 | Miscellanies In Prose And Verse |  |
To the Quidnuncs.
So wonderful wise, you are growing of late,That of nothing you chat, but Intrigues of the State:
Of Austrian Schemes, and of Treaties of Seville,
Like Fanatick of old, of the Pope, and the Devil.
What avails it to us, how our Minister rules;
Who buys, and who sells; who are Knaves, and who Fools?
Since the End of all Governors still is the same,
For the Publick to stake, whilst they play the Game,
361
Which are best, our new French, or our old Friends, the Dutch.
This Isle, God be prais'd, can ne'er want Good Allies,
Whilst the Farmer pays Land-tax, and Maltster Excise.
The Balance of Europe we still wisely hold,
With their Int'rests in one Scale, in t'other our Gold.
| Miscellanies In Prose And Verse | |