The poems of Dr. Yalden :: :: University of Virginia Library

Victorious prince! form'd for supreme command,
Worthy the empire of the seas and land!
Whilst impious Faction swells with native pride,
Parties distract the state, and church divide!
And senseless libels, with audacious style,
Insult thy senate, and thy power revile!
Vouchsafe to hear th' admired truths of old,
Which birds and beasts in sportive tales unfold;
To curb the insolent, advance the good,
And quell the ragings of the multitude.
O fam'd for arms, and matchless in renown!
Permit old Æsop to approach thy throne:
To you the labours of his Muse belong;
Accept the humble, but instructive, song.

FABLE I. THE RIVER AND THE FOUNTAINS.

A river, insolent with pride,
The Fountain and its Springs defied;
That Fountain, from whose watery bed
Th' ungrateful Flood was daily fed.

And thus the rabble Waves began:
“We're the delight of gods and man!
How charming do our banks appear!
How swift the stream, the flood how clear!

“See how, by Nature's bounty strong,
We whirl our legion waves along:
In soft meanders winding play,
And glitter in the face of day.

“But thou, poor Fountain, silly soul!
Thy head absconding in a hole,
Run'st meddling on from place to place,
Asham'd to show thy dirty face;
In rocks and gloomy caverns found,
Thou creep'st inglorious under ground:
D' you hear? henceforth your lords obey!
We the grand Waves assume the sway.”

“Well, angry sirs, the Fountain cry'd,
And how's your streams to be supply'd?
Ye senseless fools, that would command,
Should I withdraw my bounteous hand,
Or backward turn my watery store,
That hour you'd cease, and be no more.
Go ask that blustering fop the Wind,
That puts this whimsy in your mind,
And makes your factious surges rise,
If he'll recruit you with supplies.

“And when to native mud you turn,
Such as a common-sewer would scorn,
Too late you'll curse this frantic whim,
When carriers' steeds shall piss a nobler stream.

THE MORAL.

Unhappy Britain! I deplore thy fate,
When juries pack'd, and brib'd, insult thy state:
Like waves tumultuous, insolently wise,
They tutor kings, and senators advise;
Whilst old republicans direct the stream,
Not France and Rome, but monarchy's their aim:
Fools rode by knaves! and paid as they deserve,
Despis'd whilst us'd! then left to hang or starve.

FABLE II. THE LION'S TREATY OF PARTITION.

A mighty Lion heretofore,
Of monstrous paws and dreadful roar,
Was bent upon a chase:
Inviting friends and near allies
Frankly to share the sport and prize,
During the hunting-space.

The Lynx and royal Panther came,
The Boar and Wolf of Wolfingham,
The articles were these:
Share and share like, whate'er they got,
The dividend upon the spot,
And so depart in peace.

A royal Hart, delicious meat!
Destin'd by inaupicious Fate,
Was started for the game:
The hunters run him one and all,
The chase was long, and, at the fall,
Each enter'd with his claim.

One lov'd a haunch, and one a side,
This ate it powder'd, t' other dried,
Each for his share alone:
Old Grey-beard then began to roar,
The whiskers twirl'd, bully'd, and swore,
The Hart was all his own.

“And thus I prove my title good;
My friend deceas'd sprung from our blood,
Half's mine as we're ally'd:
My valour claims the other part;
In short, I love a hunted Hart:
And who dares now divide?”

The bilk'd confederates they stare,
And cry'd, “Old gentleman, deal fair,
For once be just and true.”
Quoth he, and looking wondrous grum,
“Behold my paws, the word is mum;
And so messieurs, adieu!”

THE MORAL.

Tyrants can only be restrain'd by might,
Power's their conscience, and the sword their right:
Allies they court, to compass private ends,
But at the dividend disclaim their friends.
Yet boast not, France, of thy successful fraud,
Maintain'd by blood, a torment whilst enjoy'd:
Imperial Cæsar drives the storm along,
And Nassau's arms avenge the public wrong.

