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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A Dialogue betwixt the New Lotteries, and the Royal-Oak.
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
A Dialogue betwixt the New Lotteries, and the Royal-Oak.
New Lotteries.To you, the Mother of our Schools,
Where Knaves by License manage Fools,
Finding fit Juncture and Occasion,
To pick the Pockets of the Nation,
We come to know how we must Treat 'em,
And to their Hearts-content may Cheat 'em.
Royal-Oak.
It cheers my aged Heart to see,
So Numerous a Progeny;
I find by you, that 'tis Heaven's Will,
That Knavery shou'd flourish still.
You have Docility, and Wit,
And Fools were never wanting yet.
So Numerous a Progeny;
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That Knavery shou'd flourish still.
You have Docility, and Wit,
And Fools were never wanting yet.
Observe the Crafty Auctioneer,
His Art to sell Waste-Paper dear:
When he for Salmon baits his Hooks,
That Cormorant of Offal Books,
Who bites, as sure as Maggots breed,
Or Carrion-Crows on Horseflesh feed.
Fair specious Titles him deceive,
To sweep what Sl--- and T---n leave.
His Art to sell Waste-Paper dear:
When he for Salmon baits his Hooks,
That Cormorant of Offal Books,
Who bites, as sure as Maggots breed,
Or Carrion-Crows on Horseflesh feed.
Fair specious Titles him deceive,
To sweep what Sl--- and T---n leave.
If greedy Gulls you wou'd ensnare,
Make 'em Proposals wond'rous fair.
Tell 'em strange Golden Show'rs shall fall,
And promise Mountains to 'em all.
Make 'em Proposals wond'rous fair.
Tell 'em strange Golden Show'rs shall fall,
And promise Mountains to 'em all.
New Lotteries.
That Craft we've been already taught,
And by that Trick have Millions caught.
Books, Bawbles, Toys, all sorts of Stuff,
Have gone off this way well enough.
Nay Musick too invades our Art,
And to some Tune wou'd play her Part.
I'll shew you now, what we are doing,
For we have divers Wheels a going.
We have found out richer Lands,
Than Asia's Hills, or Africk's Sands,
And to vast Treasures must give Birth,
Deep hid in Bowels of the Earth;
In fertile Wales, and God knows where,
Rich Mines of Gold and Silver are,
From whence we drain prodigious store
Of Silver Coin'd, tho' none in Ore,
Which down our Throats rich Coxcombs pour,
In hopes to make us Vomit more.
Royal Oak.
This Project surely must be good;
Because not eas'ly understood:
Besides it gives a mighty scope,
To the Fool's Argument, Vain hope.
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Thro' Hope thus back'd by Mystery.
New Lotteries.
We have besides a Thousand more,
For Great and Small, for Rich and Poor,
From him that can his Thousands spare,
Down to the Penny-Customer.
Royal-Oak.
The silly Mob in Crowds will run,
To be at easy Rates undone,
A Gimcrack-Show draws in the Rout,
Thousands their All by Pence lay out.
New Lotteries.
We by Experience, find it true;
But we have Methods wholly New,
Strange late invented Ways to Thrive,
To make Men pay for what they Give,
To get the Rents into our Hands
Of their Hereditary Lands,
And out of what doth thence arise,
To make 'em buy Annuities.
We've Mathematick Combination,
To cheat Fools by plain Demonstration,
Which shall be fairly manag'd too,
The Undertakers knows not how.
Beside,—
Royal-Oak.
Pray, hold a little, here's enough,
To beggar Europe of this Stuff.
Go on, and prosper, and be Great,
I am to You a Puny-Cheat.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |