State Tracts Containing Many Necessary Observations and Reflections on the State of our Affairs at Home and Abroad; With some Secret Memoirs. By the Author of the Examiner [i.e. William Oldisworth] |
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To my generous Friends, and worthy Patriot,
Harlequin le Grand. The humble Memorial
of your little Scribler, Spy, Champion, Closet-Counsellor,
and Poet, D---l D'F---e.
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 | State Tracts |  |
To my generous Friends, and worthy Patriot, Harlequin le Grand. The humble Memorial of your little Scribler, Spy, Champion, Closet-Counsellor, and Poet, D---l D'F---e.
Ah! Sir, before your great Deserts were known
To th'Court, the S---e, the Country, or the Town;
When you and I met slyly at the Vine,
To spin out Legion Letters o'er our Wine,
I then foresaw your Malice and your Pride,
With Forty more aspiring Gifts beside,
Would raise you, by some Toil, in spite of Fate,
To be an Upstart-Prodigy of S---e:
But yet believ'd, when you so high had soar'd,
And to the pow'rful P---t you aim'd at, towr'd,
That you'd have stood more steady, than to fall
At once from such a lofty Pinacle:
But S---e-Preferments are uncertain Things,
Ruin sometimes from R---l Favour Springs;
But he that robs the Bees, must never fear their Stings.
To th'Court, the S---e, the Country, or the Town;
When you and I met slyly at the Vine,
To spin out Legion Letters o'er our Wine,
I then foresaw your Malice and your Pride,
With Forty more aspiring Gifts beside,
Would raise you, by some Toil, in spite of Fate,
To be an Upstart-Prodigy of S---e:
But yet believ'd, when you so high had soar'd,
And to the pow'rful P---t you aim'd at, towr'd,
That you'd have stood more steady, than to fall
At once from such a lofty Pinacle:
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Ruin sometimes from R---l Favour Springs;
But he that robs the Bees, must never fear their Stings.
I once stood fair to be a mighty Man,
You know the Time when who but Prophet Dan;
But I, alas! Impatient of Delay,
Unwisely play'd the Fool The Shortest Way;
Or else to be chief H---quin of S---e,
Had been my Fortune, as it prov'd your Fate.
Why not? For if it's possible to rise
By crafty Projects, and officious Lies;
'Tis plain, that I'm for any Station fit,
For who can doubt my Cunning, or my Wit,
Since I am Courtier, Poet, Prophet, and a Cit?
You know my Parts, for you have try'd 'em oft,
I've been the Tool that rais'd you up aloft;
The Offspring of my bold unbridl'd Muse,
My Flirts and Flights, my Hymns, and my Reviews;
My Legion-Letters scatter'd up and down,
And Cries of Pop'ry to amuse the Town;
But above all, that excellent Essay,
My Step to th'P---y The Shortest Way.
These were the useful Flams and Shams, thou know'st,
Which made thy Passage easy to thy Post;
For my keen Wit, with your ill Nature join'd,
Blacken'd the Wise, and did the Foolish blind:
Or, by the sacred Stile of my R---w,
There never had been Room for such as you.
You know the Time when who but Prophet Dan;
But I, alas! Impatient of Delay,
Unwisely play'd the Fool The Shortest Way;
Or else to be chief H---quin of S---e,
Had been my Fortune, as it prov'd your Fate.
Why not? For if it's possible to rise
By crafty Projects, and officious Lies;
'Tis plain, that I'm for any Station fit,
For who can doubt my Cunning, or my Wit,
Since I am Courtier, Poet, Prophet, and a Cit?
You know my Parts, for you have try'd 'em oft,
I've been the Tool that rais'd you up aloft;
The Offspring of my bold unbridl'd Muse,
My Flirts and Flights, my Hymns, and my Reviews;
My Legion-Letters scatter'd up and down,
And Cries of Pop'ry to amuse the Town;
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My Step to th'P---y The Shortest Way.
These were the useful Flams and Shams, thou know'st,
Which made thy Passage easy to thy Post;
For my keen Wit, with your ill Nature join'd,
Blacken'd the Wise, and did the Foolish blind:
Or, by the sacred Stile of my R---w,
There never had been Room for such as you.
Have I not rhim'd and rail'd, sworn, ly'd, and spy'd,
And all to pleasure your Revenge and Pride?
Have I not chang'd, by your Advice, my Name,
And us'd Ten Thousand Arts to spread your Fame?
Have I not travell'd Scotland in Disguise,
And fill'd the N---th with Reams of mighty Lies?
Dispatch'd Intelligence, that you might find
How freckl'd Caledonia stood inclin'd?
Did I not flatter them, and plainly prove,
Their Scabs were Saint-like Blessings from above?
And all to serve you at a Time of Need?
'Tis true, I own, I did it for my Bread.
And all to pleasure your Revenge and Pride?
Have I not chang'd, by your Advice, my Name,
And us'd Ten Thousand Arts to spread your Fame?
Have I not travell'd Scotland in Disguise,
And fill'd the N---th with Reams of mighty Lies?
Dispatch'd Intelligence, that you might find
How freckl'd Caledonia stood inclin'd?
Did I not flatter them, and plainly prove,
Their Scabs were Saint-like Blessings from above?
And all to serve you at a Time of Need?
'Tis true, I own, I did it for my Bread.
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How oft have I impos'd upon the Crowd,
And whisper'd T---n, 'till 'twas talk'd aloud,
That you your lucky Cards might better play,
And win the doubtful Game The Shortest Way?
And whisper'd T---n, 'till 'twas talk'd aloud,
That you your lucky Cards might better play,
And win the doubtful Game The Shortest Way?
But now our Projects are at once undone;
Tho' you may stand, 'tis Time for me to run;
But I'd advise you to proceed with Care,
Since all your Hopes is in a T***ft of H***r;
Forget not the unhappy Fate of Ninus,
'Tis dangerous trusting to a Mount of V---us.
Tho' you may stand, 'tis Time for me to run;
But I'd advise you to proceed with Care,
Since all your Hopes is in a T***ft of H***r;
Forget not the unhappy Fate of Ninus,
'Tis dangerous trusting to a Mount of V---us.
But noble Patron, e'er I take my Leave,
One special Favour I must humbly crave;
Whate'er you do, pray save me from the Fate,
That fell upon my Brother Spy of late;
Nouns! Who'd be Agent to a S****be of S****e?
But sure, Great Master, you're too much my Friend
To prove a Captain Porter in the End;
For tho' I'm thought to be a Saint by some,
I'm really unprepar'd for Martyrdom.
Besides, I vow and swear it makes me sweat,
To think so small a Volume as a Sheet,
Should all the Glories of my Life contain,
Wrote by that sad Historian, Paul L---in.
One special Favour I must humbly crave;
Whate'er you do, pray save me from the Fate,
That fell upon my Brother Spy of late;
Nouns! Who'd be Agent to a S****be of S****e?
But sure, Great Master, you're too much my Friend
To prove a Captain Porter in the End;
For tho' I'm thought to be a Saint by some,
I'm really unprepar'd for Martyrdom.
Besides, I vow and swear it makes me sweat,
To think so small a Volume as a Sheet,
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Wrote by that sad Historian, Paul L---in.
Therefore, if once you draw me in so far,
To make me fear a Tyburn Sledge or Car,
You'll find no foolish Gregg of Prophet Dan,
For I shall turn the Tables, if I can,
And hang that Master, that has hang'd his Man.
To make me fear a Tyburn Sledge or Car,
You'll find no foolish Gregg of Prophet Dan,
For I shall turn the Tables, if I can,
And hang that Master, that has hang'd his Man.
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