FABLE III. THE BLIND WOMAN AND HER DOCTORS.

A wealthy matron, now grown old,
Was weak in every part:
Afflicted sore with rheums and cold,
Yet pretty sound at heart.

But most her eyes began to fail,
Depriv'd of needful light:
Nor could her spectacles avail,
To rectify their sight.

Receipts she try'd, she doctors fee'd,
And spar'd for no advice
Of men of skill, or quacks for need
That practise on sore eyes.

Salves they daub'd on, and plaisters both.
And this, and that was done:
Then flannels, and a forehead-cloth,
To bind and keep them on.

Her house, though small, was furnish'd neat,
And every room did shine
With pictures, tapestry, and plate,
All rich, and wondrous fine.

Whilst they kept blind the silly soul,
Their hands found work enough!
They pilfer'd plate, and goods they stole,
Till all was carry'd off.

When they undamm'd their patient's eyes,
And “now pray how's your sight?”
Cries t' other, “this was my advice,
I knew 't would set you right:”

Like a stuck pig the woman star'd,
And up and down she run:
With naked house and walls quite scar'd,
She found herself undone.

“Doctors, quoth she, your cure's my pain,
For what are eyes to me:
Bring salves and forehead-cloths again,
I've nothing left to see.”

THE MORAL.

See, injur'd Britain, thy unhappy case,
Thou patient with distemper'd eyes:
State-quacks but nourish the disease,
And thrive by treacherous advice.

If fond of the expensive pain,
When eighteen millions run on score:
Let them clap mufflers on again,
And physic thee of eighteen more.

FABLE IV. THE SATYR'S ADDRESS.

Five Satyrs of the woodland sort,
Thought politicians then,
Their ears prick'd up, their noses short,
And brows adorn'd like aldermen;
With asses hoofs, great goggle eyes,
And ample chins of Be---m's size,

To Jove tript up with an address,
In favour of the plains:
That it would please him to suppress
All heats and colds, his winds and rains;
The Sun that he'd extinguish too,
And in the skies hang something new.

“My wise reforming friends, quoth Jove,
Our elements are good!
We manage for the best above,
Though not so rightly understood;
But since such profound squires are sent,
We'll treat you like the cream of Kent.”

Then Jove brought out etherial fire
In a gilt chafing-dish:
The sparkling flame they all admire,
'Twas fine, they vow'd, as heart could wish:
They gap'd, they grin'd, they jump'd about!
Jove, give us that, the Sun put out!

The charming flames they all embrace,
Which, urg'd by Nature's laws,
Their shaggy hides set in a blaze,
And soundly sing'd their paws;
In corners then they sneak'd with terrour dumb,
And o'er th' immortal pavements scud it home.

THE MORAL.

How senseless are our modern Whiggish tools,
Beneath the dignity of British fools!
With beef resolv'd, and fortify'd with ale,
They censure monarchs, and at senates rail;
So eagerly to public mischief run,
That they prevent the hands, which loo them on.

O true machines! and heads devoid of brains!
Affront that senate which your rights maintains!
Thus ideots sport with power, and flames embrace,
Till smarting Folly glares them in the face.

FABLE V. THE FARMER AND HIS DOG.

There dwelt a Farmer in the west,
As we're in story told;
Whose herds were large and flocks the best
That ever lin'd a fold.

Arm'd with a staff, his russet coat,
And Towser by his side,
Early and late he tun'd his throat
And every wolf defy'd.

Lov'd Towser was his heart's delight,
In cringe and fawning skill'd,
Intrusted with the flocks by night,
And guardian of the field.

“Towser, quoth he, I'm for a fair;
Be regent in my room:
Pray of my tender flocks take care,
And keep all safe at home.

I know thee watchful, just, and brave,
Right worthy such a place:
No wily fox shall thee deceive,
Nor wolf dare show his face.”

