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The Election of a Poet LAUREAT

in 1719.


Famous assembly was fummond of late : [state;

To crown a new Laureat came PHOEBUS in With all that MONTFAUCON himself could desire, His bow, laurel, harp, and abundance of fire.

At Bartlemew-Fair ne'er did bullies so justle,
No country election e'er made such a bustle:
From garret, mint, tavern, they all post away,
Some thirsting for fack, fome ambitious of bay.

All came with full confidence, Auth'd with vain hope, From Cubber and DURFEY, to Prior and Pope. PHOEBUS smild on these lást, but yet ne'ertheless, Said, he hop'd they had got enough by the press.

With a huge mountain-load of heroical lumber, Which from Tonson to CurlL ev'ry press had

groan'd under; Came Bl-E, and cry'd, Look, all these are my lays ; But at present I beg you'd but read my ESSAYS.

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Lampooners and criticks rush'd in like a tide, Stern DENNIS and GILDON came first side by side.

APOLLO confess’d that their lashes had stings,
But beadles and hangmen were never chose kings.

Steel long had so cunningly manag'd the town,
He could not be blam'd for expecting the crown:
Apollo demurr'd as to granting his wish,
But wilh'd him good luck in his project of fish.

Lame CONGREVE, unable such things to endure,
Of APOLLO begg’d either a crown or a cure;
To refuse such a writer, APOLLO was loth,
And almost inclin’d to have granted him both.

When BUCKINGHAM came, he scarce car'd to be seen,
Till PHOEBUS desir'd his old friend to walk in:
But a laureat peer had never been known;
The commoners claim'd that place as their own.

Yet if the kind God had been ne'er so inclin'd
To break an old rule, yet he well knew his mind,
Who of such preferment would only make sport,
And laugh'd at all suitors for places at court.

Notwithstanding this law, yet LANSDOWN was

nam'd, But APOLLO with kindness his indolence blam'd; And said he would chuse him, but that he should fear, An employment of trouble he never could bear.

A * prelate for wit and for eloquence fam’d, APOLLO soon miss’d, and he needs not be nam’d;

* Dr. Atterbury, bilop of Rochester.

Since amidst a whole bench, ofwhich some are so bright, No one of them shines so learn’d and polite.

TO SHIPPEN, APOLLO was cold with respect,
Since he for the state could the muses neglect;
But said, in a greater assembly he fhin’d,
And places were things he had ever declin'd.

TR -P, Y-Gand VANBRUGH expected reward,
For some things writ well; but APOLLO declar'd,
That one was too flat, the other too rough,
And the third sure already had places enough.

Pert B LL came next, and demanding the bays, Said, Those works must be good, which had ADDI•

son'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,
Whose simple profession's a Pastoral-maker;
APOLLO advis'd him from playhouse to keep,
And pipe to nought else but his dog and his sheep.

H-HES, F-TON, and G-Y, came last in the train, Too modest 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 succeed.

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

Nay, had honest Tom SOUTHERN but been within

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

And so spying one who came only to gaze,
A hater of verse, and despiser of plays;
To him in great form, without any delay,
(Tho' a zealous FANATICK) presented 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 sink in the place.

Yet some 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 last in rush'd EUSDEN, and cry'd, Who shall

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.


INCE in vain our parsons teach,

Hear, for once, a poet preach.
Vice has lost its very name,
Skill and coz’nage thought the same;
Only playing well the game.
Foul contrivances we see
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 son;
But, if once the fool is gone,
Years of thrift scarce serve a day,
Rake-hell squanders all away.
Husbands sneaking 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 sermon slept,
Tedious day is weekly kept

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