Wishes to a godson with other miscellany poems. By B. M. [i.e. Bernard Mandeville] |
 |
The Speech of Neptune, design'd for the same.
|
 | Wishes to a godson |  |
The Speech of Neptune, design'd for the same.
Who first sat reaching a long time,To fetch up some tough brackish slime;
Which from his Lungs with much ado,
He in the shape of Oysters threw.
30
I've that to say, which is not common;
For tho' set Speeches in our calling,
Are not much used, yet a Tarpaulin
May be as knowing as another;
And being summon'd by my Brother,
Th'Eldest of Three, that sits down there,
In that great stately Elbow-Chair;
Whose frame, 'tis true, 's not worth a rush,
But as 'tis lined with Crimson-Plush,
That came from Flanders, as I take it,
Flanders; I! Flanders, there they make it.—
Quoth Jove quite tired; if you'll go on
For God's sake let my Chair alone;
Then frown'd at him: But all in vain,
For th'other loath to break the Chain,
31
'Twas to Bombard so fine a City;
As Brussels D' Sounds, what's that to us,
Quoth Jove, come to the business;
Those sawcy Giants, plague confound 'em,
What must we do? Quoth Neptune, drownd 'em.
They're damn'd unlucky Dogs; I've thought
All Night upon 'em, and so brought
Three special Councils for your ease,
Of which the first I think is this;
That a strict Order may be given,
That Children be a Bed at Seven;
The Second, which in my poor Sense,
Is of the greatest Consequence.
Is—stay—I say, the Second—rot it,
The Devil's in me—I forgot it;
32
And, what's come of 'em I don't know;
Both lost, I swear, and it's in vain,
To study—if they come again
I'll tell you.—Momus scratch'd his Head,
Look'd upon Jove and cry'd: Oh sad!
Both lost! what cursed thing it is,
Wits have no better Memories!
| Wishes to a godson | |