Poems, Fables, and Plays :: :: University of Virginia Library

Poems, Fables, and Plays

By Edward Moore

Moore, Edward (1712-1757)

[dedication]

[section]

FABLES FOR THE LADIES.

II.

III.

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THE DISCOVERY,

AN ODE

To the Right Honourable HENRY PELHAM.

—Vir bonus est quis?
Hor.

I

Take wing, my muse! from shore to shore
Fly, and that happy place explore
Where Virtue deigns to dwell;
If yet she treads on British ground,
Where can the fugitive be found,
In city, court, or cell?

II

Not there, where wine and frantic mirth
Unite the sensual sons of earth
In Pleasure's thoughtless train;
Nor yet where sanctity's a show,
Where souls nor joy nor pity know,
For human bliss or pain.

III

Her social heart alike disowns
The race, who shunning crowds and thrones,
In shades sequester'd doze;
Whose sloth no generous care can wake,
Who rot like weeds on Lethe's lake,
In senseless, vile repose.

IV

With these she shuns the factious tribe,
Who spurn the yet unoffer'd bribe,
And at corruption lour;
Waiting till Discord Havock cries,
In hopes, like Catiline, to rise
On anarchy to pow'r!

V

Ye Wits, who boast from ancient times,
A right divine to scourge our crimes,
Is it with You she rests?
No. Int'rest, slander are your views,
And Virtue now, with every muse,
Flies your unhallow'd breasts.

VI

There was a time, I heard her say,
Ere females were seduc'd by play,
When Beauty was her throne;
But now, where dwelt the Soft Desires,
The Furies light forbidden fires,
To Love and Her unknown.

VII

From these th' indignant goddess flies,
And where the spires of Science rise,
A while suspends her wing;
But pedant Pride and Rage are there,
And Faction tainting all the air,
And pois'ning every spring.

VIII

Long through the sky's wide pathless way
The muse observ'd the wand'rer stray,
And mark'd her last retreat;
O'er Surry's barren heaths she flew,
Descending like the silent dew
On Esher's peaceful seat.

IX

There she beholds the gentle Mole,
His pensive waters calmly roll,
Amidst Elysian ground:
There through the windings of the grove
She leads her family of Love,
And strews her sweets around.

X

I hear her bid the Daughters fair
Oft to yon gloomy grott repair,
Her secret steps to meet;
Nor Thou, she cries, these shades forsake,
But come, lov'd Consort, come and make
The husband's bliss compleat.

XI

Yet not too much the soothing ease
Of rural indolence shall please
My Pelham's ardent breast;
The man whom Virtue calls her own
Must stand the pillar of a throne,
And make a nation blest.

XII

Pelham! 'tis thine with temp'rate zeal
To guard Britannia's public weal,
Attack'd on every part:
Her fatal discords to compose,
Unite her friends, disarm her foes,
Demands Thy head and heart.

XIII

When bold Rebellion shook the land,
Ere yet from William's dauntless hand
Her barbarous army fled;
When Valour droop'd, and Wisdom fear'd,
Thy voice expiring Credit heard,
And rais'd her languid head.

XIV

Now by thy strong assisting hand,
Fix'd on a rock I see her stand,
Against whose solid feet,
In vain, through every future age,
The loudest, most tempestuous rage,
Of angry war shall beat.

XV

And grieve not if the sons of Strife
Attempt to cloud thy spotless life,
And shade its brightest scenes;
Wretches, by kindness unsubdu'd,
Who see, who share the common good,
Yet cavil at the means.

XVI

Like these, the metaphysic crew,
Proud to be singular and new,
Think all they see deceit;
Are warm'd and cherish'd by the day,
Feel and enjoy the heav'nly ray,
Yet doubt of light and heat.

THE TRIAL OF SELIM the PERSIAN,

FOR DIVERS High Crimes and Misdemeanours.

The court was met; the pris'ner brought;
The council with instructions fraught;
And evidence prepar'd at large,
On oath, to vindicate the charge.

But first 'tis meet, where form denies
Poetic helps of fancy'd lies,
Gay metaphors, and figures fine,
And similies to deck the line;

'Tis meet (as we before have said)
To call description to our aid.

Begin we then (as first 'tis fitting)
With the three Chiefs in judgment sitting.

