Gulliveriana or, a fourth volume of miscellanies. Being a Sequel of the Three Volumes published by Pope and Swift. To which is added, Alexanderiana; or, A Comparison between the Ecclesiastical and Poetical Pope. And many Things, in Verse and Prose, relating to the latter. With an ample Preface; and a Critique on the Third Volume of Miscellanies lately publish'd by those two facetious Writers [by Jonathan Smedley] |
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On the Death of Old Nick.
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 | Gulliveriana |  |
On the Death of Old Nick.
Three Months ago, that Rogue Old Nick,
Grew wan, and pale, and wondrous sick;
And tho' he apply'd much Art and Skill,
Took many a magick Dose and Pill,
Nay, altho' Æsculapius gave
Firm Promises his Life to save
(For Promises below we find,
Like ours above, are only Wind)
Yet Old Neck pul'd, and pin'd, and died,
And Æsculapius, plainly, lyed.
Grew wan, and pale, and wondrous sick;
And tho' he apply'd much Art and Skill,
Took many a magick Dose and Pill,
Nay, altho' Æsculapius gave
Firm Promises his Life to save
(For Promises below we find,
Like ours above, are only Wind)
Yet Old Neck pul'd, and pin'd, and died,
And Æsculapius, plainly, lyed.
Now long you not, full sore, I trow,
What 'twas Old Nick cou'd kill, to know?
I'll tell you then, Old Nick, in short,
Once turn'd a Beau, and went to Court.
Well powder'd and well dress'd he was,
And for an Indian King might pass.
He liv'd on Bows; he fed on Words
And Graces of the Noble Lords;
Din'd at their Tables; had their Ear,
Sure of a thousand Pounds a Year!
Cock-sure, indeed, for as they say,
With Miss he chatted over Tea;
And went, to make all Things look fair,
Indeed he went, with Miss to Prayer.
What 'twas Old Nick cou'd kill, to know?
I'll tell you then, Old Nick, in short,
Once turn'd a Beau, and went to Court.
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And for an Indian King might pass.
He liv'd on Bows; he fed on Words
And Graces of the Noble Lords;
Din'd at their Tables; had their Ear,
Sure of a thousand Pounds a Year!
Cock-sure, indeed, for as they say,
With Miss he chatted over Tea;
And went, to make all Things look fair,
Indeed he went, with Miss to Prayer.
In fine, nor Labour, Cost, nor Pain,
Did Old Nick spare, his End to gain.
And, once, I heard him smiling, tell,
To Day, I'm sure, all will be well.
Vacant, will be more than one Place:
Adieu! I'll scour, Sir, to his Grace.
Did Old Nick spare, his End to gain.
And, once, I heard him smiling, tell,
To Day, I'm sure, all will be well.
Vacant, will be more than one Place:
Adieu! I'll scour, Sir, to his Grace.
Freeman, this Minute's dead, my Lord!
His Post's engag'd, upon my Word.
Trueport, ere Night will meet his Fate!
You're come, one Moment, Sir, too late.
Ay! quoth Old Nick; and won't he give in
To Scheme, drawn, nor from Dead, nor Living,
To render poor Pill-garlick easy?
—Adieu, my Lord, no more I'll teize ye:
And Home he went: He rav'd, he swore,
And curs'd the Peer, and damn'd his Whore.
Time and Attendance!—Money gone!—
Made a meer Dupe!—and quite undone!
I shan't out-live this foolish Part:
And so, poor, Old Nick broke his Heart.
His Post's engag'd, upon my Word.
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You're come, one Moment, Sir, too late.
Ay! quoth Old Nick; and won't he give in
To Scheme, drawn, nor from Dead, nor Living,
To render poor Pill-garlick easy?
—Adieu, my Lord, no more I'll teize ye:
And Home he went: He rav'd, he swore,
And curs'd the Peer, and damn'd his Whore.
Time and Attendance!—Money gone!—
Made a meer Dupe!—and quite undone!
I shan't out-live this foolish Part:
And so, poor, Old Nick broke his Heart.
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