The Captain's honest, Sirs, and that's enough, As men from Jayls to execution go; For hung with deadly fins I fee the wall, And shake all o'er, like a difcover'd fpy. 279 Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine: Charge them with Heav'n's Artill'ry, bold Divine! From fuch alone the Great rebukes endure, Whofe Satire's facred, and whofe rage fecure: 'Tis mine to wash a few light stains, but theirs To deluge fin, and drown a Court in tears. 285 Howe'er what's now Apocrypha, my Wit, In time to come, may pass for Holy Writ. NOTES. VER. 274. For hung with dead'y fins] The Room hung with old Tapestry, reprefenting the feven deadly fins. P. VOL. IV. U |