Above the rest, and in the chair,
Sat Faction with dissembled air;
Her tongue was skill'd in specious lies,
And murmurs, whence dissentions rise;
A smiling mask her features veil'd,
Her form the patriot's robe conceal'd;
With study'd blandishments she bow'd,
And drew the captivated crowd.

The next in place, and on the right,
Sat Envy, hideous to the sight;
Her snaky locks, her hollow eyes,
And haggard form forbad disguise;
Pale discontent, and sullen hate
Upon her wrinkled forehead sat;
Her left-hand, clench'd, her cheek sustain'd,
Her right (with many a murder stain'd)
A dagger clutch'd, in act to strike,
With starts of rage, and aim oblique.

Last on the left was Clamour seen,
Of stature vast, and horrid mein;
With bloated cheeks, and frantic eyes,
She sent her yellings to the skies;
Prepar'd with trumpet in her hand,
To blow sedition o'er the land.

With these, four more of lesser fame,
And humbler rank, attendant came;
Hypocrisy with smiling grace,
And Impudence with brazen face,
Contention bold, with iron lungs,
And Slander with her hundred tongues.

The walls in sculptur'd tale were rich,
And statues proud (in many a nich)
Of chiefs, who fought in Faction's cause,
And perish'd for contempt of laws.
The roof in vary'd light and shade,
The seat of Anarchy display'd.
Triumphant o'er a falling throne
(By emblematic figures known)
Confusion rag'd, and Lust obscene,
And Riot with distemper'd mein,

And Outrage bold, and Mischief dire,
And Devastation clad in fire.
Prone on the ground a martial maid
Expiring lay, and groan'd for aid;
Her shield with many a stab was pierc'd,
Her laurels torn, her spear revers'd;
And near her, crouch'd amidst the spoils,
A lion panted in the toils.

With look compos'd the pris'ner stood,
And modest pride. By turns he view'd
The court, the council, and the crowd,
And with submissive rev'rence bow'd.

Proceed we now, in humbler strains,
And lighter rhymes, with what remains.

Th' indictment grievously set forth,
That Selim, lost to patriot worth,
(In company with one Will P---t,
And many more, not taken yet)
In Forty-five, the royal palace
Did enter, and to shame grown callous,
Did then and there his faith forsake,
And did accept, receive, and take,

With mischievous intent and base,
Value unknown, a certain place.

He was a second time indicted,
For that, by evil zeal excited,
With learning more than layman's share,
(Which parsons want, and He might spare)
In letter to one Gilbert West,
He, the said Selim, did attest,
Maintain, support, and make assertion
Of certain points, from Paul's conversion;
By means whereof the said apostle
Did many an unbeliever jostle,
Starting unfashionable fancies,
And building truths on known romances.

A third charge ran, that knowing well
Wits only eat, as pamphlets sell,
He, the said Selim, notwithstanding,
Did fall to answ'ring, shaming, branding
Three curious Letters to the Whigs;
Making no reader care three figs
For any facts contain'd therein;
By which uncharitable sin

An author, modest and deserving,
Was destin'd to contempt and starving;
Against the king, his crown and peace,
And all the statutes in that case.

The pleader rose with brief full charg'd,
And on the pris'ner's crimes enlarg'd—
But not to damp the Muse's fire
With rhet'ric, such as courts require,
We'll try to keep the reader warm,
And sift the matter from the form.
Virtue and social love, he said,
And honour from the land were fled;
That patriots now, like other folks,
Were made the butt of vulgar jokes;
While Opposition dropp'd her crest,
And courted pow'r for wealth and rest.
Why some folks laugh'd, and some folks rail'd,
Why some submitted, some assail'd,
Angry or pleas'd—all solv'd the doubt
With who were in, and who were out.
The sons of Clamour grew so sickly,
They look'd for dissolution quickly;

Their weekly journals, finely written,
Were sunk in privies all besh—n;
Old-England, and the London-Evening,
Hardly a soul was found believing in,
And Caleb, once so bold and strong,
Was stupid now, and always wrong.

Ask ye whence rose this foul disgrace?
Why Selim has receiv'd a place,
And thereby brought the cause to shame;
Proving that people, void of blame,
Might serve their country and their king,
By making both the self-same thing.
By which the credulous believ'd,
And others (by strange arts deceiv'd)
That Ministers were sometimes right,
And meant not to destroy us quite.