But ne'er did wolves a fold infest,
At regent Towser's rate:
He din'd and supp'd upon the best,
And frequent breakfasts ate.

The Farmer oft receiv'd advice,
And laugh'd at the report:
But coming on him by surprize,
Just found him at the sport.

“Ingrateful beast, quoth he, what means
That bloody mouth and paws?
I know the base, the treacherous stains,
Thy breach of trust and laws.

The fruits of my past love I see:
Roger, the halter bring;
E'en truss him on that pippin tree,
And let friend Towser swing.

I'll spare the famish'd wolf and fox,
That ne'er my bounty knew:
But, as the guardian of my flocks,
This neckcloth is your due.”

THE MORAL.

When ministers their prince abuse,
And on the subjects prey:
With ancient monarchs 'twas in use,
To send them Towser's way.

FABLE VI. THE FOX AND BRAMBLE.

Ren, an old poacher after game,
Saw grapes look tempting fine:
But, now grown impotent and lame,
Could not command the vine;
His lips he lick'd, stood ogling with his eyes,
Strain'd at a running jump, but miss'd the prize:

Quoth he, “that honest Bush hard-by
Might give a friend a lift:
In troth' its curtesy I'll try,
And venture for a shift.”
Without more words he bounces to the top,
But gor'd and wounded is compell'd to drop.

Down Reynard came, batter'd and tore,
He blow'd and lick'd his paws:
Then mutter'd to himself and swore,
Cursing the fatal cause;
“Damn'd rascal shrub,” quoth he, “whom hedge-stakes scorn,
Beneath a furs-bush, or the scoundrel thorn!

“Good words, friend Ren,” the Bush reply'd,
“Here no incroacher 'scapes:
Those Foxes that on brambles ride
Love thorns, as well as grapes;
But better language would your mouth become:
If you must curse, go curse the fool at home.”

THE MORAL.

Who first offend, then in disputes engage,
Should check their passions and indecent rage:
But peevish age, of weak resentments proud,
Like woman's stubborn, impotent, and loud.

Ill-manners never found a just pretence,
And rude expressions shew a barren sense:
But, when high birth descends to mean abuse,
The crime runs foulest, and finds no excuse.

FABLE VII. THE FOX AND WEAZLE.

TO THE LATE HONOURABLE THE COMMISSIONERS OF THE PRIZE-OFFICE.

A needy Weazle heretofore,
Very rapacious, lank, and poor,
That had no place, small comings-in,
And liv'd in terrour of the gin;
Nor got a morsel to his hole,
But what he either begg'd or stole;
One night, a foraging for prey,
He found a store-house in his way:
Each cranny then he nimbly past,
With lantern jaws and slender waist;
And made long time his quarters good,
On slaughter'd mice and wheaten food.
But growing corpulent and round,
Too small the widest chink was found:
And now he squeez'd and thurst in vain,
For liberty and home again.

A Fox that chanc'd to stroll that way,
For meditation's sake, or prey,
Stood grinning at him for a while,
With rogueish looks and sneering smile;
And though he shrewdly gave a guess,
Yet ask'd him how and what's the case;
And why his Weazleship would keep
In durance vile, and play boh-peep.

Quoth he, “Alack, sir, I was lean,
Haggard and poor, when I came in:
A skeleton, mere skin and bone!
Though now so gross and bulky grown,
That with good chear and dainties fed,
My rump is bigger than my head.
But if a helping paw you'll lend,
To force a board and serve a friend;
So fain I would my bacon save,
I'll kiss your foot and live your slave.”

Quoth Ren, “We doctors hold it best,
After a long debauch, to fast:
Then as for discipline, 'tis fit,
You take a quantum sufficit.
Slacken with abstinence your skin,
And you'll return as you got in:
For, till each collop you refund,
You're like to quarter in Lob's-pound.”

THE MORAL.

