he went no farther for his learning than the index of Hebrew names and etymologies, which is printed at the end of some English bibles. If Achitophel signify the Brother of a Fool, the author of that poem will pass with his readers for the next of kin: and, perhaps, it is the relation that makes the kindness. Whatever the verses are, buy them up, I beseech you, out of pity; for I hear the Conventicle is shut up, and the brother of Achitophel out of service.

Now footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a purse for a member of their society who has had his livery pulled over his ears; and even Protestant socks are bought up among you, out of veneration to the name. A dissenter in poetry from sense and English, will make as good a Protestant rhymer as a dissenter from the church of England a Protestant parson: besides, if you encourage a young beginner, who knows but he may elevate his style a little above the vulgar epithets of Profane and Saucy Jack, and Atheistic scrib. bler, with which he treats me, when the fit of enthusiasm is strong upon him? by which well-mannered and charitable expressions I was certain of his sect before I knew his name. What would you have more of a man? He has damned me in your cause from Genesis to the Revelations; and has half the texts of both the Testaments against me, if you will be so civil to yourselves as to take him for your interpreter, and not to take them for Irish witnesses. After all, perhaps you will tell me that you retained him only for the opening of your cause, and that your main lawyer is yet

behind now, if it so happen he meet with no more reply than his predecessors, you may either conclude that I trust to the goodness of my cause, or fear my adversary, or disdain him, or what yon please; for the short on't is, it is indifferent to your humble servant whatever your party says or thinks of him.

THE MEDAL.

A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION.

Per Graium populos, mediæque per Elidis urbem,
1bat ovans, Divumque sibi poscebat honorem.

VIRG.

}

Of all our antic sights and pageantry, Which English idiots run in crowds to see, The Polish Medal bears the prize alone, A monster, more the favourite of the Town Than either fairs or theatres have shown. Never did Art so well with Nature strive, Nor ever idol seem'd so much alive; So like the man, so golden to the sight, So base within, so counterfeit and light: One side is fill'd with title and with face, And, lest the King should want a regal place, On the reverse a tower the town surveys, O'er which our mounting sun his beams displays. The word, pronounc'd aloud by shrieval voice, Latamur, which, in Polish, is Rejoice.

The day, month, year, to the great act are join'd, And a new canting holiday design'd.

1 Mr. Malone describes this medal as bearing on one side the head of Shaftesbury; on the reverse, a view of the city of London with a rising sun; and in the exergue the word Latamur, with the date 24th Nov. 1681.

a

Five days he sat, for every cast and look,
Four more than God to finish Adam took :
But who can tell what essence angels are,
Or how long Heav'n was making Lucifer?
O, could the style that copied every grace,
And plough'd such furrows for an eunuch-face,
Could it have form'd his ever-changing will,
The various piece had tir'd the graver's skill?
A martial hero first, with early care,
Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war;
A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man,
So young his hatred to his prince began
Next this, how wildly will ambition steer!
A vermin, wriggling in the' usurper's ear;
Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold,
He cast himself into the saint-like mould;
Groan'd, sigh'd, and pray'd, while godliness was gain, ‹
The loudest bagpipe of the squeaking train.
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes,
His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise :
There split the saint; for hypocritic zeal
Allows no sins but those it can conceal.
Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope:
Saints must not trade, but they may interlope.
The' ungodly principle was all the same,
But a gross cheat betrays his partner's game.
Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and slack;
His nimble wit outran the heavy pack:
Yet still he found his fortune at a stay,

Whole droves of blockheads choking up his way:
They took, but not rewarded, his advice;
Villain and wit exact a double price.

Pow'r was his aim; but thrown from that pretence,
The wretch turn'd loyal in his own defence,
And malice reconcil'd him to his prince.

Him, in the anguish of his soul, he serv'd,
Rewarded faster still than he deserv'd.
Behold him now exalted into trust,
His counsels oft convenient, seldom just.
E'en in the most sincere advice he gave,
He had a grudging still to be a knave.
The frauds he learn'd in his fanatic years,
Made him uneasy in his lawful gears:
At best, as little honest as he could,
And, like white witches, mischievously good.
To his first bias, longingly, he leans,

And rather would be great by wicked means.
Thus, fram'd for ill, he loos'd our triple hold,
Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold:

From hence those tears, that Ilium of our woe,
Who helps a powerful friend, fore-arms a foe.
What wonder if the waves prevail so far,
When he cut down the banks that made the bar?
Seas follow but their nature, to invade;

But he by art our native strength betray'd.
So Samson to his foe his force confest,

And, to be shorn, lay slumbering on her breast;
But when this fatal counsel, found too late,
Expos'd its author to the public hate;
When his just sovereign, by no impious way,
Could be seduc'd to arbitrary sway;
Forsaken of that hope, he shifts his sail,
Drives down the current with a popular gale,
And shews the fiend confess'd, without a veil,
He preaches to the crowd that power is lent,
But not convey'd, to kingly government;
That claims successive bear no binding force;
That coronation-oaths are things of course: