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The greatest actions I can find
Are, that they did their work and din'd.
The books of which I'm chiefly fond
Are fuch as you have whilom conn'd,
That treat of China's civil law,

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And fubjects' rights in Golconda ;

Of highway elephants at Ceylon,

That rob in clans like men o' th' Highland ;
Of apes that storm or keep a town

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As well almoft as Count Lauzun;

Of unicorns and alligators,

Elks, mermaids, mummies, witches, fatyrs,

And twenty other ftranger matters,

Which, tho' they're things I've no concern in,

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Make all our grooms admire my fearning.
Critiques I read on other men,

And hypers upon them again,

From whofe remarks I give opinion
On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one.
Then all your wits that fleer and sham,
Down from Don Quixote to Tom Tram,
From whom I jefts and puns purloin,
And flily put 'em off for mine,

Fond to be thought a country wit,

The reft-when Fate and you think fit.

Sometimes I climb my mare and kick her To bottled ale and neighb'ring vicar; Sometimes at Stamford take a quart;

'Squire Shephard's health,--with all my heart. Thus, without much delight or grief,

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I fool away an idle life,

Till Shadwell from the town'retires
(Chok'd up with fume and feacoal fires)
To blefs the wood with peaceful lyric;
Then hey for praise and panygeric;
Juftice reftor'd, and nations freed;

And wreaths round William's glorious head.
VOL. I.

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AN EPISTLE

ΤΟ

FLEETWOOD SHEPHARD, ESQ.

W were making legs, and begging places,

HEN crowding folks, with ftrange ill faces,

And fome with patents, fome with merit,
Tir'd out my good Lord Dorfet's spirit:
Sneaking I ftood amongst the crew,
Defiring much to fpeak with you.

I waited while the clock ftruck thrice,
And footman brought out fifty lies;

Till, patience vext, and legs grown weary,
I thought it was in vain to tarry :
But did opine it might be better,
By penny-poft to fend a letter;
Now, if mifs of this epiftle,

you

I'm baulk'd again, and may go whistle.
My bufinefs, Sir, you'll quickly gueis,
Is to defire fome little place;
And fair pretenfions I have for't,
Much need, and very finall defert.
Whene'er I writ to you, I wanted;
I always begg'd, you always granted.
Now, as you took me up when little,
Gave me my learning and my vittle;
Afk'd for me, from my lord, things fitting,
Kind as I'd been your own begetting;
Confirm what formerly you've given,
Nor leave me now at fix and feven,
As Sunderland has left Mun Stephen.
No family, that takes a whelp
When firft he laps, and fcarce can yelp,
Neglects or turns him out of gate
When he's grown up to dog's eftate:
Nor parish, if they once adopt,
The fpurious brats by ftrollers dropt,
Leave them, when grown up lufty fellows,
To the wide world, that is, the gallows:

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No, thank them for their love, that's worse,
Than if they'd throttled them at nurse.

My uncle, reft his foul! when living,
Might have contriv'd me ways of thriving ;
Taught me with cyder to replenish
My vats, or ebbing tide of Rhenish.
So when for hock I drew prickt white-wine,
Swear't had the flavour, and was right wine.
Or fent me with ten pounds to Furni-
val's Inn, to some good rogue attorney;
Where now, by forging deeds, and cheating,
I'd found fome handsome ways of getting.
All this you made me quit, to follow
That sneaking whey-fac'd god Apollo ;
Sent me among a fiddling crew
Of folks, I'd never feen nor knew,
Calliope, and God knows who,
To add no more invectives to it,
You fpoil'd the youth, to make a poet.
In common juftice, Sir, there's no man

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That makes the whore, but keeps the woman.
Among all honest Christian people,

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Whoe'er breaks limbs, maintains the cripple.
The fum of all I have to fay,

Is, that you'll put me in fome way;
And your petitioner shall pray——
There's one thing more I had almost flipt,
But that may do as well in poftfcript:
My friend Charles Montague's preferr'd;
Nor would I have it long obferv'd,
That one moufe eats, while t'other starv'd.

Ad virum doctiffimum, et amicum, deminum

SAMUELEM SCHAW.

Cum theses de ictero pro gradu doctoris defenderit. НЕВЕ

PHOEBE potens fævis morbis vel lædere gentes

Læfas folerti vel relevare manu,

Afpice tu decus hoc noftrum, placidufque fatere
Indo mitus quantum profit in arte labor :

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Non ictrum pofthac peftemve minaberis orbi,
Fortius hic juvenis dum medicamen habet:
Mitte dehinc iras, et nato carmina dona;
Neglectum telum dejice, fume lyram.

TRANSLATION, BY MR. COOKE.

To my learned friend

SAMUEL SCHAW,

At taking his Doctor's Degree at Leyden, and defending a Thesis on the Jaundice.

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PHOEBUS! Deity whofe pow'rful hand
Can fpread difeafes thro' the joyful land,
Alike all powerful to relieve the pain,
And bid the groaning nations fimile again;
When Schaw, our pride, you fee, confefs you find
In him what art can do with labour join'd;
No more the world the jaundice threats shall fear
While he, the youth, our remedy, is near:
Supprefs thy rage, with verfe the fon inspire,
The dart neglected to affume the lyre.

PRESENTED TO THE KING,

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AT HIS ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF THE CONSPIRACY, 1696.

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YE careful angels, whom eternal Fate

Ordains on earth and human acts to wait,
Who turn with fecret pow'r this reftless ball,
And bid predeftin'd empires rife and fall,
Your facred aid religious monarchs own,
When first they merit then afcend the throne;
But tyrants dread you, left your juft decree
Transfer the pow'r and fet the people free:

See refcu'd Britain at your altars bow,
And hear her hymns your happy care avow;
That ftill her axes and her rods fupport

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The judge's frown, and grace the awful court;
That Law with all her pompous terror itands
To wreft the dagger from the traitors hands,
And rigid juftice reads the fatal word,
Poifes the balance first, then draws the fword.
Britain her safety to your guidance owns
That he can fep'rate parricides from fons ;
That, impious rage disarmed, she lives and reigns,
Her freedom kept by him who broke her chains.
And thou, great Minifter, above the reft
Of guardian fpirits be thou for ever bleft:
Thou who of old wert fent to Ifrael's court
With fecret aid, great David's strong support,
To mock the frantic rage of cruel Saul,
And ftrike the useless jav'lin to the wall,
Thy later care o'er William's temples held,
On Boyne's propitious banks, the heav'nly fhield,
When pow'r Divine did fov`reign right declare,
And cannons mark'd whom they were bid to spare.
Still, bleffed Angel, be thy care the fame;
Be William's life untouch'd as is his fame;
Let him own thine, as Britain owns his hand;
Save thou the king, as he has fav`d the land.
We angels forms, in pious monarchs view;
We rev'rence William, for he acts like you;
Like you, commiffion'd to chastise and bless,
He must avenge the world, and give it peace.
Indulgent fate our potent pray'r receives,
And ftill Britannia fmiles, and William lives:
The hero, dear to earth, by heav'n belov’d,
By troubles must be vex'd, by dangers prov'd;
His foes muft aid to make his fame complete,
And fix his throne fecure on their defeat.

So, tho' with fudden rage the tempelt comes,
Tho' the winds roar, and tho' the water foams,
Imperial Britain on the fea looks down,
And finiling fees her rebel fubject frown:

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