I was fworn to the Church,

Both to People and Porch,

And I'm fond of the Name of High-Flyer ;

I have fhewn my good Will

For th' Occafional Bill,

And to fet the whole Nation on Fire.

If I get in the Chair,

It will quickly appear,

Who is for the Church, and who not, Sir:

I'll wipe off the Paint

Made me look like a Saint,

And Moderation fhall die on the Spot, Sir

I was chofen for the Nests

My Learning t' advance,

I travel'd to France,

From Paris quite down to Touloon;

Where they make People pray

The Government's way,

And convert them a mode de Dragoon.

Before I came home,

I travel'd to Rome,

And receiv'd th' Infallible Bleffing;

I ne'er fcrupled to bow

To the Slipper or Toe,

And bestow'd a true Proteftant Killing.

I view'd the great Church,
And admir'd the Porch,

And I counted the Steps to the Altar
I went to the Mattin,

Said my Prayers in Latin, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

And I fung to her Ladyfhip's Pfalter.

I blefs'd the three Nations

With wife

That theylervations,

might my Learning inherit
my

But as foon as 'twas printed,

I fincerely repented,

'Twas fo laugh'd at I never could bear it.

Now from Popery and Rome,

I'm to Coventry come,

Where I'm quite overrun with Religion;

The High Church and I

Such Experiments try,

You wou'd fwear we had Mahomet's Pigeon.

The Occafional Bill

Was fram'd in our Mill,

Of true Catholick Preparation;

The Warp and the Woof

Look'd like Proteftant Stuff,

But the Devil was in the Fashion.

I huzza'd for the Tack,

For I was always a Jack,

And was fond of Jure Divino

But with what Intent,

Or what 'twas I meant,

That's a thing neither you know nor I know!

Το

To High-Church I'm as true,

As a Proteftant blue,

And fain wou'd Diffenters be Mobbing; But we had fuch a Defeat

In Coventry Street,

That we're damnably 'fraid of their drubbing.

I hate Moderation,

It has ruin'd the Nation,

Both the Bs and Q are infected;

Do but fet me i'th' Chair,

I'll the High-Church repair,

And Religion fhall foon be diffected.

We have made fuch Advances,

You'd think them Romances,

All the Churches on Earth to unite-a;

That Mahomet and We

May quickly agree,

And Rome fhall no more men affright-a.

Our true English Church

Shall to Popery approach,

And Popery to her fhall advance;

The Sifters fhall kiss,

Pafs by what's amifs,

And we fhall fhake hands, Sir, with France.

Thus the Tools of the Age

Shall quickly grow Sage,

When they cant of their Union and Peace, Sir-;

This will Union convey

The true Catholick way,

And the World fhall be all of a Piece, Sir.

If the Whigs and Diffenters
Should think to prevent us,

And oppofe us with damn'd Moderation;
By unanimous Votes,

We will cut all their Throats,

And fo we'll unite the whole Nation.

On the Duke of B's House.

Sic fiti lætantur Lares.

Appily hous'd thefe Lares are,
He feed on Vifta's and fresh Air,

To dine with Humphrey's Duke each day,
And gaze their Supper-time away.
Wou'd Ceres bring her Sheafs of Corn,
'Twou'd better Sheffield's House adorn;
To which if Bacchus Grapes wou'd bring,
Then might the Lares laugh and fing.

The doleful Complaint of Sir H. M. on the Lofs of his Election at Oxford, 1705.

'E Freeholders most dear
Of Cardigan-fhire,

Look down from your Mountains with Pity,
On the desperate Case

Of your Knight Out of Place,

And attend to my forrowful Ditty.

His Coat of Arms is the Wheat-Sheaf.

I left you indeed,

In hopes to fucceed

At Oxford, the Seat of the Mufes;
Where Merit prevails

At lefs Coft than in Wales,

And the Chofen adorn him that chooses.

The Thing would be done
As fure as a Gun,

I was told by Sachev'rell my Hector;
But now they send back

Poor baffled Sir Mac,
And call me an empty Projector,

A Pinnacle Fine,
Dug out of my Mine,

I rais'd on the Top of High Church-a;
To no Purpose, God wot,

They matter it not,

And leave me and my Caufe in the Lurch-a.

I sent to each Head,
Bound in Blue and in Red,
My Cafe of Afbby and White-a;
But as foon as they'd read it,
I loft all my Credit,
And now they bid me go fh--te-a.

I drew my Goofe Quill

For Occafional Bill,

And wore it quite down to the Stump-a; I gave them my Pelf,

Would ha' given 'em my felf,

But they care not a Ft for Sir Numph-a.