the wat’ry plain; When o'er the craggy steep without controul, Big with the blaft, the raging billows roul ; Not towns beleaguerd, not the flaming brand, Darted from heav'n by Jove's avenging hand, 30 Oft as on impious men his wrath he pours, Humbles their pride, and blasts their gilded tow'rs, Equal the tumult of this wild uproar : Waves rush o'er waves, rebellows shore to shore. The neighb'ring race, tho' wont to brave the shocks 35Of angry feas, and run along the rocks, Now pale with terror, while the ocean foams, Fly far and wide, nor trust their native homes.

The goats, while pendent from the mountain rop. The wither'd herb improvident they crop, Wash'd down the precipice with sudden fweep, Leave their sweet lives beneath th” unfathom’d deep, The frighted fisher with defponding eyes, Tho'safe, yet trembling in the harbour lies

Nor hoping to behold the skies serene,
Wearies with vows the monarch of the main.

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Upon the Horrid Puot discovered by Harle

QUIN, the Bishop of Rochester's French
dog*.
In a dialogue between a Whig and a Tory.

Written in the year 1723.
I

Alk'd a Whig the other night,

How came this wicked plot to light?
He answered, that a dog of late
Inform'd a minister of state.
Said I, from thence I nothing know;

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For are not all informers fo?
A villain who his friend betrays,
We ftyle him by no other phrase ;
And fo a perjur'd dog denotes
Porter, and Prendergast, and Oates,
And forty others I could name.
Whig. But

you must know, this dog was lame. Tory. A weighty argument indeed! Your evidence was lame :

:-proceed: Come, help your lame dog o'er the Pyle.

15 Whig. Sir, you mistake me all this while: (I mean a dog without a joke) Can howl, and bark, but never spoke.

Tory. I'm still to feek, which dog you mean;
Whether cur Plunket, or whelp Skean,
An English, or an Irish hound;
Or t'other puppy that was drown'd,
Or Mason, that abandon'd bitch :
Then pray be free, and tell me which :

* See the proceedings in Parliament against Dr Atterbury the Bishop of Rochester, State-trials, vol. 6. He was tried by the Lords for a plot against the government, deprived of his bishoprick, banished his native country, and died in France, Feb. 15: 1732

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For ev'ry ftander-by was marking,
That all the noise they made was barking.
You pay them well; the dogs have got
Their dogs-heads in a porridge pot :
And 'twas but just; for wise men say,
That ev'ry dog must have bis day.
Dog Walpole laid a quart of nog on't,
He'd either make a hog or dog on't ;
And look'd, since he has

got

his wish,
As if he had thrown down a dish.
Yet this I dare foretel you from it,
He'll soon return to his own vomit.

Whig. Besides, this horrid plot was found
By Neynoe, after he was drown'd.

Tory. Why then the proverb is not right,
Since you can teach dead dogs to bite.

Whig. I prov'd my proposition full;
But Jacobites are strangely dull.
Now let me tell you plainly, Sir,
Our witness is a real cur,
A dog of spirit for his years
Has twice two legs, two hanging ears ;
His name is Harlequin, I wot,
And that's a name in ev'ry plot :
Resolv'd to save the British nation,
Tho' French by birth and education;
His correspondence plainly dated
Was all decypher'd and translated :
His answers were exceeding pretty
Before the secret wise committee :
Confefs’d as plain as he could bark:
Then with his fore-foot set his mark.

Tory. Then all this while have I been bubbled,
I thought it was a dog in doublet:
The matter now no longer sticks ;
For statesmen never want dog-tricksa

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But since it was a real cur,
And not a dog in metaphor;
I give you joy of the report,
That he's to have a place at court.

Whig. Yes, and a place he will grow rich in ; 65
A turnspit in the royal kitchen.
Şir, to be plain, I tell you what,
We had occasion for a plot:
And when we found the dog begin it,
We guess'd the bishop's foot was in it.

Tory. I own it was a dang'rous project;
And you have prov'd it by dog-logic.
Sure such intelligence between
A dog and Bishop ne'er was seen,
Till you begin to change the breed;

75 Your Bishops all are d--gs indeed.

JOAN CUDGELS NED.

Written in the year 1723.

.

Oan cudgels Ned, yet Ned's a bully;

Will cudgels Bess, yet Will's a cully..
Die Ned and Bess, give Will to Joan,
She dares not say her life's her own.
Die Joan and Will; give Bess to Ned,
And ev'ry day she combs his head.

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STELLA at WOOD-PARK.

A house of CHARLES FORD, Efq; eight miles from

Dublin.

Cuicunque nocere volebat
Weftimenta dabat pretiosa.

DON

Written in the year 1723 **
ON Carlos in a merry spite-
Did Stella to his house invite :

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He entertain'd her half a year
With gen’rous wines and costly cheer.
Don Carlos made her chief director,
That she might o'er the servants hector.
In half a week the dame grew nice,
Got all things at the highest price ;
Now at the table-head the fits,
Presented with the nicest bits ;
She look'd on partridges with scorn,
Except they tasted of the corn :
A haunch of ven’son made her sweat
Unless it had the right fumette.
Don Carlos earnestly would beg,
Dear Madam, try this pigeon's leg ;
Was happy, when he could prevail
To make her only touch a quail.
Thro' candle-light she view'd the wine,
To see that every glass was fine.
At last grown prouder than the devil
With feeding high and treatment civil,
Don Carlos now began to find
His malice work as he design'd.
The winter-sky began to frown,
Poor Stella must pack off to town ;
From purling streams and fountains bubbling,
To * Liffy's stinking tide at Dublin :
From wholesome exercise and air,
To fossing in an easy chair :
From stomach sharp, and hearty feeding,
To piddle like a lady breeding :
From ruling there the household fingly,
To be directed here by Dingly t:
From ev'ry day a lordly banquet,
To half a joint and God be thanked :

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• The river that runs thro' Dublin.
+ A lady. The two ladics lodged together.

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