Cæsar, no more in foreign camps expose
Your sacred life, to Britain's generous foes:
Thy dread tribunal now erect at home,
And, arm'd with vengeance, to her rescue come.

In power her basest enemies remain,
Oppress thy subjects, and thy treasures drain:
With sums immense they raise their fortunes high,
Though armies starve, and fleets neglected lie.

Bane of the war! curse of thy martial reign!
You share the toil and dangers, they the gain:
To justice then the known offenders bring,
Avenge thy people, and assert the king.

FABLE VIII. AN OWL AND THE SUN.

A saucy buffle-headed Owl
One morning on the Sun fell foul,
Because it made him blind:
But by his sophistry you'll guess
Him not of the Athenian race,
But a more modern kind.

The morn was fragrant, cool, and bright,
The Sun illustrious with his light,
Dispensing warmth to all:
Madge on a pinnacle was got,
Sputtering and hooting like a sot,
And thus began the brawl.

“D'ye hear, you prince of red-fac'd fools!
Hot-headed puppy! foe to owls!
Why this offensive blaze?
Behind some cloud go sneak aside,
Your carbuncles and rubies hide,
And quench that flaming face.

“When I'm a taking the fresh air,
Whip in my eyes you come full glare,
And so much rudeness show!
I wonder when the modest Moon
Would serve an Owl as you have done,
Or tan and burn one so!”

Bright Phœbus smil'd at what was said,
And cry'd, “'Tis well, sir Logger-head
You've neither sense nor shame!
Because a blinking fool can't bear
An object so transcending fair,
The Sun must take the blame.

Shall I the universe benight,
And rob the injur'd world of light,
Because you rail and scowl;
When birds of the most abject sort
Deride and grin you for their sport,
And treat you like an Owl?”

THE MORAL.

Who libel senates, and traduce the great,
Measure the public good by private hate:
Interest's their rule of love; fierce to oppose
All whom superior virtue makes their foes.

Thy merits, Rochester, thus give offence;
The guilty faction hates discerning sense:
Thus Harley, Seymour, Howe, and Mackworth find,
Great eye-sores to the loud rapacious kind;
But, whilst in holes addressing Owls repine,
Bright as the Sun their patriot names will shine.

FABLE IX. THE SEA AND THE BANKS.

As out at sea a ruffling gale it blew,
And clouds o'ercast the gloomy skies:
The surges they began to rise,
And terrify the sailors, jocund crew.

This to the wanton billows was but sport,
They roar'd and gambol'd it along,
This was the burthen of their song,
They'd have a storm, and show good reason for't.

Then a fresh maggot takes them in the head,
To have one merry jaunt on shore:
They'd not be fetter'd-up, they swore,
But thus to the insulted margin said:

“Hey, slugs! d'ye hear, ye lazy hounds!
Open to right and left! make way,
And give free passage to the Sea,
Down with your ramparts and obstructing mounds.

“See how they stir! awake, ye brutes!
And let us have one frisk at land;
Or, 'zbud, we'll wash you into sand,
Without the tedious form of long disputes.”

“Hold! soft and fair! the Banks reply'd; we're bound,
In honour, to make good our post:
And will, for all your windy boast,
As barriers to the Sea maintain our ground.

“Go, lord it in your watery realms, the Main!
There rage and bluster as you please,
Licentious in your native Seas,
But not an inch as trespassers you'll gain.

“So, my fierce mutineers, be jogging home!
For if you dare invade our coast,
You'll run your heads against a post,
And shamefully retire in empty foam.”

THE MORAL.

Though Discord forms the elements for war,
Their well-pois'd strength prevents the fatal jar:
Harmonious Nature sets the balance right,
And each compels the other to unite.

In empire thus true union is maintain'd,
Each power's by a subordinate restrain'd:
But when, like raging waves, they overflow
Their stated bounds, and on the weaker grow,
Thrice happy realms! where there are patriots found,
To check invaders, and maintain their ground.

