Then bids it rain with fhowers of gold,
And now his iv'ry eggs are told,

But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd spectators humm applause.

Vice now stept forth and took the place,
With all the forms of his grimace.

This magick looking-glass, fhe cries,

(There, hand it round) will charm your eyes:

Each eager eye the fight defir'd,

And ev'ry man himself admir'd.

Next, to a fenator addreffing;

See this Bank-note; obferve the bleffing:

Breathe on the bill.

Heigh, pafs! 'Tis gone.

Upon his lips a padlock fhone.

A second puff the magick broke,

The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.
Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,

All full, with heady liquor ftor'd,

By

By clean conveyance disappear,

And now two bloody fwords are there.
A purse she to a thief expos'd;

At once his ready fingers clos'd;
He opes his fift, the treafure's fled,
He fees a halter in its ftead.

She bids Ambition hold a wand,

He grafps a hatchet in his hand.

A box of charity she fhows:

Blow here; and a church-warden blows,

"Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat,

And on the table smoaks a treat.

She shakes the dice, the board she knocks,

And from all pockets fills her box.

She next a meagre rake addrest;

This picture fee; her fhape, her breast!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!

Hold her, and have her. With surprise,

His hand expos'd a box of pills;
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.
A counter, in a miser's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command;
She bids his heir the fumm retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.

A guinea with her touch you fee
Take ev'ry shape but Charity;
And not one thing, you faw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,

With this fubmiffion own'd her art.
Can I fuch matchless flight withstand?
How practice hath improv'd your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You ev'ry day, and all day long.

FABLE

Who graz'd among a num'rous breed,

With mutiny had fir'd the train,

And spread diffention through the plain.

On

On matters that concern'd the State

The council met in grand debate.
A colt, whofe eye-balls flam'd with ire,
Elate with ftrength and youthful fire,
In hafte stept forth before the reft,
And thus the lift'ning throng addrest.
Good Gods! how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to flav'ry and disgrace!
Shall we our fervitude retain,

Because our fires have born the chain?

Confider, friends, your ftrength and might;

'Tis conqueft to affert your right. How cumb'rous is the gilded coach! The pride of man is our reproach.

Were we defign'd for daily toil,

To drag the plough-share through the foil,
To sweat in harness through the road,

To groan beneath the carrier's load?

How