Thy busy, never-meaning face,

Thy screw'd up front, thy state grimace,
Thy formal nods, important sneers,
Thy whisperings foisted in all ears,
(Which are, whatever you may think,
But nonsense wrapt up in a stink)
Have made thy presence, in a true sense,
To thy own side, so d-n'd a nuisance,
That, when they have
in their eye,
As if the Devil drove, they fly.

you

T. My good friend Mullinix, forbear; I vow to G-, you're too severe :

If it could ever yet be known

I took advice, except my own,

It should be yours; but, d-n my blood!
I must pursue the publick good:
The faction (is it not notorious?)
Keck at the memory of Glorious * :
'Tis true; nor need I to be told,
My quondam friends are grown so cold,
That scarce a creature can be found
To prance with me the statue round.
The publick safety, I foresee,
Henceforth depends alone on me;
And while this vital breath I blow,
Or from above, or from below,
I'll sputter, swagger, curse, and rail,
The tories terrour, scourge, and flail.

M. Tim, you mistake the matter quite; The tories! you are their delight;

And should you act a different part,
Be grave and wise, 'twould break their heart.
Why, Tim, you have a taste I know,
And often see a puppetshow:
Observe, the audience is in pain,
While Punch is hid behind the scene;

• King William III. H.

But, when they hear his rusty voice,
With what impatience they rejoice!
And then they value not two straws,
How Solomon decides the cause,
Which the true mother, which pretender;
Nor listen to the witch of Endor.

Should Faustus, with the Devil behind him,
Enter the stage, they never mind him:
If Punch, to stir their fancy, shows
In at the door his monstrous nose,
Then sudden draws it back again
O what a pleasure mixt with pain!
You every moment think an age,
Till he appears upon the stage:
And first his bum you see him clap
Upon the queen of Sheba's lap :
The duke of Lorraine drew his sword;
Punch roaring ran, and running roar'd,
Reviles all people in his jargon,
And sells the king of Spain a bargain;
St. George himself he plays the wag on,
And mounts astride upon the dragon;
He gets a thousand thumps and kicks,
Yet cannot leave his roguish tricks;
In every action thrusts his nose;
The reason why, no mortal knows:
In doleful scenes that break our heart,
Punch comes, like you, and lets a fart.
There's not a puppet made of wood,
But what would hang him, if they could;
While, teasing all, by all he's teas'd,
How well are the spectators pleas'd!
Who in the motion have no share,
But purely come to hear and stare;
Have no concern for Sabra's sake,
Which gets the better, saint or snake,
Provided Punch (for there's the jest)
Be soundly maul'd, and plague the rest.

Thus, Tim, philosophers suppose,
The world consists of puppetshows;
Where petulant conceited fellows
Perform the part of Punchinelloes:
So at this booth, which we call Dublin,

Tim, thou'rt the Punch to stir up trouble in;
You wriggle, fidge, and make a rout,
Put all your brother puppets out,

Run on in a perpetual round,

To tease, perplex, disturb, confound;
Intrude with monkey grin and clatter
To interrupt all serious matter;
Are grown the nuisance of your clan,
Who hate and scorn you to a man:
But then the lookers on, the tories,
You still divert with merry stories;
They would consent that all the crew
Were hang'd, before they'd part with you.
But tell me, Tim, upon the spot,
By all this toil what hast thou got?
If tories must have all the sport,

I fear you'll be disgrac'd at court.

T. Got? D-n my blood! I frank my letters, Walk to my place before my betters;

And, simple as I now stand here,

Expect in time to be a peer

Got? D-n me! why I got my will!

Ne'er hold my peace, and ne'er stand still:

I fart with twenty ladies by;

They call me beast; and what care I?

I bravely call the tories Jacks,

And sons of whores-behind their backs.
But, could you bring me once to think,
That when I strut, and stare, and stink,
Revile and slander, fume and storm,
Betray, make oath, impeach, inform,
With such a constant loyal zeal
To serve myself and commonweal,

And fret the tories' soul to death,
I did but lose my precious breath;

And, when I damn my soul to plague 'em,
Am, as you tell me, but their inay-game;
Consume my vitals! they shall know,
I am not to be treated so;

I'd rather hang myself by half,
Than give those rascals cause to laugh.
But how, my friend, can I endure,
Once so renown'd, to live obscure?
No little boys and girls to cry,
"There's nimble Tim a passing by!"
No more my dear delightful way tread
Of keeping up a party hatred?
Will none the tory dogs pursue,

When through the streets I cry halloo?
Must all my d-n mes! bloods and wounds!
Pass only now for empty sounds?

Shail tory rascals be elected,

Although I swear them disaffected?
And, when I roar, A plot, a plot!"
Will our own party mind me not?
So qualify'd to swear and lie,
Will they not trust me for a spy?
Dear Mullinix, your good advice
I beg; you see the case is nice:
O were I equal in renown,

Like thee to please this thankless town!
Or, bless'd with such engaging parts
To win the truant schoolboys' hearts!
Thy virtues meet their just reward,
Attended by the sable guard.

Charm'd by thy voice, the 'prentice drops
The snow-ball destin'd at thy chops:
Thy graceful steps, and colonel's air,
Allure the cinder-picking fair.

M. No more-in mark of true affection, I take thee under my protection:

Your parts are good, 'tis not deny'd;
I wish they had been well apply'd.
But now observe my council, (viz.)
Adapt your habit to your phyz;
You must no longer thus equip ye,
As Horace says, optat ephippia;
(There's Latin too, that you may see
How much improv'd by Dr.)
I have a coat at home, that you may try ;
"Tis just like this, which hangs by geometry.
My hat has much the nicer air;

Your block will fit it to a hair:

That wig, I would not for the world
Have it so formal, and so curl'd;
Twill be so oily and so sleek,
When I have lain in it a week,
You'll find it well prepar'd to take
The figure of toupee and snake.
Thus dress'd alike from top to toe,
That which is which 'tis hard to know;
When first in publick we appear,
I'll lead the van, you keep the rear:
Be careful, as you walk behind;
Use all the talents of your mind;
Be studious well to imitate

My portly motion, mien, and gait;
Mark my address, and learn my style,
When to look scornful, when to smile;
Nor sputter out your oaths so fast,
But keep your swearing to the last.
Then at our leisure we'll be witty,
And in the streets divert the city;
The ladies from the windows gaping,
The children all our motions aping.
Your conversation to refine,
I'll take you to some friend of mine;
Choice spirits, who employ their parts
To mend the world by useful arts;