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Sheffield, who knows to ftrike the living lyre
With hand judicious, like thy Homer skill'd.
Bathurst impetuous haftens to the coaft,
Whom you and I ftrive who fhall love the most.

See generous Burlington, with, goodly Bruce
(But Bruce comes wafted in a foft fedan);
Dan Prior next, belov'd by every Muse;

And friendly Congreve, unreproachful man! (Oxford by Cunningham hath fent excufe ;) See hearty Watkins comes with cup and can; And Lewis, who has never friend forfaken; And Laughton whifpering afks-Is Troy town taken? XIII.

Earl Warwick comes, of free and honeft mind;

Bold, generous Craggs, whofe heart was ne'er dif, guis'd:

"Ah why, fweet St. John, cannot I thee find?

St. John, for every focial virtue priz'd.
Alas! to foreign climates he 's confin'd,
Or elfe to fee thee here I well furmiz'd:
Thou too, my Swift, doft breathe Boeotian air;
When wilt thou bring back wit and humour here?
1 XIV.

Harcourt I fee, for eloquence renown'd,

The mouth of juftice, oracle of law! Another Simon is befide him found,

Another Simon, like as ftraw to straw.

How Lansdown fmiles, with lafting laurel crown'd!
What mitred prelate there, commands our awe ?


See Rochefter approving nods his head,
And ranks one modern with the mighty dead.

Carleton and Chandos thy arrival grace;

Hanmer, whofe eloquence th' unbiafs'd sways; Harley, whofe goodnefs opens in his face,

And fhews his heart the feat where virtue ftays. Ned Blount advances next, with bufy pace, In hafte, but fauntering, hearty in his ways: I fee the friendly Carylls come by dozens, Their wives, their uncles, daughters, fons, and cousins.


Arbuthnot there I fee, in phyfick's art,

As Galen learn'd, or famed Hippocrate;
Whofe company drives forrow from the heart,
As all difeafe his medicines diffipate:
Kneller amid the triumph bears his part †,

Who could (were mankind loft) anew create :
What can th' extent of his vaft foul confine?
A painter, critick, engineer, divine!


Thee Jervas hails, robust and debonair,

Now have [we] conquer'd Homer, friends, he cries: Darteneuf, grave joker, joyous Ford is there 1, And wondering Maine, fo fat with laughing eyes,

So in the Epiftle to Dr. Arbuthnot,

"Ev'n mitred Rochefter would nod the head." S. This is no more than a compliment to the vanity of Sir Godfrey, which Pope and other wits were alway's putting to the ftrongest trials. S.

Charles Ford, efq; writer of the Gazette. S.



(Gay, Maine, and Cheney, boon companions dear,

Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of fize)
Yea Dennis, Gildon, (hearing thou haft riches)
And honeft, hatlefs Cromwell, with red breeches.

O Wanley, whence com'ft thou with shorten'd hair,
And vifage from thy fhelves with dust besprent *
"Forfooth (quoth he) from placing Homer there,
"For ancients to compyle is myne entente :
"Of ancients only hath Lord Harley care;
"But hither me hath my meeke lady fent:-
"In manufcript of Greeke rede we thilke fame,
"But book yprint best plesyth myn gude dame."

Yonder I fee, among th' expecting croud,
Evans with laugh jocofe, and tragic Young;
High-bufkin'd Booth, grave Mawbert, wandering.

And Titcomb's belly waddles flow along t.

* So in the Dunciad, B. iii. 185. "But who is he in clofet clofe ypent

"Of fober face, with learned duft besprent ?" Humphrey Wanley was librarian to Lord Oxford. S.

The names of the majority of perfons here enumerated are in want of no illuftration; and concerning a few of them, it would be difficult to fupply any. Titcomb, however, is mentioned in a letter from Pope to Congreve. "There is a grand revolution at Will's. "Morrice has quitted for a coffee-houfe in the city; "and Titcomb is reftored, to the great joy of Cromwell, "who was at a lofs for a perfon to converfe with on "the fathers and church hiftory." S.



See Digby faints at Southern talking loud,

Yea Steele and Tickell mingle in the throng;
Tickell, whofe fkiff (in partnership they say *)
Set forth for Greece, but founder'd in the way.

Lo the two Doncaftles in Berkshire known!
Lo Bickford, Fortefcue, of Devon land!
Lo Tooker, Eckerfhall, Sykes, Rawlinfon!
See hearty Morley + takes thee by the hand!
Ayrs, Graham, Buckridge, joy thy voyage done;

But who can count the leaves, the ftars, the fand?
Lo Stonor, Fenton, Caldwell, Ward, and Broome!
Lo thousands more; but I want rhyme and room!

How lov'd! how honour'd thou! yet be not vain:
And fure thou art not, for I hear thee fay,
All this, my friends, I owe to Homer's strain,
On whofe ftrong pinions I exalt my lay.
What from contending cities did he gain?

And what rewards his grateful country pay?
None, none were paid-why then all this for me?
Thefe honours, Homer, had been just to thee.

*See the "First Book of the Iliad" among the Poems of Mr. Tickell. N.

† See Prior's Ballad of "Down Hall." N.


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By his buying and felling of the Third South-Sea Subfcriptions, taken in by the Directors at a thousand per Cent.


ISDAIN not, Snow, my humble verse to hear:

Stick thy black pen awhile behind thy car.
Whether thy compter fhine with fums untold,

And thy wide-grasping hand grow black with gold;
Whether thy mien erect, and fable locks,
In crowds of brokers over-awe the flocks;
Sufpend the worldly bufinefs of the day,
And, to enrich thy mind, attend my lay.
O thou, whose penetrative wisdom found

The South-Sea rocks and shelves, where thousands drown'd!

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When credit funk, and commerce gasping lay,
Thou ftood'ft; nor fent'ft one bill unpaid away.
When not a guinea chink'd on Martin's boards,
And Atwell's felf was drain'd of all his hoards,

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