His Arguments in giddy Circles run
Still round and round, and end where they begun
So the poor Turnfpit, as the Wheel runs round,
The more he gains, the more he loses Ground.
No Parts diftinct, or general Scheme we find,
But one wild shapeless Monster of the Mind:
So when old Bruin teems, her Children fail
Of Limbs, Form, Figure, Features, Head or Tail;
Nay, though fhe licks the Ruins, all her Cares
Scarce mend the Lumps, and bring them out to Bears.
Ye Country Vicars, when you preach'in Town
A Turn at Paul's, to pay your Journey down,
If you would fhun the Sneer of every Prig,
Lay by the little Band, and rifty Wig:
But yet be fure, your proper Language know,
Nor talk as born within the Sound of Bow.
Speak not the Phrafe that Drury-lane affords,
Nor from 'Change-alley fteal a Cant of Words.
Coachmen will criticife your Style, nay further,
Porters will bring it in for wilful Murder;
The Dregs of the Canaille will look askew
To hear the Language of the Town from you;
Nay, my Lord May'r, with Merriment poffeft,
-Will break his Nap, and laugh among the reft,
And jog the Aldermen to hear the Jeft.
ALL-SOULS MALLAR D.
GRIFFIN, Buftard, Turkey, Capon,
Let other hungry Mortals gape on;
And on the Bones their Stomach fall hard,
But let All-Souls Men have their Mallard.
Oh! by the Blood of King Edward,
Oh! by the Blood of King Edward,
It was a fwopping, fwopping Mallard.
The Romans once admir'd a Gander
More than they did their chief Commander:
Because he fav'd, if some don't fool us,
The Place that's call'd from the Head of Tolus.
Oh! by the Blood, &c.
The Poets feign'd Jove turn'd a Swan,
But let them prove it, if they can:
As for our Proof 'tis not at all hard,
For it was a swapping, fwapping MALLARD.
Swapping he was from Bill to Eye;
Swapping he was from Wing to Thigh;
His Swapping Tool of Generation
Out-swapped all the wing'd Creation:
Oh! by the Blood, &c.
Therefore let us fing and dance a Galliard,
To the Remembrance of the MALLARD:
And as the Mallard dives in Pool,
Let us dabble, dive, and duck in Bowl.
Oh! by the Blood of King Edward,
Oh! by the Blood of King Edward,
It was a swopping fwopping Mallard.
In Honour of the Celebration of the BOAR'S HEAD, At QUEEN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD.
Tam Marti quam Mercurio.
Sing not of Roman or Grecian mad Games, The Pythian, Olympic, and fuch like hard Names; Your Patience awhile with Submiffion I beg, I ftrive but to honour the Feaft of Coll. Reg.
Derry down, down, down, derry down.
No Thracian Brawls at our Rites ere prevail,
We temper our Mirth with plain sober mild Ale;
The tricks of old Circe deter us from Wine;
Though we honour a Boar, we won't make ourselves
Great Milo was famous for flaying his Ox,
Yet he prov'd but an Afs in cleaving of Blocks:
But We had a Hero for all Things was fit,
Our Motto displays both his Valour and Wit.
Stout Hercules labour'd, and look'd mighty big,
When he flew the half-ftarv'd Erymanthian Pig,
But we can relate fuch a Stratagem taken,
That the ftouteft of Boars, could not fave his own
So dreadful this briftle-back'd Foe did
You'd have fworn he had got the wrong Pig by the Ear. But instead of avoiding the Mouth of the Beast,
He ramm'd in a Volume, and cry'd —
Græcum eft.
Derry down, &c.
In this gallant Action such Fortitude shewn is,
As proves him no Coward, nor tender Adonis;
No Armour but Logic; by which we may find
That Logic's the Bulwark of Body and Mind.
Derry down, &c.
Ye Squires that fear neither Hills nor rough Rocks,
And think you're full wife when you outwit a Fox;
Enrich your poor Brains and expose them no more,
Learn Greek, and feek Glory from hunting the Boar.
Derry down, &c.
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