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Should Memnon, that fam'd Black, revive,

Aurora's darling son,
For Zabra's heart in vain he'd strive,

Where Darco reigos alone.

Of oats decorticated take two pound,
And of new inilk enough the same to drown;
Of raisins of the sun, ston'd, ounces eight;
Of currants, cleanly pick'd, an equal weight;
Of suet, finely slic'd, an ounce at least;
And six eggs newly taken from the nest:
Season this mixture well with salt and spice;
'Twill make a pudding far exceeding rice;
And you may safely feed on it like farmers,
Bor the receipt is learned Dr. Harmer's.

FROM far Barbadoes, on the western main,
Fetch sugar, half a pound; fetch sack, from Spain,
A pint; then fetch, from India's fertile coast,
Nutmeg, the glory of the British toast,

DARCO. Fresh mulberries new-press'd disclose

A blood of purple hue; And Zabra's lips, like crimson rose, Swell with a fragrant dew.

ZABRA. The amorous Sun has kiss'd his face;

And, now those beams are set, A lovely night assumes the place,

And tinges all with jet.

UPON A GIANT'S ANG LING. His angle-rod made of a sturdy oak, His line a cable, which in storms ne'er broke, His hook he baited with a dragon's tail, And sate upon a rock, and bobb'd for whale.

DARCO. Darkness is mystic priest to love,

And does its rites conceal;
O'erspread with clouds, such joys we'll prove
As day shall ne'er reveal.

In gloom of night, when Darco's eyes

Are guides, what heart can stray?
Whoever views his teeth, descries
The bright and milky way.

Though born to rule fierce Libya's sands,

That with gold's lustre shine,
With ease I quit those high commands

Whilst Zabra thus is mine.

ZABRA. Should I to that blest world repair,

Where Whites no portion 'lave; I'd soon, if Darco were not there,

Fly back, and be a slave.


Horace, you now have long enough

At Cambridge play'd the fool:
Take back your criticing stuff

To Epicurus' school,
But, in excuse of this, you 'll say,

You're so unwieldy grown,
That, if amongst that herd you lay,

You scarcely should be known.
How many butter'd crusts you've tost

Into your weem so big,
That you're more like (at college cost)

A porpoise than a pig.
But you from head to foot are brawn,

And so from side to side:
You measure (were a circle drawn)

No longer than you're wide.
Then, bless me, sir, how many craggs

You've drunk of potent ale!
No wonder if the belly swaggs

That's rival to a whale,
E'en let the Fellows take the rest,

They've had a jolly taster:.
But no great likelihood to feast,

"Twixt Horace and the master!

EPIGRAM. Who could believe that a fine needle's smart Should from a finger pierce a virgin's heart; That, from an orifice so very small The spirits and the vital blood should fall? Strephon and Phaon, I'll be judg'd by you, If more than this has not been found too true. From smaller darts, much greater wounds arise, When shot by Cynthia's or by Laura's eyes.


EPIGRAM. SAM Wills had view'd Kate Bets, a smiling lass; And for her pretty mouth admir'd her face. Kate had lik'd Sam, for nose of Roman size, Not minding his complexion or his eyes. They met-says Sam, “ Alas, to say the truth, I find myself deceiv'd by that small mouth !" “ Alas," cries Kate, “could any one suppose, I could be so deceiv'd by such a pose! But I henceforth shall hold this maxim just, To have experience first, and then to trust!"


CÆSAR, possessid of Ægypt's queen,

And conqueror of her charms, Would envy, had he Darco seen

When lock'd in Zabra's arms,




TYNTE was the man who first, from British
Palladian arts to Carolina bore;

[shore, ACCEPT of health from one, who, writing this, His tuneful harp attending Muses strung, Wishes you in the same that now he is;

And Phoebus skill inspir'd the lays he sung. Though to your person he may be unknown,

Strong towers and palaces their rise began, His wishes are as hearty as your own:

And listening stones to sacred fabrics ran. For Carter's drink, when in his master's hand, Just laws were taught, and curious arts of peace, Has pleasure and good-nature at command.

