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The works of Mr. Thomas Brown

Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings

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On Job newly travestied by Sir R--- B---re.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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On Job newly travestied by Sir R--- B---re.

Near Lethe's Banks, where the forgetful Stream
With lazy Motion creeps, seeming to dream,
Job, with his thoughtful Friends, discoursing sate,
Of all the dark mysterious Turns of Fate;
And much they urg'd why Heaven's partial Care,
The Good should punish, and the Bad did spare;
When, lo! a Shade, new landed, forward prest,
And thus himself to list'ning Job addrest.

139

Illustrious Ghost! (I come not to upbraid)
Oh! summon all thy Patience to thy Aid;
A Cheapside Quack, whose vile unhallow'd Pen,
With equal Licence murders Rhimes and Men,
In tumbling Fustian has burlesqued thy Page,
And fam'd Jack Dunton brings it on the Stage.
Was ever Man, the patient Job did cry,
So plagu'd with cursed Messengers as I?
All other Losses unconcern'd I bore,
But never heard such stabbing News before.
Who can behold the Issue of his Brain
Mangled by barbarous Hands, and not complain?
This scribbling Quack (his Fame I know too well
By Thousand Ghosts, whom he has sent to Hell)
Dull Satan's feebler Malice will refine,
And stab me thro' and thro' in every Line.
The Devil, more brave, did open War declare;
The fawning Poet kills, and speaks me fair.
Curs'd be the Wretch that taught him first to write,
And with lewd Pen and Ink indulg'd his Spight;
That fly blow'd the young Bard with buzzing Rhimes,
And fill'd his tender Ears with Grubstreet Chimes.
Curs'd be the Paper-mill his Muse employs,
Curs'd be the Sot who on his Skill relies.
Thus Job complain'd; but to forget his Grief,
In Lethe's Sov'raign Streams he sought Relief.