FABLE X. THE NIGHTINGALE AND CUCKOW.

A tuneful Nightingale, whose warbling throat
Was form'd for lofty song,
With every sweet harmonious note
He charm'd the listening throng:
The hooting Cuckow was displeas'd alone,
Condemn'd his manner, and extoll'd her own.

“This screaming fop, quoth she, that scares
All creatures with his din;
When folks are listening to my airs,
Forsooth he's putting in.
Here's such a chattering kept, and odious noise,
My song's quite spoil'd with his confounded voice.”

The injur'd songster modestly reply'd;
“Since you perform so fine,
The contest let some judge decide,
And try your skill with mine;
Vanquish'd, I'll your superior genius own.”
The Cuckow shook her head, and cry'd 'twas done,

A solemn plodding Ass that graz'd the plain
Was for an umpire chose:
The Nightingale advanc'd his strain,
And charm'd with every close.
The Cuckow's note was one unvary'd tone,
Exceeding hoarse, yet pleas'd, she roar'd it on.

Appeal was made; the judge this sentence gave,
“You, sirrah, Nightingale!
Of music you some smatterings have,
And may in time do well;
But for substantial song, I needs must say,
My friend, the Cuckow, bears the bell away.”

THE MORAL.

Mackworth, who reads thy well-digested lines,
Where eloquence with nervous reason shines,
Sees art and judgment flow through every page,
The patriot's zeal free from indecent rage;
So pure thy style, thy manners so refin'd,
Your pen transmits the candour of your mind.

Yet happier he that has the answer wrote,
In penury of sense, and dearth of thought:
Whilst Asses judge, and Faction claims a vote,
Abusive nonsense is th' admired note:
Where want of art and manners merit praise,
He robs the Cuckow of her ancient bays.

FABLE XI. THE SUN AND THE WIND.

The Sun and Wind one day fell out
In matters they discours'd about.
Old Boreas, in a rage,
Call'd the Sun fool, and swore he ly'd,
Spit in his face, his power defy'd,
And dar'd him to engage.

Quoth he, “Yon goes a traveller,
With formal cloak and looks demure,
The whiggish signs of grace:
Who fairly off the cloak can force,
From one so stiff, proud, and morose,
Deserves the upper place.”

With that the Wind began to rise,
Bluster'd and storm'd it through the skies,
Making a dismal roar:
The non-con wrapp'd his cloak about,
Trudg'd on, resolv'd to weather 't out,
And see the tempest o'er.

The storm being spent, with piercing rays,
Full on his shoulders Phœbus plays,
Which soon the zealot felt;
Aside the cumberous cloak was thrown,
Panting and faint, he laid him down,
More decently to melt.

The Sun then ask'd his blustering friend,
If farther yet he durst contend,
And try some other way:
But, conscious of so plain a truth,
He put his finger in his mouth,
Without a word to say.

THE MORAL.

Your Whigs disgrac'd, like bullies of the town,
Libel and rail, the more they're tumbled down:
Superior merit still prevails at last,
The fury of their feeble storm is past.

But when the senate darts its piercing rays,
Faction unbuttons, and rebates its pace:
The hypocritic cloak is tiresome found,
And the faint zealot pants upon the ground.

FABLE XII. THE BOAR AND FOREST.

A Lion, generous and brave,
For wars renown'd, belov'd in peace;
His lands in royal bounties gave,
And treasures much impair'd by acts of grace.

His ministers whole realms obtain'd;
And courtiers, much inclin'd to want,
His manors begg'd, and forfeits gain'd,
With patents to confirm the royal grant.

The Boar, to shew a subject's love,
Crav'd for the public good a boon,
His ancient forest to improve,
By felling trees, and cutting timber down.

“Alcoves and shady walks, quoth he,
Are laid aside, become a jest;
Your vistos lofty, wide, and free,
Are à la mode, and only in request.”

