I hear the beat of Jacob's drums, Then lords and lordings, 'fquires and knights, What Fenton will not do, nor Gay, If juftice Philips' coftive head Let Warwick's mufe with Asb---t join, And Pope tranflate with Jervis. L--- himself, that lively lord, Shall join with F--- in one accord, Ye Ye ladies too, draw forth your pen; you Now, Tonfon, lift thy forces all, Review them, and tell noses: A metamorphofis more strange "To what, (quoth 'fquire) fhall Ovid change?" Quoth Sandys, To waste paper. * UM BR A. LOSE to the beft-known author The conftant index to all Button's wits. Your flave, and exit; but returns with Rowe: Dear Rowe, let's fit and talk of tragedies: Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies. Then up comes Steele: he turns upon his heel, Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam; Know, fenfe like charity begins at home. DUKE UPON DUKE. то An excellent new Ballad. To the Tune of Chevy-Chace. O lordings proud I tune my lay, Who feaft in bow'r or hall: Though dukes they be, to dukes I fay, That pride will have a fall. Now, that this fame it is right footh, From what befel John duke of Guife, When Richard Coeur-de-Lion reign'd, A word and blow was then enough : If you but turn'd your cheek, a cuff; And if your a---se, a kick. Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose, At ev'ry turn fell to't; Come near, they trod upon your toes; Of these the duke of Lancastere He kick'd, and cuffd, and tweak'd, and trod Firm on his front his beaver fate; So broad, it hid his chin; For why? he deem'd no man And fear'd to tan his fkin, his mate, With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek, No vixen civet-cat fo fweet, Right tall he made himself to show, Yet courteous, blithe, and debonnair Oh, thus it was: he lov'd him dear, Forthwith he drench'd his defp'rate quill, "This eve at whisk ourself will play, Ah no! ah no! the guileless Guife I cannot go, nor yet can ftand, The duke in wrath call'd for his steeds, Lord! lord! how rattled then thy ftones, O kingly Kensington ! All |