That bart'ring thus in state affairs,
He next must deal in sacred wares,
The clergy's rights divine invade,
And smuggle in the gospel-trade,
And all this zeal to re-instate
Exploded notions, out of date;

Sending old rakes to church in shoals,
Like children, sniv'ling for their souls,
And ladies gay, from smut and libels,
To learn beliefs, and read their bibles;
Erecting conscience for a tutor,
To damn the present by the future.
As if to evils known and real
'Twas needful to annex ideal;
When all of human life we know
Is care, and bitterness, and woe,
With short transitions of delight,
To set the shatter'd spirits right.
Then why such mighty pains and care,
To make us humbler than we are?
Forbidding short-liv'd mirth and laughter,
By fears of what may come hereafter?
Better in ignorance to dwell;
None fear, but who believe a hell;
And if there should be one, no doubt,
Men of themselves would find it out.

But Selim's crimes, he said, went further,
And barely stopp'd on this side murther;

One yet remain'd to close the charge,
To which (with leave) he'd speak at large.
And first 'twas needful to premise,
That though so long (for reasons wise)
The press inviolate had stood,
Productive of the public good;
Yet still, too modest to abuse,
It rail'd at vice, but told not whose.
That great improvements, of late days,
Were made, to many an author's praise,
Who, not so scrupulously nice,
Proclaim'd the person with the vice,
Or gave, where vices might be wanted,
The name, and took the rest for granted.
Upon this plan, a Champion rose,
Unrighteous greatness to oppose,
Proving the man inventus non est,
Who trades in pow'r, and still is honest;
And (God be prais'd) he did it roundly,
Flogging a certain junto soundly.
But chief his anger was directed,
Where people least of all suspected;

And Selim, not so strong as tall,
Beneath his grasp appear'd to fall.
But Innocence (as people say)
Stood by, and sav'd him in the fray.
By her assisted, and one Truth,
A busy, prating, forward youth,
He rally'd all his strength anew,
And at the foe a Letter threw,
His weakest part the weapon found,
And brought him senseless to the ground.
Hence Opposition fled the field,
And Ign'rance with her sev'n-fold shield;
And well they might, for (things weigh'd fully)
The pris'ner, with his Whore and Bully,
Must prove for every foe too hard,
Who never fought with such a guard.

But Truth and Innocence, he said,
Would stand him here in little stead;
For they had evidence on oath,
That would appear too hard for both.

Of witnesses a fearful train
Came next, th' indictments to sustain;

Detraction, Hatred, and Distrust,
And Party, of all foes the worst
Malice, Revenge, and Unbelief,
And Disappointment, worn with grief,
Dishonour foul, unaw'd by shame,
And every fiend that vice can name.
All these in ample form depos'd
Each fact the triple charge disclos'd,
With taunts and gibes of bitter sort,
And asking vengeance from the court.

The pris'ner said in his defence,
That he indeed had small pretence
To soften facts so deeply sworn,
But would for his offences mourn;
Yet more he hop'd than bare repentance
Might still be urg'd to ward the sentence.
That he had held a place some years,
He own'd with penitence and tears,
But took it not from motives base,
Th' indictment there mistook the case;
And though he had betray'd his trust
In being to his country just,

Neglecting Faction and her friends,
He did it not for wicked ends,
But that complaints and feuds might cease,
And jarring parties mix in peace.

That what he wrote to Gilbert West
Bore hard against him, he confess'd;
Yet there they wrong'd him; for the fact is,
He reason'd for Belief, not Practice;
And people might believe, he thought,
Though Practice might be deem'd a fault.
He either dreamt it, or was told,
Religion was rever'd of old,
That it gave breeding no offence,
And was no foe to wit and sense;
But whether this was truth, or whim,
He would not say; the doubt with him
(And no great harm he hop'd) was how
Th' enlighten'd world would take it now;
If they admitted it, 'twas well,
If not, he never talk'd of hell,
Nor even hop'd to change men's measures,
Or frighten ladies from their pleasures.

One accusation, he confess'd,
Had touch'd him more than all the rest;
Three Patriot-Letters, high in fame,
By him o'erthrown, and brought to shame.
And though it was a rule in vogue,
If one man call'd another rogue,
The party injur'd might reply,
And on his foe retort the lie;
Yet what accru'd from all his labour,
But foul dishonour to his neighbour?
And he's a most unchristian elf,
Who others damns to save himself.
Besides, as all men knew, he said,
Those Letters only rail'd for bread;
And hunger was a known excuse
For prostitution and abuse;
A guinea, properly apply'd,
Had made the Writer change his side;
He wish'd he had not cut and carv'd him,
And own'd, he should have bought, not starv'd him.