The grant being pass'd, the ravenous Boar,
A desert of the forest made:
Up by the roots vast oaks he tore,
And low on earth the princely cedars laid.

This act of violence and wrong
Alarum'd all the savage race;
With loud complaints to court they throng,
Stripp'd of their shades, and ancient resting-place.

With generous rage the Lion shook,
And vow'd the Boar should dearly pay;
“I hate, quoth he, a down-cast look,
That robs the public in a friendly way.

“Unhappy groves, my empire's pride!
Lov'd solitudes, ye shades divine!
The rage of tempests ye defy'd,
Condemn'd to perish by a sordid swine.

“Ye rural deities, and powers unknown,
What can so great a loss suffice!
If a hung brawner will atone,
Accept friend Chucky for a sacrifice.”

THE MORAL.

The British oak's our nation's strength and pride,
With which triumphant o'er the main we ride;
Insulting foes are by our navies aw'd,
A guard at home, our dreaded power abroad.

Like druids then your forests sacred keep,
Preserve with them your empire of the deep.
Subjects their prince's bounty oft abuse,
And spoil the public for their private use;
But no rapacious hand should dare deface,
The royal stores of a well-timber'd chase.

FABLE XIII. THE FOX AND FLIES.

As crafty Reynard strove to swim
The torrent of a rapid stream,
To gain the farther side:
Before the middle space was past,
A whirling eddy caught him fast,
And drove him with the tide.

With vain efforts and struggling spent,
Half drown'd, yet forc'd to be content,
Poor Ren a soaking lay;
Till some kind ebb should set him free,
Or chance restore that liberty
The waves had took away.

A swarm of half-starv'd haggard Flies,
With fury seiz'd the floating prize,
By raging hunger led;
With many a curse and bitter groan,
He shook his sides, and wish'd them gone,
Whilst plenteously they fed.

A Hedge-hog saw his evil plight;
Touch'd with compassion at the sight,
Quoth he, “To show I'm civil,
I'll brush those swigging dogs away,
That on thy blood remorseless prey,
And send them to the Devil.”

“No, courteous sir, the Fox reply'd,
Let them infest and gore my hide,
With their insatiate thirst;
Since I such fatal wounds sustain,
'Twill yield some pleasure midst the pain,
To see the blood hounds burst.”

THE MORAL; FROM NOSTRADAMUS.

Le sang du juste à Londres fera saute
Brusler par feu, &c.

Thus guilty Britain to her Thames complains,
“With royal blood defil'd, O cleanse my stains!
Whence plagues arise! whence dire contagions come!
And flames that my Augusta's pride consume!”

“In vain,” saith Thames; “the regicidal breed
Will swarm again, by them thy land shall bleed:
Extremest curse! but so just Heaven decreed!
Republicans shall Britain's treasures drain,
Betray her monarch, and her church prophane!
Till, gorg'd with spoils, with blood the leeches burst,
Or Tyburn add the second to the first.”

FABLE XIV. THE BEAR AND MOUNTEBANK.

There liv'd a quack in high repute,
By virtue of a velvet suit,
And celebrated bill;
As for his knowledge, 'tis allow'd,
He had enough to cheat the crowd,
And that's good modern skill.

Once as this orator held forth
On topics of his medicines' worth,
And wondrous cures they wrought;
Though not a word they understood,
His eloquence so charm'd the crowd,
That still they gap'd and bought.

Midst his harangue, one day it chanc'd,
Tom Dove the Bear that way advanc'd,
In procession to his stake;
The rabble quit their doctor straight,
And with huzzas on Bruin wait,
Who thus the chief bespake:

“D' ye hear, ye pack of bawling louts,
Compos'd of vermin, stink, and clouts,
Why all this noise and do?
Though through my nose a ring is got,
And here I'm baited like a sot,
Still I resemble you.

