Nay more I gave a loving wife,
To be the folace of his life;
A fair one too. (Jove fwears and vows
He'd gladly club for such a spouse:
For Jove we know would now and then,
By way of frolick, act like men)
The very being of a ftate
Confifts of fmall, as well as great;
From firft to laft there must be ranks ;
Man's bleft in all, yet gives no thanks:
To every one Jove's bounty flows;
To these bright honours, wealth to thofe :
And they who dwell in humble cot
May boast indeed the happiest lot:
Inftead of grandeur, pomp, and wealth,
I give them mirth, content, and health:
Nay some have still a luckier hit,
As country fquire, and London cit,
Great appetites, and little wit.
What would ungrateful mortals have?
How dare they fay, Jove nothing gave?
To please mankind's no eafy tafk;
Give e'er fo much, they've more to ask.
OD Alexander, it was faid,
Like
Like mortal man, lay fick in bed: Without-'tis faid, without
How can a fabulist appear?
Once on a day- once on a night-
Time out of mind. —are ours of right.
So far digreft, let's retrograde,
Like others of the rhyming trade,
And tell our story as we can-
This fon of Jove was but a man :
In bed we left him, and no doubt,
You long to know his ail:
The gout! are kings tormented thus ?
Have they infirmities like us?
Why not? one clay makes up our frame;
And kings and fubjects are the fame.
It happen'd, where our god was fick,
That on the carpet lay a stick;
Yes, a crabstick by chance lay there,
No matter how, or whence, or where.
The wanted stick was valued much,
And foon was fashion'd into crutch.
And now the monarch's dear fupport,
He thinks himself, like fome at court,
Of fuch importance to the state,
All must on him obfequious wait.
Such merit never can be flighted;
And to be fure he will be knighted.
And then aloud how fame will blab,
That he is dubb'd Sir Broomstick Crab!
Favour at court, I've often read,
Intoxicates the wifest head :
If fo, ye courtiers, by your leave,
How muft a fimpleton behave?
Sir Crab now hopes to be his
Since he fupplies the fceptre's place;
For if a fceptre's really good,
Be it of filver, gold, or wood,
'Tis not the matter which we prize,
In merit all the difference lies.
Merit I have no doubt, or why
Should this great king on me rely?
Laft night, his generals around him
Had left him all just as they found him;
But with my help the god-like man
Of future conquefts form'd the plan;
Trac'd in the fand, in cafe of need,
How to fall back, and when proceed;
Here we make war; there peace proclaim;
With us great folks 'tis all the fame.
Yet we'll purfue an honeft plan,
And fix the limits-if we can.
But who fhall check our bold career?
Ambition knows of no barrier:
Not rapid Ganges, deep and wide,
Its bordering kingdoms can divide:
If so, these kingdoms all fhall prove,
What 'tis t' oppose the fon of Jove.
Thus, whilft our new-made courtier fed
The wild chimera in his head,
Some reft the gouty hero gains;
He finds a respite from his pains;
And growing better every day,
The useless stick is thrown away.
By this example warning take,
Ye courtiers! ye who dream awake :
Court-favours are precarious things;
The wind will change-and fo may kings.
N angry mood Jove once, they fay,
(That god comes often in my way)
Vow'd he'd chaftife a certain bard,
For want of reverence and regard :
What! Jupiter have paffions then?
Read Homer, and your gods are men.
A thing call'd poet (what his name,
Or who he is, or whence he came,
It matters not) would have his joke,
Of gods irreverently spoke;
And to enhance his fund of fin,
With Jove himfelf muft needs begin.
Hafte, Vulcan, to thy forge; and fetch
That bolt doom'd for the greatest wretch.
But ftay-bring with thee great and small;
In one dread heap I'll lanch them all.
A dire example he shall prove
To all fuch bards as fneer at Jove.
Vulcan his orders ftrait obey'd-
The whole creation shakes difmay'd;
Redoubl'd thunder roars aloud,
And from the thick collected cloud
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