His Swopping Tool of Generation
Out-fwopped 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 fwopping fwopping Mallard.

A SONG

SONG,

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 Feast of Coll. Reg.

Derry down, down, down, derry down.

No Thracian Brawls at our Rites ère 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 wont make ourfelves
Swine
Derry down, &c.

Great Milo was famous for slaying 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.

Derry down &c.

Stout Hercules labour'd, and look'd mighty big,
When he flew the half-ftarv'd Erymanthian Pig,
But we can relate fuch a ftratagem taken,

That the ftouteft of Boars, could not fave his own Bacon.

So dreadful this briftle-back'd Foe did appear,
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 Voluine, and cry'd-Græcum eft.

Derry down, &c.

In this gallant action fuch fortitude fhewn is,
As proves him no Coward, nor tender Adonis
No armour but Logic; by which we may
That Logic's the Bulwark of body and Mind.

find

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

EPI

EPIGRAM on an EPIGRAM

Ο

I

NE Day in Chrift-church Meadows walking,
Of Poetry, and fuch things talking,
Says Ralph, a merry Wag,

An EPIGRAM, if right and good,

In all it's circumstances shou'd
Be like a Jelly-Bag.

Your Simile, I own, is new,

But how do'ft make it out quoth Hugb?
Quoth Ralph, I'll tell thee Friend;

Make it at Top both wide and fit

To hold a Budget-full of wit,

And point it at the End

*N. B. This Epigram is printed from the original Manuscript, preserved in the ARCHIVES of the JELLY-BAG SOCIETY.

AN

EPISTLE to Mr. ROBERT LOWTA

In Imitation of HORACE, Book ii. Epift. 197

By the late Mr. CHRISTOPHER PITT,

IS faid, dear Sir, no Poets please the town,

'Twho drink mere Water, though from Helicon

For in cold blood they feldom boldly think;
Their Rhymes are more infipid than their drink.
Not great Apollo could the train infpire,

Till generous Bacchus help'd to fan the Fire.
Warm'd by two Gods at once, they drink and write

Rhyme all the Day, and fuddle all the night.

と

Homer, fays Horace, nods in many a place,

But hints, he nodded oftner o'er the Glafs.

Infpir'd with Wine old Ennius fung and thought,
With the fame fpirit, that his heroes fought.
And me from Fonfon's Tavern-laws divine,
That Bard was no great enemy to Wine.
Twas from the bottle King deriv'd his Wit,
Drank till he could not talk, and then he writ.
Let no coit'd Serjeant touch the facred Juice,
But leave it to the Bards for better Ufe:
Let the grave Judges too the glafs forbear,
Who never fing and dance but once a year.

This