Stubborn in honour he must be ; For elephants ne'er bend the knee : Laft, let his memory be found, In which your elephant's profound. That old examples from the wife May prompt him in his No's and I's. Thus the lord Coke hath gravely writ, In all the form of lawyers wit; And then with Latin, and all that, Shews the comparison is pat.
Yet in fome points my lord is wrong: One's teeth are fold, and t'other's tongue: Now men of parliament, God knows, Are more like elephants of fhows, Whose docile memory and sense Are turn'd to trick, to gather pence. To get their master half a crown, They fpread their flag, or lay it down? Those who bore bulwarks on their backs, And guarded nations from attacks, Now practise ev'ry pliant gesture, Op'ning their trunk for ev'ry tefter. Siam, for elephants fo fam'd, Is not with England to be nam'd: Their elephants by men are fold; Ours fell themselves, and take the gold.
Suppofed Death of PARTRIGDE, the Almanack-Maker *.
WE ELL; 'tis as Bickerstaff has guefs'd,
Though we all took it for a jest:
Partridge is dead; nay more, he dy'd; E're he could prove the good Squire ly'd. Strange, an aftrologer fhou'd die Without one wonder in the sky! Not one of all his crony ftars To pay their duty at his herfe! No meteor, no eclipse appear'd! No comet with a flaming beard! The fun has rofe, and gone to bed, Juft as if Partridge were not dead; Nor hid himself behind the moon To make a dreadful night at noon. He at fit periods walks through Aries, Howe'er our earthly motion varies; And twice a year he'll cut th' equator, As if there had been no fuch matter.
See an account of his to be falfe, and Bickerstaff dedeath, which Partridge averred fended as true. Vol. III.
Some wits have wonder'd what analogy There is 'twixt * cobling and aftrology; How Patridge made his opticks rise From a fhoe-fole to reach the fkies. A lift the cobler's temples ties, To keep the hair out of his eyes; From whence 'tis plain, the diadem That princes wear derives from them: And therefore crowns are now-a-days Adorn'd with golden ftars and rays; Which plainly fhews the near alliance "Twixt cobling and the planets fcience. Befides, that flow-pac'd fign Bootes, As 'tis mifcall'd, we know not who 'tis : But Partridge ended all disputes; He knew his trade, and call'd it † boots. The horned moon, which heretofore
Upon their fhoes the Romans wore, Whose wideness kept their toes from corns, And whence we claim our fhoeing-horn, Shews how the art of cobling bears A near resemblance to the spheres.
A fcrap of parchment hung by geometry (A great refinement in barometry) Can, like the ftars, foretel the weather; And what is parchment else but leather?
* Partridge was a cobler.
Which an aftrologer might use Either for almanacks or foes.
Thus Partridge by his wit and parts At once did practise both these arts : And as the boading owl (or rather The bat, because her wings are leather) Steals from her private cell by night, And flies about the candle-light; So learned Partridge could as well Creep in the dark from leathern cell, And in his fancy fly as far
To peep upon a twinkling ftar.
Befides, he could confound the Spheres, And fet the planets by the ears; To fhew his fkill, he Mars could join" To Venus in afpect malign;
Then call in Mercury for aid,
And cure the wounds that Venus made. Great scholars have in Lucian read, When Philip king of Greece was dead, His foul and Spirit did divide,
And each part took a diff'rent side: One rofe a ftar; the other fell Beneath, and mended fhoes in hell.
Thus Partridge ftill fhines in each art, The cobling and far-gazing part, And is install'd as good a ftar As any of the Cæfars are.
Triumphant ftar! fome pity fhow On coblers militant below,
Whom roguish boys in ftormy nights Torment by piffing out their lights, Or thro' a chink convey their fmoke Inclos'd artificers to choke.
Thou, high exalted in thy fphere, May'st follow ftill thy calling there. To thee the Bull will lend his hide, By Phoebus newly tann'd and dry'd For thee they Argo's hulk will tax, And scrape her pitchy fides for wax = Then Ariadne kindly lends
Her braided hair to make thee ends; The point of Sagittarius' dart Turns to an awl by heav'nly art; And Vulcan, wheedled by his wife, Will forge for thee a paring-knife. For want of room by Virgo's fide, She'll strain a point, and fit * aftride, To take thee kindly in between; And then the figns will be thirteen.
* Tibi brachia contrahet ingens
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