And trade's brisk current flow'd with wealth's inWhat though his lordship's lands are in your trust, on such foundations learned Athens rose; (creast, Tis greater to his brewing to be just.

So Dido's thong did Carthage first enclose: As to that matter, no one can find fault,

So Rome was taught old empires to subdue, If you supply him still with well-dried malt.

As Tynte creates and governs, now, the new, Still be a servant constant to afford A liquor fitting for your generous lord; Liquor, like him, from seeds of worth in light, With sparkling atoms still ascending bright:

ULYSSES AND TIRESIAS, May your accompts so with your lord stand clear, And have your reputation like your beer;

ULYSSES. The main perfection of your life pursue,

Tell me, old prophet, tell me how, In March, October, every month, still brew,

Estate when sunk, and pocket low,
And get the character of “ Who but you?”

What subtle arts, what secret ways,
May the desponding fortune raise?

You laugh: thus misery is scorn'd!


Sure 'tis enough, you are return'd

Home by your wit, and view again
We know how ruin once did reign,

Your farm of Ithac, and wife Pen.
When Rome was fir'd, and senate slain;
The prince, with brother's gore imbru’d;
His tender mother's life pursued;

Sage friend, whose word's a law to me,
How be the carcase, as it lay,

My want and nakedness you see: Did without tear or blush survey,

The sparks who made my wife such offers, And censure each majestic grace

Have left me nothing in my coffers: That still adorned that breathless face:

They 've kill'd my oxen, sheep, and geese, Yet he with sword could domineer

Eat up my bacon and my cheese. Where dawning light does first appear

Lineage and virtue, at this push,
From rays of Phæbus; and command

Without the gelt, 's not worth a rush.
Through his whole course, ev'n to that strand
Where he, abhorring such a sight,
Sinks in the watery gloom of night:

Why, not to mince the matter more,
Yet he could death and terrour throw,

You are averse to being poor; Where Thulé starves in northern snow;

Therefore find out some rich old cuff, Where southern beats do fiercely pass

That never thinks he has enough:
O'er burning sands that melt to glass.

Have you a swan, a turkey-pie,
Pond hopes! could height of power assuage With woodcocks, thither let them fly,
The mad excess of Nero's rage?

The first-fruits of your early spring,
Hard is the fate, when subjects find

Not to the gods, but to him bring.
The sword unjust to poison join'd!

Though he a foundling bastard be,
Convict of frequent perjury;
His hands with brother's blood imbrued,

By justice for that crime pursued;

Never the wall, when ask'd, refuse,

Nor lose your friend, to save your shoes.
Primus ab Angliacis, Carolina Tyntus' in oras,
Palladias artes secum, cytharamque sonantem
Attulit; ast illi comites Parnassido una

"Twixt Damas and the kennel go! Adreniunt, autorqué viæ consultis Apollo:

Which is the filthiest of the two? Ille idem sparsos longè latèque colonos

Before Troy-town it was not so.
Legibus in cætus æquis, atque oppida cogit;

There with the best I us'd to strive.
Hinc hominum molliri animos, hinc mercibus optis
Crescere divitias et surgere tecta deorum.

Talibus auspiciis doctæ conduntur Athenæ,
Sic byrsa ingentem Didonis crevit in urbem

Why, by that means you'll never thrive. Carthago regum domnitrix; sic aurea Roma

ULYSSES. Orbe triumphato nitidum caput intulit astris.

It will be very hard, that's true : Major Tynte, governor of Carolina.

Yet I'll my generous mind subdue.



TRANSLATION FROM TASSO, For when, in viewing Nature's face,

I spy so regular a grace!

So just a symmetry of features,
So when bold mariners, whom hopes of ore

From stem to stern, in all ber creatures !

