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His Fate had crept below the lifted Swords,
Had all his Malice been to murder Words.
I rather wou'd be Mevius, thrash for Rimes
Like his, the Scorn and Scandal of the Times,
Than 7 that Philipique fatally Divine,

Which is infcrib'd the Second, fhould be mine.
Nor he, the Wonder of the Grecian Throng,
Who drove them with the Torrent of his Tongue,
Who fhook the Theaters, and fway'd the State
Of Athens, found a more propitious Fate.
Whom, born beneath a boding Horoscope,
His Sire, the blear-ey'd Vulcan of a Shop,
From Mars his Forge, fent to Minerva's Schools,
To learn th'unlucky Art of wheedling Fools.
With Itch of Honour, and Opinion, vain,
All things beyond their native Worth we ftrain:
The Spoils of War, brought to Feretrian Jove,
An empty Coat of Armour hung above
The Conqueror's Chariot, and in Triumph born,
A Streamer from a boarded Galley torn,
A Chap-fain Beaver loosely hanging by
The Cloven Helm, an Arch of Victory,
On whofe high Convex fits a Captive Foe,
And fighing cafts a mournful Look below;
Of ev'ry Nation, each Illuftrious Name,
Such Toys as these have cheated into Fame:
Exchanging folid Quiet, to obtain

The windy Satisfaction of the Brain.

in which he fets out the Hap-1 against M. Anthony,
piness of his own Confulthip;
Famous for the Vanity, and
the ill Poetry of it. For Tully
as he had a great deal of the
one, fo he had no great Share
of the other.

7 The Orations of Tully,

were

ftil'd by him Philippics, in imitation of Demosthenes; who had given that Name before to thofe he made against Phi lip of Macedon.

8 This is a Mock-Account of a Roman Triumph.

So

So much the Thirft of Honour fires the Blood;
So many wou'd be Great, fo few be Good.
For who wou'd Virtue for her felf regard,
Or Wed, without the Portion of Reward?
Yet this mad Chace of Fame, by few purfu'd,
Has drawn Deftruction on the Multitude:
This Avarice of Praise in Times to come,
Thofe long Infcriptions, crowded on the Tomb,
Shou'd fome wild Fig-Tree take her native bent,
And heave below the gaudy Monument,
Wou'd crack the Marble Titles, and disperse
The Characters of all the lying Verse.
For Sepulchres themselves muft crumbling fall
In Time's Abyss, the common Grave of all.
Great Hannibal within the Balance lay;
And tell how many Pounds his Ashes weigh;
Whom Africk was not able to contain,
Whofe Length runs level with th’Atlantick Main,
And wearies fruitful Nilus, to convey
His Sun-beat Waters by fo long a Way;
Which Ethiopia's double Clime divides,
And Elephants in other Mountains hides.
Spain first he won, the Pyreneans paft,
And fteepy Alps, the Mounds that Nature caft:
And with corroding Juices, as he went,
A Paffage through the living Rocks he rent.
Then, like a Torrent, rowling from on high,
He pours his head-long Rage on Italy;
In three Victorious Battels over-run;
Yet ftill uneafie, cries There's nothing done,
Till, level with the Ground, their Gates are laid;
And Punick Flags on Roman Tow'rs display'd.
Ask what a Face belong'd to his high Fame:
His Picture fcarcely wou'd deferve a Frame:
A Sign-Poft Dawber wou'd disdain to paint
The one-ey'd Hero on his Elephant.

H3

1 & Now

Now what's his End, O charming Glory! fay
What rare Fifth Act to Crown his huffing Play?
In one deciding Battle overcome,

He flies, is banih'd from his native Home:
Begs Refuge in a foreign Court, and there
Attends, his mean Petition to prefer;

Repuls'd by furly Grooms, who wait before
The fleeping Tyrant's interdicted Door!

What wond'rous fort of Death has Heav'n defign'd,
Diftinguish'd from the Herd of Human Kind,

For fo untam'd, so turbulent a Mind!

