Or harness'd to a nag, at ease,
Take journeys in it, like a chaise;
Or in a boat, whene'er thou wilt,
Can't make it ferve thee for a tilt.
Capacious house! 'tis own'd by all,
Thou'rt well contriv'd, tho' thou art small,
For ev'ry wit in Britain's isle -
May lodge within thy fpacious pile.
Like Bacchus thou, as Poets feign,
Thy mother burnt, art born again:
Born like a Phoenix from the flame
But neither bulk nor foape the fame;
As animals of largest fize
Corrupt to maggots, worms and flies,
A type of modern wit and style,
The rubbish of an antient pile,
So Chymifts boat, they have a pow'r
From the dead afhes of a flow'r,
Some faint refemblance to produce;
But not the virtue, tafte, or juice.
So modern rhymers wifely blaft,
The poetry of ages paft,
Which after they have overthrown,
They from its ruins build their own.
The HISTORY of: VAN
BRUG's House.
Written in the Year 1708.
HEN mother Clud had rose from play;
And call'd to take the cards away;
Van faw, but feem'd not to regard,
How Miss pick'd ev'ry painted card;
And, bufy both with hand and eye,
Soon rear'd a house two ftoreys high:
Van's genius, without thought or lecture,
Is hugely turn'd on architecture:
He view'd the edifice, and fmil'd,
Vow'd it was pretty for a child:
It was fo perfect in its kind,
He kept the model in his mind..
BUT, when he found the boys at play,
And faw them dabbling in their clay;
He ftood behind a ftall to lurk,
And mark the progress of their work:
With true delight obferv'd 'em all
Raking up mud to build a wall:
The plan he much admir'd, and took
The model in his table-book;
Thought himself now exactly skill'd,
And fo refolv'd a house to build;
A real boufe, with rooms and fairs,
Five times at least as big as theirs,
Taller than Mifs's by two yards;
Not a fham thing of clay or cards.
And fo he did; for in a while
He built up fuch a monstrous pile,
That no two chairmen could be found
Able to lift it from the ground:
Still at Whitehall it ftands in view,
Juft in the place, where first it grew :
There all the little school-boys run,
Envying to see themselves out-done.
FROM fuch deep rudiments as these,
Van is become, by due degrees,
For building fam'd; and juftly reckon'd
At court, Vitruvius the Second.
No wonder; fince wife authors show,
That beft foundations must be low.
And now the * Duke has wifely ta'en him
To be his architect at Blenheim.
But, raillery for once apart,
If this rule holds in ev'ry art;
Or, if his Grace were no more skill'd in
The art of battering walls than building;
We might expect to fee next year
A mouse-trap man chief engineer.
* JOHN CHURCHILL, Duke of MARLBOROUGH, to whom Queen ANNE beftowed the ralace of Woodstock, for his Grace's victory over the French and Bavarians: at Blenheim, August 2. 1704.
Written in the year 1712.
AREFUL obfervers may foretel the hour,
By fure prognofticks, when to dread a
fhow'r.
While rain depends, the penfive cat gives o'er
Her frolicks, and purfues her tail no more.
Returning home at night you find the fink
Strike your offended fenfe with double ftink,
If you be wife, then go not far to dine,
You spend in coach-hire more than fave in wine.
A coming fhow'r your shooting corns presage;
Old aches throb, your hollow tooth will rage:
Saunt'ring in coffee-house is Dulman seen,
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.
MEAN while the South, rifing with dabbled
wings,
A fable cloud athwart the Welkin flings;
That fwill'd more liquor than it could contain,
And like a drunkard gives it up again.
Brisk Sufan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling show'r is borne aflope:
Such is that sprinkling, which fome careless quean
Flirts on you from her mop; but not so clean:
You fly, invoke the Gods; then turning stop To rail; fhe finging ftill whirls on her mop. Nor yet the duft had shun'd th' unequal strife, But, aided by the wind, fought ftill for life; And wafted with its foe by vi'lent guft,
* "Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was duft.
Ah! where muft needy Poet seek for aid,
When duft and rain at once his coat invade ?
Sole coat, where duft, cemented by the rain,
Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain.
Now, in contiguous drops the flood comes
down,
Threat'ning with deluge this devoted town.
To fhops in crowds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods; but nothing buy.
The templer spruce, while ev'ry spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.
The tuck'd up fempstress walks with hasty strides,
While ftreams run down her oil'd umbrella's fides.
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a shade.
+ Triumphant Tories, and defponding Whigs,
Forget their feuds, and join to fave their wigs.
Box'd in a chair the beau impatient fits,
While spouts run clatt'ring o'er the roof by fits;
* 'Twas doubtful which was fea and which was sky. Garth. Difp.
N. B. This was the first year of the Earl of OxFORD'S Miniftry.
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