 | The poems of Dr. Yalden |  |
89
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,
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.
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.”
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!
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.
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.
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.
Affront that senate which your rights maintains!
Thus ideots sport with power, and flames embrace,
Till smarting Folly glares them in the face.
| The poems of Dr. Yalden | |