When on the boistrous sea I think,
Have urg'd to seek some unfrequented shore;

How 'tis confin'd like any sink!
The sea grown high, and pole unknown, do find
How false is every wave, and treacherous every

How summer, winter, spring, and fall,

Dance round in so exact a hawl! wind! If wish’d-for land some happier sight descries,

How, like a chequer, day and night, Distant huzzas, saluting clamours, rise:

One's mark'd with black, and one with white! Each strives to show his mate th’approaching bay,

Quoth 1, “ I ken it well from hence,
Forgets past danger, and the tedious way,

There's a presiding influence!
Which won't permit the rambling stars
To fall together by the ears:
Which orders still the proper season

For hay and oats, and beans and peasen:

Which trims the Sun with its own beams; WHEN Saturn reign'd in Heaven, his subjects here

Whilst the Moon ticks for her's, it seems, Array'd with godly virtues did appear;

And, as asham'd of the disgrace,

Uninasks but seldom all her face :
Care, pain, old age, and grief, were banish'd far,
With all the dread of laws and doubtful war:

Which bounds the ocean within banks, But cheerful friendship, mix'd with innocence,

To hinder all its mad-cap pranks: Feasted their understanding and their sense;

Which does the globe to an axle fit, Nature abounded with unenvied store,

Like wheel to pave, or joint to spit! Till their discretest wits could ask no more;

“ But then again! How can it be

Whilst such vast tracks of earth we see And when, by Pate, they came to breathe their last, Dissolv'd in sleep their fitting vitals pass'd.

O’er-run by barbarous tyranny! Then to much happier mansions they remor'd,

Vile sycophants in clover bless'd;

Whilst patriots with duke Humphry feast, There prais'd their god, and were by him belov’d.

Brow-beaten, bullied, and oppress'd!
Pimps rais'd to honour, riches, rule;
Whilst he, who seems to be a tool,

Is the priest's knave, the placeman's fool!"

This whimsical phænomenon,
So the god Thame, as through some pond he glides, Confounding all my pro and con,

Bamboozles the account again,
Into the arms of wandering Isis slides :
His strength, her softness, in one bed combine,

And draws me nolens colens in,
And both with bands inextricable join.

Like a press'd soldier, to espouse · Now no cerulean nymph, or sea god, knows,

The sceptic's hypothetic cause : Where Isis, or where 'Thame, distinctly flows;

Who Kent will to a codling lay us, But with a lasting charm they blend their stream,

That cross-or-pile refind the chaos;
Producing one imperial river-Thame.

That jovial atoms once did dance,
And form'd this merry orb by chance,
No art or skill were taken up,
But all fell out as round as hoop!

A vacuum 's another maxim;

Where, he brags, experience backs him: THE MORNING.

Denying that all space is full, NATURE a thousand ways complains,

"From inside of a Tory's skull. A thousand words express her pains:

As to a deity; his tenet But for her laughter has but three,

Swears by it, there is nothing in it;
And very small ones, Ha, ha, he!

Else'tis too busy, or too idle,
With our poor bagatelles to meddle.

Anna 's a curb to lawless Louis,

Which as illustrious as true is;

Her victories o'er despotic right,

That passive non-resisting bite,

Have brought this mystery to light:

Have fairly made the riddle out, Twenty conundrums have of late

And answer'd all the squeamish doubt; Been buzzing in my addle pate.

Have cleard the regency on high, If earthly things are ruld by Heaven,

From every presumptuous why. Or matters go at six and seven,

No more I boggle as before, The coach without a coachman driven?

But with full confidence adore; A pilot at the helm to guide,

Plain, as nose on face, expounding Or the ship left to wind and tide?

All this intricate dumb-founding; A great first cause to be ador'd,

Which to the mean'st conception is, Or whether all's a lottery-board?

As followeth hereunder, viz.

Tyrants mount but like a meteor, See a serious translation, above, p. 287. To make their headlong fall the greater."


