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YE lords and commons, men of wit

And pleasure about town,
Read this, ere you translate one bit
Of books of high renown.

Beware of Latin authors all!

Nor think your verses sterling, Though with a golden pen you scrawl, And scribble in a berlin:

For not the desk with silver nails,
Nor bureau of expense,
Nor standish well japann'd, avails
To writing of good sense.

Hear how a ghost in dead of night,
With saucer eyes of fire,

In woful wise did sore affright
A wit and courtly 'squire.

Rare imp of Phoebus, hopeful youth!

Like puppy tame, that uses

To fetch and carry in his mouth

The works of all the Muses.

Ah! why did he write poetry,
That hereto was so civil,

And sell his soul for vanity
To rhyming and the devil?

A desk he had of curious work,
With glittering studs about ;-
Within the same did Sandys lurk,
Though Ovid lay without.

Now, as he scratch'd to fetch up thought,
Forth popp'd the sprite so thin,
And from the keyhole bolted out
All upright as a pin.

With whiskers, band, and pantaloon,
And ruff compos'd most duly,
This 'squire he dropp'd his pen full soon,
While as the light burnt bluely.

Ho! master Sam, quoth Sandys' sprite,
Write on, nor let me scare ye;
Forsooth, if rhymes fall not in right,
To Budgel seek, or Carey*,

I hear the beat of Jacob's drums,
Poor Ovid finds no quarter!
See first the merry P― comes
In haste without his garter.

Then lords and lordlings, 'squires and knights,
Wits, witlings, prigs, and peers:

Garth at St. James's, and at White's,

Beats up for volunteers.

*Henry Carey, a teacher of music and a dramatic writer, but more particularly distinguished as the author and composer of the famous loyal song of "God save the King!" He was remarked for a facetiousness of manners, which rendered his company, in general, very desirable; but was at last reduced to circumstances of such distress, that, in a fit of desperation, Oct. 4, 1743, he laid violent hands on himself, and put a period to a life which had been led without reproach. N.

What Fenton will not do, nor Gay,
Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan,
Tom Burnet or Tom D'Urfey may,,
John Dunton, Steele, or any one.

If justice Philips' costive head
Some frigid rhymes disburses:
They shall like Persian tales be read,
And glad both babes and nurses.

Let Warwick's Muse with Ash-t join,
And Ozel's with lord Hervey's,

Tickell and Addison combine,
"And Pope translate with Jervis.

L-himself, that lively lord,
Who bows to every lady,
Shall join with F- in one accord,
And be like Tate and Brady.

Ye ladies, too, draw forth your pen
I pray, where can the hurt lie?
Since you have brains as well as men,
As witness lady Wortley.

Now, Tonson, list thy forces all,

Review them and tell noses:

For to poor Ovid shall befal
A strange metamorphosis;

A metamorphosis more strange

Than all his books can vapour

"To what (quoth 'squire) shall Ovid change?" Quoth Sandys, "To waste paper.”


CLOSE to the best known author UMBRA sits,
The constant index to all Button's wits.

"Who's here?" cries UMBRA: "only Johnson"-"O!
Your slave," and exit; but returns with Rowe:
"Dear Rowe, let's sit and talk of tragedies:"
Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies.
Then up comes Steele: he turns upon his heel,
And in a moment fastens upon Steele ;
But cries as soon, "Dear Dick, I must be gone,
For, if I know his tread, here's Addison."
Says Addison to Steele, ""Tis time to go:"
Pope to the closet steps aside with Rowe.
Poor UMBRA, left in this abandon'd pickle,
E'en sits him down, and writes to honest Tickell.
Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam;
Know, sense like charity "begins at home."



To the Tune of "Chevy Chace."

To lordlings proud I tune my lay,

Who feast in bow'r or hall:
Though dukes they be, to dukes I say,
That pride will have a fall.

This very humorous ballad was occasioned by a quarrel between Nicholas lord Lechmere and sir John Guise, bart.

Now, that this same it is right sooth,
Full plainly doth appear,

From what befel John duke of Guise,
And Nic of Lancastere.

When Richard Cœur de Lion reign'd,
(Which means a lion's heart)
Like him his barons rag'd and roar'd:
Each play'd a lion's part.

A word and blow was then enough:
Such honour did them prick,
If you but turn'd your cheek, a cuff;
And if your a-se, a kick.

Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose;
At ev'ry turn fell to't;"
Come near, they trod upon your toes;
They fought from head to foot.

Of these the duke of Lancastere
Stood paramount in pride;

He kick'd, and cuff'd, and tweak'd, and trod
His foes and friends beside.

Firm on his front his beaver sate;

So broad, it hit his chin;

For why? he deemed no man his mate,
And fear'd to tan his skin.

Lord Lechmere had been representative in parliament for Cockermouth, and one of the managers against Sacheverell; he was an eminent lawyer, a staunch whig, and, having been removed from his office of queen's counsel in June 1711, was a constant opposer of her ministry. He was appointed solicitor general in Oct. 1714; chancellor of the duchy court of Lancaster for life in June 1717; attorney-general in March 1717-18; and was created baron Lechmere of Evesham, Sept. 8, 1721 dying June 18, 1727, the title became extinct.-Sir John Guise, who represented the county of Gloucester in several parliaments, died Nov. 6, 1732. N,

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