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And, when we scrawl our paper o'er,
We blacken what was white before :
I think this practice only fit
For dealers in satyrick wit.
But you some white lead ink must get,
And write on paper black as jet;
Your interest lies to learn the knack
Of whitening what before was black.

Thus your encomium, to be strong,
Must be applied directly wrong.
A tyrant for his mercy praise,
And crown a royal dunce with bays:
A squinting monkey load with charms,
And paint a coward fierce in arms.
Is he to avarice inclin'd ?
Extol him for his generous mind:
And, when we starve for want of corn,
Come out with Amalthea's horn;
For all experience this evinces
The only art of pleasing princes :
For princes love you should descant
On virtues which they know they want,
One compliment I had forgot,
But songsters must omit it not;
I freely grant the thought is old :
Why, then, your hero must be told,
In him such virtues lie inherent,
To qualify him God's vicegerent;
That, with no title to inherit,
He must have been a king by merit.
Yet, be the fancy old or new,
'Tis partly false, and partly true :
And, take it right, it means no more
Than George and William claim'd before.

Should some obscure inferiour fellow, Like Julius, or the youth of Pella, When all your list of Gods is out, Presume to show his mortal snout,

And as a Deity intrude;
Because he had the world subdu'd;
O, let him not debase your thoughts,
Or name him but to tell his faults.-

Of Gods I only quote the best,
But you may hook in all the rest:

Now, birthday bard, with joy proceed To praise your empress and her breed, First of the first, to vouch your lies, Bring all the females of the skies; The Graces, and their mistress Venus, Must venture down to entertain us : With bended knees when they adore her, What dowdies they appear before her! Nor shall we think you talk at random, For Venus might be her great-grandam: Six thousand years has liv'd the Goddess, Your heroine hardly fifty odd is. Besides, your songsters oft have shown That she has Graces of her own: Three Graces by Lucina brought her, Just three, and every Grace a daughter; Here many a king his heart and crown Shall at their snowy feet lay down ; In royal robes, they come by dozens To court their English German cousins : Beside a pair of princely babies, That, five years hence, will both be Hebes.

Now see her seated in her throne With genuine lustre, all her own; Poor Cynthia never shone so bright, Her splendour is but borrow'd light; And only with her brother liirkt Can shine, without him is extinct. But Carolina shines the clearer With neither spouse nor brother near her; And darts her beams o'er both our isles, Though George is gone a thousand miles.

Thus Berecynthia takes her place,
Attended by her heavenly race;
And sees a son in every God,
Unaw'd by Jove's all-shaking nod.

Now sing his little highness Freddy,
Who struts like any king already:
With so inuch beauty, show me any maid
That could resist this charming Ganymede
Where majesty with sweetness vies,
And, like his father, early wise.
Then cut him out a world of work,
To conquer Spain, and quell the Turk:
Foretel his empire crown'd with bays,
And golden times, and halcyon days;
And swear his line shall rule the nation
For ever--till the conflagration.
But, now it comes into my mind,
We left a little duke behind;
A Cupid in his face and size,
And only wants, to want his eyes.
Make some provision for the younker,
Find him a kingdom out to conquer :
Prepare a fleet to waft him o'er,
Make Gulliver bis commodore;
Into whose pocket valiant Willy put,
Will soon subdue the realm of Lilliput:

A skilful critick justly blames
Hard, tough, crank, guttural, harsh, stiff names.
The sense can ne'er be too jejune,
But smooth your words to fit the tune.
Hanover may do well enough,
But George and Brunswick are too rough:
Hesse-Darmstadt makes a rugged sound,
And Guelp the strongest ear will wound.
In vain are all attempts from Germany
To find out proper words for harmony:
And yet I must except the Rhine,
Because it clinks to Carolinc,

Hail, queen of Britain, queen of rhymes!
Be sung ten hundred thousand times !
Too happy were the poets' crew,
If their own happiness they knew:
Three syllables did never meet
So soft, so sliding, and so sweet:
Nine other tuneful words like that
Would prove ev'n Homer's numbers flat.
Behold three beauteous vowels stand,
With bridegroom liquids, hand in hand;
In concord here for ever fix'd,
No jarring consonant betwixt.
May Caroline continue long,
For ever fair and young !-in sorg.
What though the royal carcase must,
Squeez'd in a coffin, turn to dust;
Those elements her name compose,
Like atoms, are exempt from blows.

Though Caroline may fill your gaps,
Yet still you must consult your maps ;
Find rivers with harmbnious names,
Sabrina, Medway, and the Thames.
Britannia long will wear like steel,
But Albion's cliffs are out at heel;
And Patience can endure no more
To hear the Belgick lion roar,
Give up the phrase of haughty Gaul,
Bat proud Iberia soundly maul:
Restore the ships by Philip taken,
And make him crouch to save his bacon.
Nassau, who got the name of Glorious,
Because he never was victorious,
A hanger-on has always been ;
For old acquaintance bring him in.

To Walpole you might lend a line,
But much I fear he's in decline;
And, if you

chance to come too late, When he goes out, you share bis fate,

And bear the new successor's frown;
Or, whom you once sang up, sing down.

Reject with scorn that stupid notion,
To praise your hero for devotion;
Nor entertain a thought so odd,
That princes should believe in God;
But follow the securest rule,
And turn it all to ridicule:
'Tis
grown

the choicest wit at court,
And gives the maids of honour sport;
For, since they talk'd with doctor Clarke,
They now can venture in the dark:
That sound divine the truth has spoke all,
And pawn'd his word, Hell is not local.
This will not give them half the trouble
Of bargains sold, or meanings double.

Supposing now your song is done,
To mynheer Handel next you run,
Who artfully will pare and prune
Your words to some Italian tune:
Then print it in the largest letter,
With capitals, the more the better,
Present it boldly on your knee,
And take a guinea for your fee.

VOL. XI.

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