Nor Swords at hand, nor hiffing Darts afar,

Are doom'd t'avenge the tedious bloody War,
But Poifon, drawn through a Ring's hollow Plate,
Muft finish him; a fucking Infant's Fate.
Go, climb the Rugged Alps, ambitious Fool,
To please the Boys, and be a Theme at School.
One World fuffic'd not Alexander's Mind;
Coop'd up, he feem'd in Earth and Seas confin'd:
And, ftrugling, ftretch'd his reftlefs Limbs about
The narrow Globe, to find a Paffage out.
Yet enter'd in the 9 Brick-built Town, he try'd
The Tomb, and found the ftrait Dimensions wide:
"Death only this myfterious Truth unfolds,
"The mighty Soul, how small a Body holds.
Old 10 Greete a Tale of Athos wou'd make out,
Cut from the Continent, and fail'd about;

9 Babylon, where Alexander dy'd.

10 Xerxes is reprefented in Hiftory, after a very Romantick Manner, affecting Fame beyond Meafure, and doing the most extravagant Things to compafs it. Mount Athos made a prodigious Promon

Seas

tory in the gaan Sea: He is faid to have cut a Channel through it, and to have fail'd round it. He made a Bridge of Boats over the Hellefpont, where it was three Miles broad: And ordered a whipping for the Winds and Seas, becaufe they had once croffed his De

Seas hid with Navies, Chariots paffing o'er
The Channel, on a Bridge from Shore to Shore:
Rivers, whofe depth no fharp Beholder fees,
Drunk at an Army's Dinner, to the Lees;
With a long Legend of Romantick things,
Which in his Cups the Bowfy Poet fings.
But how did he return, this haughty Brave,
Who whipt the Winds, and made the Sea his Slave?
(Tho' Neptune took unkindly to be bound;
And Eurus never fuch hard Usage found

In his Æolian Prison under Ground ;)

What God fo mean, ev'n 11 he who points the Way,
So Merciless a Tyrant to obey!

But how return'd he, let us ask again?

In a poor Skiff he pafs'd the bloody Main,
Choak'd with the flaughter'd Bodies of his Train.
For Fame he pray'd, but let th’Event declare
He had no mighty Penn'worth of his Pray'r.

Jove grant me length of Life, and Years good Store hended Back. I ask-no more. Ficap on my Both Sick and Healthful, Old and Young confpire In this one filly Mischievous Defire. Miftaken Bleffing which old Age they call,

'Tis a long, nafty, darkfom Hofpital,

A ropy Chain of Rheums; a Vifage rough,
Deform'd, Unfeatur'd, and a Skin of Buff.

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figns,as we have a very folemn | ploy'd always in Errands béAccount of it in Herodotus. tween Heaven and Hell. Bnt, after all thefe vain Boafts, he was shamefully beaten by Themistocles at Salamis; and return'd home, leaving moft of his Fleet behind him.

11 Mercury, who was a God of the lowest Size, and em

H

And Mortals us'd him accordingly : For his Statues were anciently plac'd, where Roads met ; with Directions on the Fingers of 'em, Pointing out the feveral Ways to Travellers.

Aftitch

A ftitch-faln Cheek, that hangs below the Jaw;
Such Wrinkles, as a skilful Hand wou'd draw
For an old Grandam Ape, when, with a Grace,
She fits at fquat, and scrubs her leathern Face.
In Youth, Distinctions infinite abound;
No Shape, or Feature, just alike are found;
The Fair, the Black, the Feeble, and the Strong;
But the fame Foulness does to Age belong,
The felf-fame Palfie, both in Limbs and Tongue.
The Skull and Forehead one bald barren Plain,
And Gums unarm'd to mumble Meat in vain.
Befides th'eternal Drivel, that fupplies

The dropping Beard, from Noftrils, Mouth and Eyes.
His Wife and Children loath him, and, what's worse,
Himfelf does his offenfive Carrion curfe!

Flatt'rers forfake him too; for who would kill

Himfelf, to be remember'd in a Will?

His Tafte not only pall'd to Wine and Meat,
But to the Relifh of a Nobler Treat.
The limber Nerve, in vain provok'd to rife,
Inglorious from the Field of Battel flies:
Poor Feeble Dotard, how could he advance
With his blue Head-piece, and his broken Lance?
Add, that endeavouring ftill without effect,
A Luft more fordid juftly we fufpect.

Thofe Senfes loft, behold a new Defeat,
The Soul diflodging from another Seat.
What Mufick, or enchanting Voice, can chear
A Stupid, Old, Impenetrable Ear?

No matter in what Place, or what Degree
Of the full Theater he fits to fee;
Cornets and Trumpets cannot reach his Ear:
Under an Actor's Nofe, he's never near.

His Boy must bawl, to make him understand
The Hour o'th'Day, or fuch a Lord's at hand:

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