Poems upon several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Th' Assizes now are past;—yet here You sit
Apollo's Joint-Commissioners of Wit.
But I have Hopes, Kind Judges, no Offence,
You will a favourable Doom dispense
To One, that's rarely guilty found—of Sense.

I, this Numerical, Individual Ipse,
Had once my Fortune told me by a Gypsie,

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Her Hand I cross'd, and thus She did harangue me:
“Fear not, Dear Rogue, thy Wit shall never hang thee;
“Thou 'lt be averse to Academick Breeding,
“Nor shalt thou take a Vi'lent Death by Reading.
Well—if condemn'd by You,—if such my Case is,
I ask the Ladies Favour, and good Graces;—
Will You see poor Will. Penkethman make Faces?

Now Sirs,—if I, to weather out the Storm,
Like t' other House, Occasionally Conform,
There is a great Inducement for Complying,
For I've a main Propensity towards Lying.

In Times of Yore, You know, Sirs, on Occasion,
There has been such a Thing as Sequestration;
A damn'd hard Word—that beggar'd Half the Nation.

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Words often bear a strange Mysterious Sense,
They can conform You out of all your Pence,
Occas'onally produce most wond'rous Matters,
Cuckold the Cit, and lie with all his Daughters;
Can make Will. Penkethman a Boanerges,
And Preach, and Pray—like any Daniel Burgess.
Now 'twou'd be strange, if our devout Trepanners
Shou'd send me hither to Reform your Manners:
Zealously mounted in that Holy Station,
I'd swinge the Sisters thro'—the Reformation.

And troth, your Gentle Filly's here, I find
Are true right Courteous Damsels, well inclin'd
To be, upon a good Occasion, kind.
Each Night before the Door they never fail
To stand like publick Goods expos'd to Sale;

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By You to be perus'd the Nymphs are sent,
Drest elegantly They appear in Print,
And if You cannot read,—the Devil's in't.
But They're cheap Ware for ev'ry saunt'ring Fop,
And the most tumbl'd Goods in all their Father's Shop.

'Twas Reformation once that play'd the Game,
And modern Cant may now effect the same.
Shou'd Zeal of Moderation-Saints aspire,
Inflame the Nation, and the Blaze grow higher,
How moderately wou'd they put out the Fire!
Their Martial Rage and Discipline will warm ye,
Protected thus no Violence can harm ye;
All know the Moderation of a Low-Church Army.

Thus pious Noll cou'd whine, and preach the Word,
Guns were his Doctrine, and his Text the Sword.

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Rank and File Arguments have plaguy Force,
Maintain'd by Regiments of Foot, and Horse;
And no Religion can be in the Wrong,
When once it marches Forty Thousand strong.

What blooming Virtues in these Walls appear!
Our Guard ordain'd by Heav'n's peculiar Care;
In London—bless us! what lewd Rakes are there!
They are for Roaring, Wenching, Scouring, Drinking;
For Contemplation You, and sober Thinking:
Our Bullies there make Damning a Vocation,
Whiggs plot to damn You too,—but, on Occasion,
Here are Good Men enough to save a Nation.

So when the Rains above were downwards sent,
To join the Floods beneath the Firmament,
The pious Few were well preserv'd by Grace,
To stock us with a more obedient Race;

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The fairest Model by the Gods design'd
To form the World a-new, and fashion all Mankind.