The court, he said, knew all the rest,
And must proceed as they thought best;

Only he hop'd such resignation
Would plead some little mitigation;
And if his character was clear
From other faults (and friends were near,
Who would, when call'd upon, attest it)
He did in humblest form request it,
To be from punishment exempt,
And only suffer their contempt.

The pris'ner's friends their claim preferr'd,
In turn demanding to be heard.
Integrity and Honour swore,
Benevolence, and twenty more,
That he was always of their party,
And that they knew him firm and hearty.
Religion, sober dame, attended,
And, as she could, his cause befriended;
She said, 'twas since he came from college,
She knew him, introduc'd by Knowledge;
The man was modest and sincere,
Nor farther could she interfere.
The Muses begg'd to interpose,
But Envy with loud hissings rose,

And call'd them women of ill fame,
Liars, and prostitutes to shame;
And said, to all the world 'twas known,
Selim had had them every one.
The pris'ner blush'd, the Muses frown'd,
When silence was proclaim'd around,
And Faction, rising with the rest,
In form the pris'ner thus address'd.

You, Selim, thrice have been indicted,
First, that by wicked pride excited,
And bent your country to disgrace,
You have receiv'd, and held a Place.
Next, Infidelity to wound,
You've dar'd, with arguments profound,
To drive Freethinking to a stand,
And with Religion vex the land.
And lastly, in contempt of right,
With horrid and unnat'ral spite,
You have an Author's fame o'erthrown,
Thereby to build and fence your own.

These crimes successive, on your trial,
Have met with proofs beyond denial;

To which yourself, with shame, conceded,
And but in mitigation pleaded.
Yet that the justice of the court
May suffer not in men's report,
Judgment a moment I suspend,
To reason as from friend to friend.

And first, that You, of all mankind,
With Kings and Courts should stain your mind!
You! who were Opposition's lord!
Her nerves, her sinews, and her sword!
That You at last, for servile ends,
Should wound the bowels of her friends! —
Is aggravation of offence,
That leaves for mercy no pretence.
Yet more—For You to urge your hate,
And back the church, to aid the state!
For You to publish such a Letter!
You! who have known Religion better!
For You, I say, to introduce
The fraud again!—There's no excuse.
And last of all, to crown your shame,
Was it for You to load with blame

The writings of a Patriot-Youth,
And summon Innocence and Truth
To prop your cause?—Was this for You?—
But justice does your crimes pursue;
And sentence now alone remains,
Which thus, by Me, the court ordains.

“That you return from whence you came,
“There to be stript of all your fame
“By vulgar hands; That once a week
“Old-England pinch you till you squeak;
“That ribbald Pamphlets do pursue you,
“And Lies and Murmurs, to undo you,
“With every foe that Worth procures,
“And only Virtue's friends be Yours.”

Author of the Letters to the Whigs.

ODE TO GARRICK,

UPON The Talk of the Town.

When I said I would die a batchelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
Much Ado about Nothing.

I

No, no; the left-hand box, in blue;
There! don't you see her?—See her! Who?
Nay, hang me if I tell.
There's Garrick in the music-box!
Watch but his eyes; see there!—O, pox!
Your servant, Ma'moiselle!

II

But tell me, David, is it true?
Lord help us! what will some folks do?
How will they curse this stranger!
What! fairly taken in for life!
A sober, serious, wedded wife!
O fie upon you, Ranger!

III

The clergy too have join'd the chat;
“A papist—Has he thought of that?
“Or means he to convert her?”
Troth, boy, unless your zeal be stout,
The nymph may turn Your faith about,
By arguments experter.

IV

The ladies, pale and out of breath,
Wild as the witches in Macbeth,
Ask if the deed be done?
O, David! listen to my lay!
I'll prophecy the things they'll say;
For tongues, you know, will run.

V

“And pray, what other news d'ye hear?
“Marry'd!—But don't you think, my dear,
“He's growing out of fashion?
“People may fancy what they will,
“But Quin's the only actor still,
“To touch the tender passion.

VI

“Nay, madam, did you mind, last night,
“His Archer? Not a line on't right!
“I thought I heard some hisses.
“Good God! if Billy Mills, thought I,
“Or Billy Havard would but try,
“They'd beat him all to pieces.

