Since amidst a whole bench, of which fome are fo bright, No one of them shines fo learn'd and polite.

TO SHIPPEN, APOLLO was cold with respect,
Since he for the state could the muses neglect:
But faid, in a greater affembly he shin'd,
And places were things he had ever declin'd.

TR—P, Y————G and VANBRUGH expected reward,
For fome things writ well; but APOLLO declar'd,
That one was too flat, the other too rough,
And the third fure already had places enough.

Pert B —LL came next, and demanding the bays, Said, Those works must be good, which had ADDISON's praise;

But APOLLO reply'd, Child EUSTACE, 'tis known, Most authors will praise whatsoever's their own.

Then PH- —Ps came forth, as starch as a Quaker,
Whofe fimple profession's a Pastoral-maker;
APOLLO advis'd him from playhouse to keep,
And pipe to nought elfe but his dog and his sheep.

H-HES, F―TON, and G-Y, came last in the train, Too modeft to ask for the crown they would gain: PHOEBUS thought them too bashful, and said they would need

More boldness, if ever they hop'd to fucceed.

APOLLO, now driv'n to a curfed quandary,
Was wishing for SWIFT, or the fam'd lady MARY:
e

Nay, had honeft TOM SOUTHERN but been within

call

But at last he grew wanton, and laugh'd at them all:

And fo spying one who came only to gaze,
A hater of verfe, and defpifer of plays;
To him in great form, without any delay,
(Tho' a zealous FANATICK) prefented the bay.

All the wits stood astonish'd, at hearing the God
So gravely pronounce an election fo odd:
And tho' PRIOR and POPE only laugh'd in his face,
Most others were ready to fink in the place.

Yet fome thought the vacancy open was kept,
Concluding the bigot would never accept:
But the hypocrite told them, he well understood,
Tho' the function was wicked, the stipend was good.

At laft in rush'd EUSDEN, and cry'd, "Who fhall have it,

But I, the true laureat, to whom the king gave it ?” APOLLO begg'd pardon, and granted his claim; But vow'd tho', till then he ne'er heard of his name.

On the TIMES.

SIN

INCE in vain our parfons teach,
Hear, for once, a poet preach.

Vice has lost its very name,

Skill and coz'nage thought the fame;
Only playing well the game.

Foul contrivances we fee
Call'd but ingenuity;
Ample fortunes often made
Out of frauds in ev'ry trade,
Which an aukward child afford
Enough to wed the greatest lord.
The miser starves to raise a fon;
But, if once the fool is gone,
Years of thrift fcarce ferve a day,
Rake-hell fquanders all away.
Husbands fneaking for a place,
Or toiling for their pay;
While the wives undo their race
By petticoats and play:
Breeding boys to drink and dice,

Carrying girls to comedies,

Where ma-ma's intrigues are shown,

Which ere long will be their own.

Having first at fermon flept,

Tedious day is weekly kept

By worse hypocrites, than men,
Till Monday comes to cheat agen.
Ev'n among the noblest-born,
Moral virtue is a fcorn;
Gratitude, but rare at best;
And fidelity a jelt.

All our wit but party-mocks;
All our wisdom, raising stocks:
Counted folly to defend

Sinking fide, or falling friend.
Long an officer may serve;

Prais'd and wounded, he may ftarve:
No receipt to make him rife,
Like inventing loyal lyes.
We, whofe ancestors have shin'd

In arts of peace, and fields of fame,

To ill and idlenefs inclin'd,

Now are grown a publick shame.
Fatal that inteftine jar,

Which produc'd our civil war!
Ever fince, how fad a race!
Senfelefs, violent, and bafe!

On the Duke of York banished to Bruffels.

I

Feel a strange impulfe, a strong defire,

(For what vain thoughts will not a muse inspire?) To fing on lofty fubjects, and to raise

My own low fame, by writing JAMES's praise.

Oft have we heard the wonders of his youth; Obferv'd those feeds of fortitude and truth; Which fince have spread fo wide, fo wondrous high, The good distress'd beneath that shelter lie.

In arms more active than ev'n war requir'd, And in the midst of mighty chiefs admir'd. Of all Heav'n's gifts, no temper is fo rare, As fo much courage, mix'd with so much care. When martial fire makes all the fpirits boil, And forces youth to military toil; No wonder it should fiercely then engage; Women themselves will venture in a rage: But in the midst of all that furious heat, While fo intent on actions brave and great, For other lives to feel fuch tender fears, And careless of his own, to care for theirs; Is that compofure which a hero makes, And which illuftrious YORK alone partakes, With that great * man whose fame has flown so far, Who taught him first the noble art of war.

*The Marefchal de Turenne.