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He shakes his bag, he shows all fair ;
His fingers spread, and nothing there ;
Then bids it rain with showers of gold ;
And now his ivory eggs are told ;
But, when from thence the hen he draws,
Amazed spectators hum applause.

Vice now stept forth, and took the place,
With all the forms of his grimace.

*This magic looking-glass,' she cries,
(There, hand it round) will charm your eyes.'
Each eager eye the sight desired,
And every man himself admired.

Next, to a senator addressing,
«See this bank-note ; observe the blessing.
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass ! 'tis gone.'
Upon his lips a padlock shown.
A second puff the magic broke ;
The padlock vanished, and he spoke.

Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stored,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.

A purse she to a thief exposed ;
At once his ready fingers closed.
He opes his fist, the treasure's fled :
He sees a halter in its stead.

he bids Ambition hold a wand; He grasps a hatchet in his hand.

A box of charity she shows. * Blow here ;' and a church warden blows. 'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat, And on the table smokes a treat.

She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, And from all pockets fills her box.

A counter, in a miser's hand, Grew twenty guineas at command.

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She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.

A guinea with her touch you see
Take every shape but Charity ;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But changed from what was first in view.

The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission owned her art :

“Can I such matchless sleight withstand ?
How practice hath improved your hand !
But now and then I cheat the throng ;
You every day, and all day long.'

John Gay.





When Britain first at Heaven's command

Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of her land,

And guardian angels sung the strain : Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!

Britons never shall be slaves. The nations not so blest as thee

Must in their turn to tyrants fall, Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free,

The dread and envy of them all. Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; As the loud blast that tears the skies

Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;

All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame,

And work their woe and thy renown.




To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,

And every shore it circles thine!


The Muses, still with Freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crowned,

And manly hearts to guard the fair :-
Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!
Britons never shall be slaves !

James Thomson.




NOV. 22, 1739.

As near Porto-Bello lying

On the gently swelling flood,
At midnight with streamers flying

Our triumphant navy rode:
There while Vernon sat all-glorious

From the Spaniards' late defeat;
And his crews, with shouts victorious,

Drank success to England's fleet ;



On a sudden, shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ;
Then each heart with fear confounding,

A sad troop of ghosts appeared,
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,

Which for winding-sheets they wore,
And with looks by sorrow clouded,

Frowning on that hostile shore.

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On them gleamed the moon's wan lustre,

When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bands was seen to muster,

Rising from their watery grave :
O’er the glimmering wave he hied him,

Where the Burford reared her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,

And in groans did Vernon hail : “Heed, o heed, our fatal story.

I am Hosier's injured ghost,
You, who now have purchased glory

At this place where I was lost;
Though in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears, When you think on our undoing,

You will mix your joy with tears.
See these mournful spectres, sweeping

Ghastly o’er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping;

These were English captains brave:
Mark those numbers pale and horrid,

Those were once my sailors bold,
Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead,

While his dismal tale is told.





'I, by twenty sail attended,

Did this Spanish town affright : Nothing then its wealth defended

But my orders not to fight :
Oh! that in this rolling ocean

I had cast then with disdain,
And obeyed my heart's warm motion,

To have quelled the pride of Spain.
For resistance I could fear none,

But with twenty ships had done


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What thou, brave and happy Vernon,

Hast achieved with six alone. Then the Bastimentos never

Had our foul dishonour seen,
Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.
Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,

And her galleons leading home,
Though condemned for disobeying,

I had met a traitor's doom ;
To have fall’n, my country crying

He has played an English part,
Had been better far than dying

Of a grieved and broken heart. Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail ; But remember our sad story,

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail ; Sent in this foul clime to languish,

Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish,

Not in glorious battle slain. Hence, with all my train attending

From their oozy tombs below, Through the hoary foam ascending,

Here I feed my constant woe: Here the Bastimentos viewing,

We recall our shameful doom, And our plaintive cries renewing,

Wander through the midnight gloom. «O'er these waves for ever mourning

Shall we roam, deprived of rest, If to Britain's shores returning,

You neglect my just request.





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