VII

“'Twas prudent though to drop his Bayes—
“And (entre nous) the Laureat says,
“He hopes he'll give up Richard.
“But then, it tickles me to see,
“In Hastings, such a shrimp as he
“Attempt to ravish Pritchard.

VIII

“The fellow pleas'd me well enough
“In—what d'ye call it? Hoadley's stuff;
“There's something there like nature:
“Just so, in life, he runs about,
“Plays at bo-peep, now in, now out,
“But hurts no mortal creature.

IX

“And then there's Belmont to be sure—
“O ho! my gentle Neddy Moore!
“How does my good lord mayor?
“And have you left Cheapside, my dear?
“And will you write again next year,
“To shew your fav'rite player?

X

“But Merope, we own, is fine,
“Eumenes charms in every line;
“How prettily he vapours!
“So gay his dress, so young his look,
“One would have sworn 'twas Mr. Cook,
“Or Mathews, cutting capers.”

XI

Thus, David, will the ladies flout,
And councils hold at every rout,
To alter all your plays;
Yates shall be Benedict next year,
Macklin be Richard, Taswell Lear,
And Kitty Clive be Bayes.

XII

Two parts they readily allow
Are yours; but not one more, they vow;
And thus they close their spite:
You will be Sir John Brute, they say,
A very Sir John Brute all day,
And Fribble all the night.

XIII

But tell me, fair ones, is it so?
You all did love him once, we know;
What then provokes your gall?
Forbear to rail—I'll tell you why;
Quarrels may come, or madam die,
And then there's hope for all.

XIV

And now a word or two remains,
Sweet Davy, and I close my strains;
Think well ere you engage;
Vapours and ague-fits may come,
And matrimonial claims at home,
Un-nerve you for the stage.

XV

But if you find your spirits right,
Your mind at ease, and body tight,
Take her; you can't do better:
A pox upon the tattling town!
The fops that join to cry her down
Would give their ears to get her.

XVI

Then if her heart be good and kind,
(And sure that face bespeaks a mind
As soft as woman's can be)
You'll grow as constant as a dove,
And taste the purer sweets of love,
Unvisited by Ranby.

Julius Cæsar.

ENVY and FORTUNE,

A TALE TO Mrs. GARRICK.

Says Envy to Fortune, “Soft, soft, madam Flirt!
“Not so fast with your wheel, you'll be down in the dirt!
“Well, and how does your David? Indeed, my dear creature,
“You've shewn him a wonderful deal of good-nature;
“His bags are so full, and such praises his due,
“That the like was ne'er known—and all owing to you:
“But why won't you make him quite happy for life,
“And to all you have done add the gift of a wife?”

Says Fortune, and smil'd, “Madam Envy God save ye;
“But why always sneering at me and poor Davy?
“I own that sometimes, in contempt of all rules,
“I lavish my favours on blockheads and fools;
“But the case is quite different here, I averr it,
“For David ne'er knew me, 'till brought me by Merit.
“And yet to convince you—nay, madam, no hisses—
“Good-manners at least—such behaviour as this is—!”
(For mention but Merit, and Envy flies out
With a hiss and a yell that would silence a rout.
But Fortune went on)—“To convince you, I say,
“That I honour your scheme, I'll about it to-day;
“The man shall be marry'd, so pray now be easy,
“And Garrick for once shall do something to please ye.”

So saying, she rattled her wheel out of sight,
While Envy walk'd after, and grinn'd with delight.
It seems 'twas a trick that she long had been brewing,
To marry poor David, and so be his ruin:
For Slander had told her the creature lov'd pelf,
And car'd not a fig for a soul but himself;
From thence she was sure, had the Devil a daughter,
He'd snap at the girl, so 'twas Fortune that brought her.

And then should her temper be sullen or haughty,
Her flesh too be frail, and incline to be naughty,
'Twould fret the poor fellow so out of his reason,
That Barry and Quin would set fashions next season.

But Fortune, who saw what the Fury design'd,
Resolv'd to get David a wife to his mind;
Yet afraid of herself in a matter so nice,
She visited Prudence, and beg'd her advice.
The nymph shook her head when the business she knew,
And said that her female acquaintance were few;
That excepting miss R ---—O, yes, there was one,
A friend of that lady's, she visited none;
But the first was too great, and the last was too good,
And as for the rest, she might get whom she cou'd.

