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I wrote o'er and o'er

All the Bills for the Poor,

'And abridg'd them to one that was longer; Touch'd again and again

By my accurate Pen,

Each Claufe grew ftronger and stronger.

All my Labour and Law
Was not thought worth a Straw,
To reward Publick Spirits no Care is ;
First my Bill with a Flout,

Then I was thrown out,

And fent back with the Poor to the Parish.

A Book I put out,

I wrote it about

The Thoughts of a Man of Black-Lift-a;
But the Stuff that came after,

Occafion'd fuch Laughter,

My Readers were almoft bepift-a.

The Learned allow'd,

Of which I am proud,

That the Work there had been fome Good in

But ftill they would fay,

'Twas all out of the way,

And had not one word of the Pudding.

When the Poll was declar'd,

O then it appear'd,

At which I was too much concern'd;
That Sir William had more

By One Hundred and Four,
Than even Sir Humphrey the Learned.

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Had

Had the Odds been but few,
I had ne'er look'd fo blue,

Since Regard had been paid to my Merit;
To be beat out of Sight

By an Un Writing Knight,

Flesh and Blood is not able to bear it.

Since they've play'd fuch a Game,
Let them e'en take the Shame,

They fhall find to their Coft what will follow; I'll retire to my Mines,

Where the Sun never fhines,

And a Ft for the Sons of Apollo.

An ODE on the D. of Marlborough,

1706.

WHAT Pow'r of Words can equal thy Re(nown,

WHA

Illuftrious God of War? What Muse can raise
Numbers fufficient for thy Praife?

Thalia, Arethusa, skill'd in Song,
The mighty Task decline;

To Churchill's Race the Theme belongs, (Churchill's Race tranfcend the Nine.) 'Tis Sunderland alone that must inspire, She shares the Godlike Hero's Fire; And she must tune the Voice, and animate the Lyre.

O Marlbro', her Influence fhall fupply
The Poet's mean Ability;

*The Duke of Marlborough's Daughter married to the Earl of

Sunderland.

Whilft he to fing prepares

The Triumphs of thy Wars;

The Terror of thy conq'ring Arms, Which freed the Empire from Alarms, And ftruck the trembling Gaul with pannic Fears.

Lewis, once call'd The Great,

In Thee beholds his Fate;
At Schellemberg thou let'ft him fee

An Action worthy of thy Cause and Thee :
On Blenheim's fatal Plain,

Thousands on Thousands flain,

Told the infulting Foe again,

That Marlborough, arm'd in ANNA's Cause,
To injur'd Nations should restore

Their Rights, their Liberties and Laws.
Forfaken Justice fhall no longer mourn,
Uninterrupted Streams of Faith return,

Now Marlbro's thund'ring Arm has broke the Ty(rant's Pow'r.

What Pyramids of Praife!

What Wreaths of never-dying Bays
Shall crown thy Glorious Head?
Who to fure Conqueft doft thy Armies lead.
The Paffage of the Granic Flood,
Which has fo many Ages stood,
Renown'd in Grecian Story,

With all young Ammon's Deeds, are but a Foil
To the Superior Action of the Dyle,

And only ferve to raise the Luftre of thy Glory.
The Heroes of Antiquity,

Great Pompey, Cafar, Anthony, and He
Who Kindred claim with Jove,

Shall blush to fee

Themselves fall short, fo infinitely fhort of Thee.'

:

And

And Oh! Thou eldest Son of Fame!
How fhall we 'nough adore thy Name?
To praise thee as we ought,
The Spirit of our Lays

Should equal that with which our Hero fought,
And gain'd immortal Fame at Rammelies.
But Numbers are too flow,

So faft thy mighty Conquefts flow;
Such is the Terror of thy Sword,
So quick the yielding Cities Bow,
To recognize their rightful Lord.
Joyful Iberia fhall declare

The Wonders thou haft done for her;'
Admiring Europe fhall confefs,

To thee they owe the Charms of Peace, And Nations emulous shall crown thy vaft Success.

Thrice happy Britain! glorious Isle!
On Thee the refcu'd Princes fmile,
And bless thy fruitful Plains,

From whence their great Deliv❜rer came;
Where Marlbro' drew his vital Flame,
And mighty ANNA reigns.

But Oh! amidst th' extreameft Joy

Of thy exulting Swains,

How are thy Bards depreft!

What dire Confufion fills their Breast!

When anxious they behold

The British General, with greater Ease,

Vanquish the Nation's Enemies,

Than they find Words to celebrate his Victories.

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SEY

The Seven Wife Men.

Even Sages in these latter Times are seen,
The Glory and Support of Albion's Queen;
Whose Wisdom will the Gordian Knot undo,
And be our lfle's Palladium 'gainst the Foe.
Unftable Britain may like Dilos float,

Yet ftill fhe's fafe while Patriots guide the Boat.
First stands recorded, in the Lift of Fame,
The gen'rous, brave, the humble S's Name;
Learning's good Ornament, the Mufes Pride,
By Nature form'd in Councils to prefide.
The Poets, who in Crouds his Table throng,
Are ravish'd with the Accents of his Tongue;
The rhiming Guests are fed with sumptuous Fare,
Rewards can make his gibb'rish Language clear.

A gentle D comes next in clofe Debate,
To search into the deep Intrigues of State;
But scarce had he in Council taken place,
When fond Lucinda call'd away his Grace;
In Liberties of Love, she told her Lord,
His Talent was not for the Council-board.
Her tender Limberham fhe did implore
To quit thofe factious Follies at Threescore;
And pleaded that his Name was only given
To have one Man of Honour in the Seven.

Next giddy Phaethon begins his Flight,
And boldly dares afcend the Orb of Light;
But the rash Youth will foon inflame the Ball,
And with Confufion from his Chariot fall.
Thofe Jackdaws Eyes can never bear the Teft,
Tho they were nourish'd in an Eagle's Neft;
Those artless Hands, and that untimely Zeal,
May harm, but ne'er preferve the Commonweal:

Then

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