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14

AIR III.

[_]

Tune, “Moll Roe.”

Plut.
Would you silence a Patriot committee,
Touch their lips with this magical Wand;
Through country, and senate, and city,
'Tis the lock and the key of the land.

II

Take a piece of this same from your coffer,
Display to the Voter your pelf;
And the wretch, having nothing to offer,
Will frugally sell you—Himself.

15

III

'Tis a shot for the fowl of all feather,
A bait for the gust of all fish;
To this every gudgeon will gather,
And plump, ready drest, in your dish.

IV

If the booby, your Pupil, so dull is,
He scarce can remember his name;
Yet his mouth it shall open, like Tully's,
When fed with a spoon of this same.

V

To a rascal, a bear, and a blockhead,
Unconscious of mood, or of tense,
This plastic receipt, in his pocket,
Gives grace, figure, virtue, and sense.

VI

Old Saints will for this sell their manuals;
O'er this, at your sovereign nod,
Old Judges will skip like young spaniels,
And Cardinals kiss you this rod.

VII

To study aught else is but nonsense;
From hence all Philosophy springs—
'Tis the Crown, Beauty, Cause, and Good Conscience,
Of Priests, Ladies, Lawyers, and Kings.