To force plain Nature from her usual way,
Each night a vigil, and a blank each day.
To match for fpeed one feather 'gainst another,
To make one leg run races with his brother,
'Gainft all the reft to make the northern wind,
BUT to ride firft, and he to ride behind,
To coin new fangled wagers, and to lay 'em,
Laying to lofe, and lofing not to pay 'em ;
Lothario, on that stock which nature gives,
Without a rival ftands, tho' March yet lives.

When Folly, (at that name, in duty bound, Let fubject myriads kneel, and kiss the ground, Whilft they who in the prefence upright stand, Are held as rebels thro' the loyal land)

Queen every where, but most a Queen in courts
Sent forth her heralds, and proclaim'd her sports,
Bade fool with fool on her behalf engage,

And prove her right to reign from age to age,
Lothario, great above the common fize,
With all engag'd, and won from all the prize;
Her cap he wears, which from his youth he wore
And every day deserves it more and more.

Nor in fuch climates refts his foul confin'd; Folly may fhare, but can't engross his mind; Vice, bold, fubftantial Vice, puts in her claim, And ftamps him perfect in the books of shame, Obferve his follies well, and you would fwear Folly had been his firft, his only care; Obferve his vices, you'll that oath disown, And fwear that he was born for vice alone.

Is the foft nature of fome eafy maid, Fond, eafy, full of faith, to be betray'd,

Muft he, to virtue loft, be loft to fame,

And he, who wrought her guilt, declare her shame? Is fome brave friend, who, men but little known, Deems every heart as honeft as his own,

And, free himself, in others fears no guile,

To be enfnar'd, and ruin'd with a smile?
Is law to be perverted from her course?
Is abject fraud to league with brutal force;
Is freedom to be crush'd, and every fon,
Who dares maintain her caufe, to be undone ?
Is bafe corruption, creeping thro' the land,
To plan, and work her ruin, underhand,
With regular approaches, fure, tho' flow,
Or must she perish by a single blow?

Are kings, (who trust to servants, and depend
In fervants (fond, vain thought) to find a friend)
To be abus'd, and made to draw their breath
In darkness thicker than the fhades of death?
Is God's most holy name to be profan'd,
His word rejected, and his laws arraign'd,
His fervants fcorn'd as men who idly dream'd,
His fervice laugh'd at, and his Son blafphem'd ?
Are debauchees in morals to prefide,

Is faith to take an Atheist for her guide ?
Is fcience by a blockhead to be led?

Are states to totter on a drunkard's head?
To answer all these purposes, and more,
More black than ever villain plann'd before,
Search earth, fearch hell, the Devil cannot find
An agent, like Lothario, to his mind.

Is this nobility, which, fprung from Kings, Was meant to fwell the pow'r from whence it fprings ?

Is this the glorious produce, this the fruit,
Which nature hop❜d for from fo rich a root?
Were there but two (fearch all the world around)
Were there but two fuch nobles to be found,
The very name would fink into a term

Of fcorn, and Man would rather be a worm,
Than be a Lord; but nature, full of grace,
Nor meaning birth, and titles to debase,
Made only one, and, having made him, swore,
In mercy to mankind, to make no more.

Nor stopp'd fhe there, but, like a gen❜rous friend,
The ills which error caus'd, fhe ftrove to mend,
And, having brought Lothario forth to view,
To save her credit, brought forth Sandwich too.

Gods! with what joy, what honeft joy of heart, Blunt as I am, and void of every art,

Of every art which great ones in the state
Practis'd on knaves they fear, and fools they hate,
To titles with reluctance taught to bend,
Nor prone to think that virtues can descend,
Do I behold (a fight alas! more rare
Than honefty could wish) the Noble wear

His father's honours, when his life makes known,
They're his by virtue, not by birth alone,
When he recalls his father from the grave,
And pays
with int'reft back that fame he gave.
Cur'd of her fplenetic and sullen fits,
To fuch a peer my willing foul fubmits,

And to fuch virtue is more proud to yield
Than 'gainst ten titled rogues to keep the field.
Such (for that truth even envy shall allow)
Such Wyndham was, and such is Sandwich now.

O gentle Montague, in bleffed hour

Didst thou start up, and climb the stairs of pow'r;
England of all her fears at once was eas'd,,
Nor, 'mongst her many foes was once difpleas'd,
France heard the news, and told it cousin Spain;
Spain heard and told it coufin France again;
The Hollander relinquifh'd his defign
Of adding spice to spice, and mine to mine,
Of Indian villainies he thought no more,
Content to rob us on our native shore ;

Aw'd by thy fame (which winds with open mouth
Shall blow from eaft to weft, from north to fouth)
The western world shall yield us her increase,
And her wild fons be foften'd into peace;

Rich eaftern monarchs fhall exhauft their stores,
And pour unbounded wealth on Albion's shores,
Unbounded wealth, which from thofe golden fcenes,
And all acquir'd by honourable means,

Some honourable chief fhall hither fteer
To pay our debts, and fet the nation clear.
Nabobs themselves, allur'd by thy renown,
Shall pay due homage to the English crown,
Shall freely as their king our king receive-
Provided the Directors give them leave.

Union at home fhall mark each rifing year,
Nor taxes be complain'd of, tho' fevere,

Envy her own deftroyer fhall become,

And faction with her thousand mouths be dumb,
With the meek man thy meekness shall prevail,
Nor with the spirited thy spirit fail,
Some to thy force of reason shall submit,
And some be converts to thy princely wit,
Rev'rence for thee fhall ftill a nation's cries,
A grand concurrence crown a grand excife,
And unbelievers of the firft degree,

Who have no faith in God, have faith in Thee.

When a ftrange jumble, whimsical and vain,
Poffefs the region of each heated brain,
When fome were fools to cenfure, some to praise,
And all were mad, but mad in different ways;
When Common wealth's-men, ftarting at the fhade
Which in their own wild fancy had been made,
Of Tyrant's dream'd, who wore a thorny crown,
And with state-blood hounds hunted freedom down;
When others, ftruck with fancies not lefs vain,
Saw mighty kings by their own subjects slain,
And, in each friend of liberty and law,
With horror big, a future Cromwell faw;
Thy manly zeal stepp'd forth, bade Difcord cease,
And fung each jaring atom into peace.
Liberty, chear'd by thy all-chearing eye,
Shall, waking from her trance, live and not die,
And, Patroniz'd by thee, Prerogative,

Shall, ftriding forth at large, not die, but live,
Whilft Privilege, hung betwixt earth and sky,
Shall not well know, whether to live, or dic.