Away hurr'd Fortune, perplex'd and half mad,
But her promise was pass'd, and a wife must be had:
She travers'd the town from one corner to t'other,
Now knocking at one door, and then at another.
The girls curtsy'd low as she look'd in their faces,
And bridled and primm'd with abundance of graces;
But this was coquettish, and that was a prude,
One stupid and dull, t'other noisy and rude;

A third was affected, quite careless a fourth,
With prate without meaning, and pride without worth;
A fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh were such
As either knew nothing, or something too much—
In short as they pass'd, she to all had objections,
The gay wanted thought, the good-humour'd affections,
The prudent were ugly, the sensible dirty,
And all of them flirts, from fifteen up to thirty.

When Fortune saw this she began to look silly,
Yet still she went on till she reach'd Piccadilly;
But vex'd, and fatigu'd, and the night growing late,
She rested her wheel within Burlington gate.
My lady rose up, as she saw her come in,
“O ho, madam Genius! pray where have you been?”
(For her ladyship thought, from so serious an air,
'Twas Genius come home, for it seems she liv'd there.)
But Fortune, not minding her ladyship's blunder,
And wiping her forehead, cry'd, “Well may you wonder
“To see me thus flurry'd,”—then told her the case,
And sigh'd till her ladyship laugh'd in her face.
“Mighty civil indeed!”—“Come, a truce, says my lady,
“A truce with complaints, and perhaps I may aid ye.

“I'll shew you a girl that—here, Martin! go tell—
“But she's gone to undress; by-and-by is as well—
“I'll shew you a sight that you'll fancy uncommon,
“Wit, beauty and goodness, all met in a woman;
“A heart to no folly or mischief inclin'd,
“A Body all grace, and all sweetness a Mind.”

“O, pray let me see her, says Fortune and smil'd,
“Do but give her to me, and I'll make her my child—
“But who, my dear, who?—for you have not told yet”—
“Who indeed, says my lady, if not Violette?”

The words were scarce spoke when she enter'd the room;
A blush at the stranger still heighten'd her bloom;
So humble her looks were, so mild was her air,
That Fortune, astonish'd, sat mute in her chair.
My lady rose up, and with countenance bland,
“This is Fortune, my dear,” and presented her hand:
The goddess embrac'd her, and call'd her her own,
And, compliments over, her errand made known.

But how the sweet girl colour'd, flutter'd and trembled,
How oft she said no, and how ill she dissembled;
Or how little David rejoic'd at the news,
And swore, from all others, 'twas her he would chuse;

What methods he try'd, and what arts to prevail;
All these, were they told, would but burden my tale—
In short, all affairs were so happily carry'd,
That hardly six weeks pass'd away till they marry'd.

But Envy grew sick when the story she heard,
Violette was the girl that of all she most fear'd;
She knew her good-humour, her beauty and sweetness,
Her ease and compliance, her taste and her neatness;
From these she was sure that her man could not roam,
And must rise on the stage, from contentment at home:
So on she went hissing, and inwardly curs'd her,
And Garrick next season will certainly burst her.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY PELHAM.

THE Humble PETITION OF THE WORSHIPFUL COMPANY OF Pòets and News-Writers.

SHEWETH,

That your Honour's petitioners (dealers in rhymes,
And writers of scandal, for mending the times)
By losses in bus'ness, and England's well-doing,
Are sunk in their credit, and verging on ruin.

That these their misfortunes, they humbly conceive,
Arise not from dulness, as some folks believe,

But from rubs in their way, which your Honour has laid,
And want of materials to carry on trade.

That they always had form'd high conceits of their use,
And meant their last breath should go out in abuse;
But now (and they speak it with sorrow and tears)
Since your Honour has sat at the helm of affairs,
No party will join them, no faction invite
To heed what they say, or to read what they write;
Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord are fled,
And Slander scarce ventures to lift up her head—
In short, public bus'ness is so carry'd on,
That their country is sav'd, and the patriots undone.

To perplex them still more, and sure famine to bring,
(Now satire has lost both its truth and its sting)
If, in spite of their natures, they bungle at praise,
Your Honour regards not, and nobody pays.

YOUR petitioners therefore most humble intreat
(As the times will allow, and your Honour thinks meet)
That measures be chang'd, and some cause of complaint
Be immediately furnish'd, to end their restraint;
Their credit thereby, and their trade to retrieve,
That again they may rail, and the nation believe.

