And that this boasted lord of nature

Is both a weak and erring creature;

That instinct is a surer guide

Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;

And that brute beasts are far before 'em....

Deus est anima brutorum.

Who ever knew an honest brute,

At law his neighbour prosecute,

Bring action for assault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?

O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd;

No politics disturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport,

Nor know who's in or out at court;

They never to the levee go,

To treat as dearest friend, a foe;

They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob;

Fraught with invective they ne'er go

To folks at Pater-noster row.

No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,

No pick-pockets, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupeds;
No single brute his fellow leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,

Nor cut each other's throats for pay.

Of beast, it is confess'd, the ape

Comes nearest us in human shape;

Like man, he imitates each fashion,

And malice is his ruling passion :
But both in malice and grimaces,

A courtier any ape surpasses.

Behold him humbly cringing wait
Upon the minister of state:

View him soon after to inferiors

Aping the conduct of superiors:
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.

T

He in his turn finds imitators;
At court, the porters, lackeys, waiters,
Their masters' manners still contract,

And footmen, lords and dukes can act, Thus at the court, both great and small, Behave alike, for all ape

all.

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH

STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,

Rather in pity, than in hate,
That he should be, like Cupid, blind,

To save him from Narcissus' fate.

A NEW SIMILE,

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.

LONG had I sought in vain to find
A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write,
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite:
Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there,
To suit my purpose to a hair;
But let us not proceed too furious,

First please to turn to God Mercurius;

You'll find him pictur'd at full length

In book the second, page the tenth:
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,

And now proceed we to our simile.