By his authority 'tis plain

You worship other gods in vain;
And from your own experience know
We govern all things there below.
You follow where we please to guide;
O'er all your passions we preside,
Can raise them up, or sink thein down,
As we think fit to smile or frown:
And, just as we dispose your brain,
Are witty, dull, rejoice, complain.
Compare us then to female race!
We, to whom all the gods give place!
Who better challenge your allegiance,
Because we dwell in higher regions.
You find the gods in Homer, dwell
In seas and streams, or low as Hell:
Ev'n Jove, and Mercury his pimp,
No higher climb than mount Olymp.
Who makes you think the clouds he pierces?
He pierce the clouds! he kiss their a―es;
While we, o'er Teneriffa plac'd,

Are loftier by a mile at least:

And, when Apollo struts on Pindus,

We see him from our kitchen windows;

Or, to Parnassus looking down,

Can piss upon his laurel crown.

Fate never form'd the gods to fly;

In vehicles they mount the sky:

When Jove would some fair nymph inveigle, He comes full gallop on his eagle.

Though Venus be as light as air,

She must have doves to draw her chair.
Apollo stirs not out of door,

Without his lacquer'd coach and four.
And jealous Juno, ever snarling,
Is drawn by peacocks in her berlin.
But we can fly where'er we please,
O'er cities, rivers, hills, and seas:

From east to west the world we roam,
And in all climates are at home;
With care provide you as we go
With sunshine, rain, and hail, or snow.
You, when it rains, like fools, believe
Jove pisses on you through a sieve:
An idle tale, tis no such matter;
We only dip a spunge in water;

Then squeeze it close between our thumbs,
And shake it well, and down it comes;
As you shall to your sorrow know;
We'll watch your steps where'er you go:
And, since we find you walk afoot,
We'll soundly souse your frieze surtout.
"Tis but by our peculiar grace,

That Phoebus ever shows his face:
For, when we please, we open wide
Our curtains blue from side to side:
And then how saucily he shows
His brazen face and fiery nose ;
And gives himself a haughty air,
As if he made the weather fair!
'Tis sung, wherever Cælia treads,
The violets ope their purple heads;
The roses blow, the cowslip springs;
"Tis sung; but we know better things.
'Tis true, a woman on her mettle
Will often piss upon a nettle;

But, though we own she makes it wetter,
The nettle never thrives the better;
While we, by soft prolifick showers,
Can every spring produce you flowers.
Your poets, Chloe's beauty height'ning,
Compare her radiant eyes to lightning;
And yet I hope 'twill be allow'd,
That lightning comes but from a cloud.

But gods like us have too much sense
At poets flights to take offence:

Nor can hyperboles demean us;

Each drab has been compar'd to Venus,
We own your verses are melodious;
But such comparisons are odious.

A CHARACTER, PANEGYRICK, AND DESCRIPTION

OF THE LEGION CLUB *. 1736.

As I stroll the city, oft' I

See a building large and lofty.
Not a bowshot from the college;

Half the globe from sense and knowledge:
By the prudent architect,

Plac'd against the church direct,
Making good my grandam's jest,

"Near the church"-you know the rest.

Tell us, what the pile contains?
Many a head that holds no brains.
These demoniacks' let me dub
With the name of Legion club.
Such assemblies, you might swear
Meet when butchers bait à bear;
Such a noise, and such haranguing,
When a brother thief is hanging:
Such a rout and such a rabble
Run to hear Jackpudding gabble:

In a letter to Dr. Sheridan, April 24, 1736, the Dean says, "I have written a masterly poem on the Legion Club; it is 240 lines ;" and in another letter, May 15, complains that other characters were added; and says, June 5, there were fifty different copies. N.

Such a crowd their ordure throws
On a far less villain's nose.

Could I from the building's top
Hear the rattling thunder drop,
While the devil upon the roof
(If the devil be thunder-proof)
Should with poker fiery red

Crack the stones, and melt the lead;
Drive them down on every scull,
When the den of thieves is full;
Quite destroy the harpies' nest;
How might then our isle be blest!
For divines allow, that God
Sometimes make the devil his rod;
And the Gospel will inform us,
He can punish sins enormous.

Yet should Swift endow the schools, For his lunaticks and fools,

With a rood or two of land;
I allow the pile may stand.
You perhaps will ask me, Why so?
But it is with this proviso:
Since the house is like to last,
Let the royal grant be pass'd,
That the club have right to dwell
Each within his proper cell,
With a passage left to creep in,
And a hole above for peeping.

Let them, when they once get in,
Sell the nation for a pin;
While they sit a picking straws,
Let them rave at making laws;
While they never hold their tongue,
Let them dabble in their dung:
Let them form a grand committee,
How to plague and starve the city;
Let them stare, and storm, and frown
When they see a clergy gown;

Let them, ere they crack a louse, Call for th' orders of the house; Let them, with their gosling quills, Scribble senseless heads, of bills; We may, while they strain their throats, Wipe our a-s with their votes. Let sir Tom, that rampant ass, Stuff his guts with flax and grass; But before the priest he fleeces, Tear the Bible all to pieces: At the parsons, Tom, halloo, boy, Worthy offspring of a shoeboy, Footman, traitor, vile seducer, Perjur'd rebel, brib'd accuser, Lay thy paltry privilege aside, Sprung from Papists, and a regicide; Fall a working like a mole, Raise the dirt about your hole.

Come, assist me, Muse obedient!
Let us try some new expedient;
Shift the scene for half an hour,
Time and place are in thy power.
Thither, gentle Muse, conduct me;
I shall ask, and you instruct me.

See, the Muse unbars the gate;
Hark, the monkeys, how they prate!
All ye gods who rule the soul!
Styx, through Hell whose waters roll!
Let me be allow'd to tell
What I heard in yonder Hell.

Near the door an entrance gapes,
Crowded round with antick shapes,
Poverty, and Grief, and Care,
Causeless Joy, and true Despair;
Discord periwigg'd with snakes,
See the dreadful strides she takes!
By this odious crew beset,

I began to rage and fret,