Or else (if your wisdom shall deem it all one)
Now the parliament's rising, and business is done,
That your Honour would please, at this dangerous crisis,
To take to your bosom a few private vices,
By which your petitioners haply might thrive,
And keep both themselves, and Contention alive.

In compassion, good Sir, give them something to say,
And your Honour's petitioners ever shall pray.

THE TRIAL OF SARAH---, alias SLIM SAL,

FOR PRIVATELY STEALING.

The pris'ner was at large indicted,
For that by thirst of gain excited,
One day in July last, at tea,
And in the house of Mrs. P,
From the left breast of E. M. gent.
With base felonious intent,
Did then and there a heart with strings,
Rest, quiet, peace, and other things,
Steal, rob and plunder; and all them
The chattels of the said E. M.

The prosecutor swore, last May
(The month he knew, but not the day)
He left his friends in town, and went
Upon a visit down in Kent:
That staying there a month or two,
He spent his time as others do,
In riding, walking, fishing, swimming;
But being much inclin'd to women,
And young and wild, and no great reasoner,
He got acquainted with the prisoner.
He own'd 'twas rumour'd in those parts
That she'd a trick of stealing hearts,
And from fifteen to twenty-two,
Had made the devil and all to do:
But Mr. W, the vicar,
(And no man brews you better liquor)
Spoke of her thefts as tricks of youth,
The frolics of a girl forsooth;
Things now were on another score,
He said; for she was twenty-four.
However, to make matters short,
And not to trespass on the court,

The lady was discover'd soon,
And thus it was. One afternoon,
The ninth of July last, or near it,
(As to the day, he could not swear it)
In company at Mrs. P's,
Where folks say any thing they please;
Dean L, and lady Mary by,
And Fanny waiting on Miss Y,
(He own'd he was inclin'd to think
Both were a little in their drink)
The pris'ner ask'd, and call'd him cousin,
How many kisses made a dozen?
That being, as he own'd, in liquor,
The question made his blood run quicker,
And, sense and reason in eclipse,
He vow'd he'd score them on her lips.
That rising up to keep his word,
He got as far as kiss the third,
And would have counted t'other nine,
And so all present did opine,
But that he felt a sudden dizziness,
That quite undid him for the business;

His speech, he said, began to faulter,
His eyes to stare, his mouth to water,
His breast to thump without cessation,
And all within one conflagration.
Bless me! says Fanny, what's the matter?
And lady Mary look'd hard at her,
And stamp'd, and wish'd the pris'ner further,
And cry'd out, part them, or there's murther!
That still he held the pris'ner fast,
And would have stood it to the last;
But struggling to go through the rest,
He felt a pain across his breast,
A sort of sudden twinge, he said,
That seem'd almost to strike him dead,
And after that such cruel smarting,
He thought the soul and body parting.
That then he let the pris'ner go,
And stagger'd off a step or so,
And thinking that his heart was ill,
He begg'd of Miss Y's maid to feel.
That Fanny stept before the rest,
And laid her hand upon his breast;

But, mercy on us! what a stare
The creature gave! no heart was there;
Souse went her fingers in the hole,
Whence heart, and strings, and all were stole.
That Fanny turn'd and told the prisoner,
She was a thief, and so she'd christen her,
And that it was a burning shame,
And brought the house an evil name,
And if she did not put the heart in,
The man would pine and die for certain.
The pris'ner then was in her airs,
And bid her mind her own affairs,
And told his reverence, and the rest of 'em,
She was as honest as the best of 'em.
That lady Mary and dean L
Rose up and said, 'twas mighty well,
But that, in gen'ral terms they said it,
A heart was gone, and some one had it;
Words would not do, for search they must,
And search they would, and her the first.
That then the pris'ner dropp'd her anger,
And said, she hop'd they would not hang her,

That all she did was meant in jest,
And there the heart was and the rest.
That then the dean cry'd out, O fie!
And sent in haste for justice I,
Who, though he knew her friends and pity'd her,
Call'd her hard names, and so committed her.

The parties present swore the same;
And Fanny said the pris'ner's name
Had frighten'd all the country round,
And glad she was the bill was found.
She knew a man, who knew another,
Who knew the very party's brother,
Who lost his heart by mere surprize,
One morning looking at her eyes;
And others had been known to squeak,
Who only chanc'd to hear her speak:
For she had words of such a sort,
That though she knew no reason for't,
Would make a man of sense run mad,
And rifle him of all he had;
And that she'd rob the whole community,
If ever she had opportunity.

