:

No Hurt shall come to you, or yours;
But, for that Pack of churlish Boors,
Not fit to live on Chriftian Ground,
They and their Houses shall be drown'd;
Whilft you shall fee your Cottage rise,
And grow a Church before your Eyes.
They scarce had fpoke; when, fair and foft,
The Roof began to mount aloft :
Aloft rose ev'ry Beam and Rafter
The heavy Wall climb'd flowly after
The Chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Became a Steeple with a Spire.
The Kettle to the Top was hoist,
And there stood faften'd to a joift;
But with the upside down, to shew
Its Inclination for below
In vain; for a fuperior Force,
Apply'd at Bottom, stops its Courfe,
Doom'd ever in Suspence to dwell;
'Tis now no Kettle, but a Bell
A wooden Jack, which had almost
Loft, by Disuse, the Art to Roalt,
A fudden Alteration feels,
Increas'd by new Intestine Wheels;
And, what exalts the Wonder more,
The Number made the Motion flow'r.
The Flyer, tho't had Leaden Feet,
Turn'd round so quick, you searce could feet
But flacken'd by fome fecret Pow'r
Now hardly moves an Inch an Hour
The Jack and Chimney near ally'd,
Had never left each other's Side;
The Chimney to a Steeple grown,
The Jack would not be left alone;
But up against the Steeple rear'd,
Became a Clock, and still adher'd

7

And ftill its Love to Houshold Cares,
By a Shrill Voice, at Noon declares,
Warning the Cook-Maid not to burn
That Roaft-Meat which it cannot turn...
The Groaning-Chair began to Crawl,
Like a huge Snail, along the Wall;
There stuck aloft, in publick View,
And, with small Change, a Pulpit grew..
The Porringers, that in a Row
Hung high, and made a glitt'ring show,
To a lefs noble Substance chang'd,
Were now but leathern Buckets rang'd...
The Ballads pasted on the Wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll
Fair-Rosamond and Robin-Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood;
Now seem'd to look abundance better;
Improv'd in Picture, Size and Letter;
And, high in Order plac'd, describe
The Heraldry of ev'ry Tribe.
A Beadstead of the antique Mode,
Compact of Timber many a Load;
Such as our Ancestors did use,
Was metamorphos'd into Pews
Which still their ancient Nature keep,..
By Lodging Folks dispos'd to Sleep.
The Cottage, by fuch Feats as these,
Grown to a Church by just Degrees,
The Hermits then defir'd their Hoft
To ask for what he fancy'd moft..
Philemon having paus'd a while,
Return'd 'em Thanks in homely Stile:..
Then faid, my House is grown to fine,
Methinks, I still would callitmine:
I'm old, and fain wou'd live at Eafe,
Make me the Parfon, if you please...

:

He

He spoke, and presently he feels
His Grazier's Coat fall down his Heels:
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each Arm a Pudding-Sleeve:
His Waftcoat to a Caffock grew,
And both affum'd a Sable Hue;
But being old, continu'd just
As Thread-bare, and as full of Dust..
His Talk was now of Tythes and Dues,
Could fmoak his Pipe, and read the News;
Knew how to preach old Sermons next,
Vampt in the Preface and the Text
At Christnings well could act his Part,
And had the Service all by Heart;
Wish'd Women might have Children faft,
And thought whose Som had farrow'd laft;
Against Dissenters would repine,
And stood up firm for Right Diving
Found his Head fill'd with many a System.
But Classic Authors he ne'er miss'd 'em.
Thus having furbish'd upa Parfon,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their Farce on:
Instead of Home-fpun Coifs were feen
Good Pinners edg'd with Colberteen;
Her Petticoat transform'd a-pace,
Became black Sattin flounc'd with Lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down,
Twas Madam, in her Grogram Gown.
Philemon was in great furprize,
And hardly could believe his Eyes,
Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim
And the admir'd as much at him.
Thus happy, in their Change of Life,
Were feveral Years this Man and Wife;
When on a Day, which prov'd their last,
Discaurfing on old Stories paft,

They

They went by Chance, amidst their Talk,
To the Church-yard to take a Walk;
When Baucis hastily cry'd out,
My Dear, I see your Fore-head fprout,
Sprout, quoth the Man, What's this you tell us?
I hope you don't believe me Jealous :
But yet, methinks I feel it true;
And truly, you's is buding too-
Nav, _ now I cannot ftir my Foot;
It feels, as if'twere taking Root
Description would but tire my Mufe:
In short they both were turned to Yems.
Old Goodman Dobson of the Green
Remembers, he the Trees has seen;
He'll talk of them from Noon till Night,
And goes with Folks to shew the Sight
On Sundays, after Ev'ning Pray'r,
He gathers all the Parish there,
Points out the Place of either Yew;
Here Baucis, there Philemon grew:
Till once a Parson of our Town,
To mend his Barn, cut Baucis down:
At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd,
How much the other Tree was griev'd..
Grew Scrubby, died a-top, was stunted,
So the next Parson stubb'd and burnt it.

CXX.

The Bleffings of Religion.

CARUS by hardy Epicurus taught,

From Greece to Rome his impious System brought; Then War with Heav'n he did insulting Wage, And breath'd against the Gods immortal Rage:

See

See, he exclaims, the fource of all our Woe!
Our Fears and Suffrings from Religion flow.
We grant a Train of Mischiefs oft proceeds
From fuperftitious Rites, and penal Creeds;
But view Religion in her Native Charms:
Difperfing Bleflings with indulgent Arms,
From her fair Eyes what heav'nly Rays are spread?
What blooming Joys smile round her blissful Head?
Offspring Divine! by thee we bless the Cause,
Who form'd the World, and rules it by his Laws;
His Independent being we adore,
Extol his Goodness, and revere his Pow'r.
Our wondring Eyes his high Perfections view,
The lofty Contemplation we purfue,
Till ravish'd we the great Idea find,
Shining in bright Imprestions on our Mind.
Inspir'd by thee, Guest of Celestial Race,
With generous Love, we Human-kind embrace;
We Provocations unprovok'd receive.
Patient of wrong, and easie to forgive;
Protect the Orphan, plead the Widow's Cause,
Nor deviate from the Line unerring Justice draws.
Thy Lustre, blest Effulgence, can dispel
The Clouds of Error, and the Gloom of Hell;
Can to the Soul impart Etherial Light,
Give Life Divine, and Intellectual Sight:
Before our ravish'd Eyes thy Beams display,
The opening Scenes of Bliss, and endless Day;
By which incited we with Ardour rife,
Scorn this inferior Ball, and claim the Skies.
Tyrants to thee a change of Nature owe,
Break all their Tortures, and indulgent grow.
Ambitious Conquerors in their mad Career,
Check'd by thy Voice, lay down the Sword and Spear.
The boldest Champions of Impiety,
Scornful of Heav'n, subdu'd or won by thee,
Before thy hallow'd Altars bend the Knee.

}