“Observe that Mountebanking fool,
Perch'd yonder on his three-legg'd stool,
With poisonous drugs to sell;
See o'er his shoulder how he sneers,
Three hours to lug you by the ears,
Yet pleases wondrous well.

“With fulsome lyes and stupid stuff,
He cheats and banters you enough,
Yet there ye flock by shoals;
But if by chance a bear's brought out,
At him ye hollow, laugh, and shout,
And who's the greater fools?

“So, brother monsters, face about,
The quack, your keeper, wants his rout;
For, underneath the rose,
Another sort of brutes there are,
Besides a stupid Russian bear,
That's misled by the nose.”

THE MORAL.

Ill ministers, like quacks, the crowd deceive,
Defraud them for their good; and they believe:
At France and Rome they rail with specious arts,
And, whilst they cheat the vulgar, gain their hearts.

But if sagacious Bruin smells them out,
Their frauds exposing to the injur'd rout;
To mischief prone, implacable, and strong,
Ten thousand tongues and hands revenge the wrong.

FABLE XV. THE PEACOCK PROCLAIMED KING.

A Vulture, old and feeble grown,
Took up and much reform'd his life;
His beak decay'd, and talons gone,
Yet still he relish'd noise and strife:
Once a young Peacock to the birds brought forth,
On his high birth harangued, and blooming worth.

“The isles and watery realm,” said he,
“This hopeful monarch shall command!
His sceptre to depend on me,
And rule the tributary land;
Reserving only for our royal use,
Whate'er the seas and fertile coasts produce.”

The Peacock, a pert dapper spark,
Made the sagacious Vulture's choice;
His title and descent, though dark,
Soon gain'd the whole assembly's voice,
The Pye except, a member of the board,
Who, midst their acclamations, crav'd a word.

“His highness' merits and desert,”
Quoth he, “'tis needless to dispute!
In giving empires we're too pert,
With neither right nor power to do 't;
You've made a Peacock king: pray now 'tis done,
What champion here conducts him to his throne,

“Where the Imperial Eagle reigns,
Renown'd for arms and warlike might,
Who such a feeble youth disdains,
And Vultures dares engage in fight?
Therefore, messieurs, it is my private voice,
That the possessor first approve our choice.”

THE MORAL.

Cæsar, that prince betrays his fears,
Who styles thee monarch in the field,
But, when thy army disappears,
To weak pretenders will thy titles yield.

But wiser politicians say,
True conduct is not so much shown,
In giving others' realms away,
As in defending well their own.

FABLE XVI. A LACONIC CONDEMNED.

A sage Laconic, truly wise,
Whose conversation was concise,
Train'd up in rigid schools;
Once, when a single word would do,
Had lavishly made use of two,
In high contempt of rules.

A bill against him was preferr'd,
The charge by evidence averr'd,
That fully prov'd the fact:
The judges aggravate the crime,
In words as few, and little time,
As answer'd men compact.

Quoth one, “The being too verbose
A misdemeanor is so gross,
Of that pernicious kind!
The punishment must reach your sense,
And reason smart for this offence,
By torturing your mind.

“Read Jura Populi o'er twice,
Pittis and Bunyan, books of price,
And Oats's modest vein:
Read Baxter's volumes, Tindal's works,
Yorkshire Petish with that of Bucks,
True cant and libel strain,

“For solid nonsense, thoughtless words
The Vindication of the Lords,
That answers Mackworth's State:
Read first and second paragraph,
If possible drudge on through half,
Your crime you'll expiate.”

The wretch with strong convulsions shook,
Despair and anguish in his look,
To Heaven for mercy cry'd:
Quoth he, “Send gibbets, racks, or wheel,
Algiers and gallies please me well,
Such torments I'll abide.

“But damn me not for one offence,
To volumes unally'd to sense,
Vainly to waste my breath:
That answer to the Commons' Rights
With labour'd dullness so affrights,
The thoughts are worse than death.”