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The following EPIGRAM comes from NewBOLD-SUPER-AVON. I am a Stranger to the Subject of it; but, as it feems to be written with fome Spirit, I could not forbear inferting it in this Paper.
HE furies at a time in confult met,
Who next to fatan fhou'd in triumph fit:
Dulness her heavy arguments propos'd,
-And envy all her poys'nous veins difclos'd:
Ill-nature next arofe in furly ftate,
Hold, fays fir fatan, end your grand debate.
A mortal in fuperior merit ftands,
Have you forgot my old friend P- - RS - - N H - - ?
To him, next me's the mighty empire due,
He's dullness, envy, and ill-nature too.
Grubftreet Journal, No 45.
SONG, by an unknown Hand.
mafters give ear, and a ftory you'll hear, Of a fine raree show, and a garter;
Ne'er was feen fuch a fight, fince TOM THUMB was a
In the days of our noble king ARTHUR,
In the abby that day,
They did all things, but pray:
There were ale, cakes, and gin for the rabble.
Such doings unclean,
In a place ne'er was feen
Since the time that old PAUL'S was a stable.
In order they might not be seen a,
Long fcaffolds had they,
To show them the way,
Where they feldom or never had been a.
They all walkt, for the prince
Did with riding dispense,
And with bathing, a troublesome rite a ;
For he knew 'twas in vain,
They'd ne'er be wash'd clean,
No more than a blackamoor white a.
Which oath if they broke,
Then the fovereign's cook,
Was to hack off the fpur of each don a ;
But 'tis well if he cou'd,
For his eyes must be good,
To fee that they had any on a.
Now this being done
They to dinner did run,
With ftomachs fo fharp and fo keen a;
As they used to do,
Without grace they fell too,
Ne'er minding their chaplain the dean a.
To finish it all,
They at night had a ball,
Where the ladies were drefs'd to receive 'em ;
What further was done,
Is better unknown,
So it's decent that there we fhould leave 'em.
Grubftreet Journal, No 46.
EHOLD! ambitious of the BRITISH bays,
C--R and DUCK contend in rival lays :
But, gentle COLLEY, fhould thy verse prevail,
Thou haft no fence, alas! against his flail :
Wherefore thy claim refign, allow his right;
For Duck can thresh, you know as well as write.
An extempore REPLY to the off-hand ANSWER, printed in FoG's Journal of the 7th inftant.
HY how now, miftir Fog!
You are a fawcy dog,
To dare t'abufe the GRUBSTREET Writer:
Than you he's more exact,
Both in words and in fact;
More faithful in profe, in verse brighter.
You try, like Mr. MIST,
To your mill to bring grift,
By writing in all forts of fhapes:
Your poifon up you mix
In baneful politicks:
You Jacobite! you Jack-anapes..
For want, you turn news-monger,
As girls turn whores for hunger;
Behind double meanings still dodging,
You flice the government,
Then fwear 'twa'n't your intent:
But lying's your meat, drink and lodging.
What, tho' the captain rambles
In pindarick preambles ;
Yet, truly, I'd much fooner burn all
The papers of the week,
If the truth I may speak,
Than I'd part with the GRUBTSRE ET journak
Let others fill their skull
With daily papers dull,
While I in GRUBSTREET find moft joy :
To me one fingle letter,
Than each whole paper's better,
C. for COURANT, and P. for Post-Boy.
GRUB from others his news
Knows with judgment to chuse;
Who dies, or who's robb'd, or who marries:
And, I'll lay a fair bett,
He out does the GAZETTE
Of AMSTERDAM, LONDON or PARIS.
Grubftreet Journal, No 47.
To the Author of that inimitable PAPER, called the FREE BRITON.
APPY! while--darts his golden ray, And chears thee with refulgent beams of pay. Yet nor their heat, nor light informs thy mind: Cold is thy fancy, and thy judgment blind. So good a caufe, that yields fo great a gain, By thee dawb'd o'er with excrement of brain, Smells ftrong in thy prepofterous effays, Where praise is satire, and where fatire's praise.
HEN POPE difplay'd in pompous rhime
The reign of dullness in our clime;
EUSDEN (quoth he) fhall wear the bays,
CIBBER be chancellor of plays!
When EUSDEN ftoop'd, alas! to fate,
CIBBER upheld alone her state:
Then for one place fhe gave him two i
No other place the goddess knew
Her own out-doings to out-doe.
A Question by ANONYMOUS.
ELL, if you can, which did the worse,
An Anfwer by Mr. MAVIUS.
O ROMAN fouls wha_tmore contemptuous deed,
Than o'er their heads to place a neighing steed?
Our captain faw the proud, tyrannick fway,
Where HOUYHN HNMS govern, and YAHOOS obey:
Unnatural rule !---- but here in BRITISH climes,
Where in lewd profe, or luscious ballad rhimes,
Our poets write the fentiments of brutes;
Where players, turn'd to pantomimic mutes,
In dance exprefs the black, lafcivious joke,
On pagan ftage ne'er acted, nor e'en spoke:
Where, wether they applaud or damn the play,
Beaus, cits, clerks, prentices like affes bray;
Who better than an afs with laurell'd pride
O'er authors, actors, audience can prefide?