The pris'ner now first silence broke,
And curtsy'd round her as she spoke.
She own'd, she said, it much incens'd her,
To hear such matters sworn against her,
But that she hop'd to keep her temper,
And prove herself eadem semper.
That what the prosecutor swore
Was some part true, and some part more;
She own'd she had been often seen with him,
And laugh'd and chatted on the green with him;
The fellow seem'd to have humanity,
And told her tales that sooth'd her vanity,
Pretending that he lov'd her vastly,
And that all women else look'd ghastly.
But then she hop'd the court would think
She never was inclin'd to drink,
Or suffer hands like his to daub her, or
Encourage men to kiss and slobber her;
She'd have folks know she did not love it,
Or if she did, she was above it.
But this, she said, was sworn of course,
To prove her giddy, and then worse;

As she whose conduct was thought levis,
Might very well be reckon'd thievish.
She hop'd, she said, the court's discerning
Would pay some honour to her learning,
For every day from four to past six,
She went up-stairs, and read the classics.
Thus having clear'd herself of levity,
The rest, she said, would come with brevity.
And first, it injur'd not her honour
To own the heart was found upon her;
For she could prove, and did averr,
The paultry thing belong'd to her:
The fact was thus. This prince of knaves
Was once the humblest of her slaves,
And often had confess'd the dart
Her eyes had lodg'd within his heart:
That she, as 'twas her constant fashion,
Made great diversion of his passion;
Which set his blood in such a ferment,
As seem'd to threaten his interment:
That then she was afraid of losing him,
And so desisted from abusing him;

And often came and felt his pulse,
And bid him write to doctor Hulse.
The prosecutor thank'd her kindly,
And sigh'd, and said she look'd divinely;
But told her that his heart was bursting,
And doctors he had little trust in,
He therefore begg'd her to accept it,
And hop'd 'twould mend if once she kept it.
That having no aversion to it,
She said, with all her soul, she'd do it;
But then she begg'd him to remember,
If he should need it in December,
(For winter months would make folks shiver,
Who wanted either heart or liver)
It never could return; and added,
'Twas hers for life, if once she had it.
The prosecutor said amen,
And that he wish'd it not again,
And took it from his breast and gave her,
And bow'd, and thank'd her for the favour;
But begg'd the thing might not be spoke of,
As heartless men were made a joke of.

That next day, whisp'ring him about it,
And asking how he felt without it,
He sigh'd, and cry'd alack! alack!
And begg'd, and pray'd to have it back;
Or that she'd give him hers instead on't,
But she conceiv'd there was no need on't,
And said, and bid him make no pother,
He should have neither one nor t'other.
That then he rav'd and storm'd like fury,
And said that one was his de jure,
And rather than he'd leave pursuing her,
He'd swear a robbery and ruin her.

That this was truth she did averr,
Whatever hap betided Her;
Only that Mrs. P, she said,
Miss Y, and her deluded maid,
And lady Mary, and his reverence
Were folks, to whom she paid some deference,
And that she verily believ'd
They were not perjur'd, but deceiv'd.

Then doctor D begg'd leave to speak,
And sigh'd as if his heart would break.

He said that he was madam's surgeon,
Or rather, as in Greek, chirurgeon,
From chier, manus, ergon, opus,
(As scope is from the Latin scopus.)
That he, he said, had known the prisoner
From the first sun that ever rise on her;
And griev'd he was to see her there;
But took upon himself to swear
There was not to be found in nature
A sweeter or a better creature;
And if the king (God bless him) knew her,
He'd leave St. James's to get to her:
But then as to the fact in question,
He knew no more on't than Hephæstion;
It might be false, and might be true,
And this, he said, was all he knew.

The judge proceeded to the charge,
And gave the evidence at large,
But often cast a sheep's eye at her,
And strove to mitigate the matter,
Pretending facts were not so clear,
And mercy ought to interfere.

The jury then withdrew a moment,
As if on weighty points to comment,
And right or wrong, resolv'd to save her,
They gave a verdict in her favour.

But why or wherefore things were so,
It matters not for us to know:
The culprit, by escape grown bold,
Pilfers alike from young and old,
The country all around her teazes,
And robs, or murders whom she pleases.