Where pastors must their stubborn flock obey,

Or that be thought a scandal which they say: WHEN Naboth's vineyard look'd so fine, For, should a sin, by some grand soul belov'd, The king cried out, “ Would this were mine!” Chance with an aukward zeal to be reprov'd, And yet no reason could prevail,

And tender conscience meet the fatal curse, To bring the owners to a sale;

Of hardening by reproof, and growing worse: Jezabel saw, with haughty pride,

When things to such extremities are brought, How Ahab griev'd to be denied:

'Tis not the sinner's, but the teacher's, fault. And thus accosted him with scorn,

With great men's wickedness, then, rest content, “Shall Naboth make a monarch mourn? And give them their own leisure to repent; A king, and weep! The ground's your own: Whilst their own head-strong will alone must curb I'll vest the garden in the crown."

them, With that she hatch'd a plot, and made And nothing vex, or venture to disturb them, Poor Naboth answer with bis head.

Lest they should lose their favour in the court, And when his harmless blood was spilt,

And no one but themselves be sorry for 't. The ground became the forfeit of bis guilt.

Were I in panegyric vers'd like you, Poor Hall, renown'd for comely hair,

I'd bring whole offerings to your merit due. Whose hands perhaps were not so fair,

You've gaind the conquest; and I freely own, Yet had a Jezabel as near.

Dissenters may by churchmen be out-done. Hall, of small scripture-conversation,

Though once we seem'd to be at such a distance, Yet howe'er Hungerford's quotation,

Yet both concentre in divine resistance: By some strange accident had got

Both teach what kings must do when subjects fight, The story of this garden plot;

And both disclaim hereditary right. Wisely foresaw he might have reason

By Jove's command, two eagles took their fight, To dread a modern bill of treason,

One from the east, the source of infaut light, If Jezabel should please to want

The other from the west, that bed of night. His small addition to her grant;

The birds of thunder both at Delphi meet, Therefore resolv'd in humble sort

The centre of the world, and Wisdom's seat. To begin first, and make his court;

So, by a power not decent here to name, And, seeing nothing else would do,

To one fixt point our various notions came, Gave a third part, to save the other two.

Your thoughts from Oxford and from Windsor flew,

[Review Whilst shop and meeting-house brought forth

Your brains fierce eloquence and logic tried, EPISTLE TO MR. GODDARD'; My humbler strain choice socks and stockings

Yet in our common principles we meet, (cried; WRITTEN BY DR. KING,

You sinking from the head, I rising from the feet. IN THE CHARACTER OF THE REVIEW.

Pardon a hasty Muse, ambitious grown,

Textol a merit far beyond his own. To Windsor Canon, bis well-chosen friend, For, though a moderate painter can't command The just Review does kindest greeting send, The stroke of Titian's or of Raphael's hand: I've found the man by Nature's gift design'd Yet their transcendent works his fancy raise ; To please my ear and captivate my mind, And there's some skill in knowing what to praise. By sympathy the eager passious move, And strike my soul with wonder and with love!

installed canon May 26, 1707, and was also rector Happy that place, where much less care is had

of St. Bennet Finch, London. He published a To save the virtuous, than protect the bad;

30th of January sermon, in 4to, 1703; and The

Mercy of God to this Church and Kingdom, ex"Taken froin an admirable banter of our au-emplified in the several Instances of it, from the thor's, entituled, Two Friendly Letters from ho- Beginning of the Reformation down to the present Dest Tom Boggy, to the rev. Mr. Goddard, Canon Time. A Sermon preached in St. George's Chapel of Windsor, very proper to be tacked to the at Windsor, on Tuesday the 7th of November, canon's sermon; first printed in 8vo, 1710. This the Day of Thanksgiving, 1710, 8vo. They were sermon (full of high treason against high-church, all reprinted in 1715, with three others, under bereditary right, and Sacheverell) was entituled, the title of Six Sermons on several Occasions, The Guilt, Mischief, and Aggravation of Censure; | 8vo. N. set forth in a Sermon preached in St. George's 2 A well-known political paper by De Foe, in Chapel within her Majesty's Castle of Windsor, which Mr. Goddard's sermon was immoderately on Sunday the 25th of June, 1710. By 'Thomas commended. See long account of this writer, Goddard,' A, M. Canon of Windsor. London, and of Ridpath and Tutchin his associates, in the printed for B. Lintot, i710.~Mr. Goddard was Supplement to Swift. N.



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