511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,000[' ]| <(Derry, Field DAy Publications, 1991), i.460-1.> 511:01,001[' ]| One Day, as is his Wont, the Dean 511:01,002[' ]| Was saunt'ring through a dirty Lane, 511:01,003[' ]| And snugly laughing in his Sleeve 511:01,004[' ]| At what would graver Mortals grieve, 511:01,005[' ]| The Crowds of Fools, both Low, and High, 511:01,006[' ]| Passing in idle Hurry, by, 511:01,007[' ]| Merc'ry, 'tis said to aid his Laughter, 511:01,008[' ]| Follow'd some little Distance after, 511:01,009[' ]| Not in the Shape he wears above, 511:01,010[' ]| Or brings down Messages from Jove, 511:01,011[' ]| But in a Form, true Politicks, 511:01,012[' ]| Will own much fitter for those Tricks 511:01,013[' ]| Of Theft, the God did whilome use; 511:01,014[' ]| A Black-guard Crier of the News. 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,015[' ]| What Conversation pass'd between 511:01,016[' ]| This merry Pair in such a Scene, 511:01,017[' ]| What waggish Jokes, and sly Remarks 511:01,018[' ]| Between the Damsels and their Sparks, 511:01,019[' ]| The Muse at present hath forgot; 511:01,020[' ]| Nor is't essential to her Plot: 511:01,021[' ]| But sure, 'twould form of Mirth a Tale 511:01,022[' ]| Might Pope, and all his Friends regale. 511:01,023[' ]| Not He, nor They would blush to sit, 511:01,024[' ]| And shake at such strange Turns of Wit. 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,025[' ]| Scarce had they half a Street trudg'd through, 511:01,026[' ]| Ere Momus met them full in View; 511:01,027[' ]| A Fellow said to be a God, 511:01,028[' ]| But of a Temper somewhat odd, 511:01,029[' ]| Addicted much to Jeers, and Gybes; 511:01,030[' ]| Eternal Foe to tender Kybes; 511:01,031[' ]| And, with but slender Skill in Letters, 511:01,032[' ]| Was always carping at his Betters. 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,033[' ]| But Gods themselves, whatever Wonders 511:01,034[' ]| We Mortals think them, can make Blunders. 511:01,035[' ]| To put which Doctrine past all Doubt, 511:01,036[' ]| Momus himself shall make it out. 511:01,037[' ]| For tho' he critically ey'd 511:01,038[' ]| Our Drapier's human Shape and Hide, 511:01,039[' ]| Yet, 'tis prodigious to relate 511:01,040[' ]| What a strange Maggot seiz'd his Pate, 511:01,041[B ]| "An old Acquaintance this," 511:01,041[' ]| he cries, 511:01,042[B ]| "Faith, 'tis Apollo in Disguise, 511:01,043[B ]| What need of further Proof? Depend on't, 511:01,044[B ]| It is the Rascal, by's Attendant." 511:01,045[' ]| Then instantly resolved to roast him, 511:01,046[' ]| Thus, with a Sneer, he did accost him. 511:01,047[B ]| "Your Godship's Servant! So, I find 511:01,048[B ]| You've got some Daphne in the Wind. 511:01,049[B ]| Why else in such a scurvy Place; 511:01,050[B ]| Disguis'd too in that Garb of Grace; 511:01,051[B ]| And with your Scoundrel Pimp equipp'd, 511:01,052[B ]| So well deserving to be whipp'd, 511:01,053[B ]| What! will a God of Wit and Learning 511:01,054[B ]| For ever thus be deaf to Warning? 511:01,055[B ]| Can no Misfortunes in Amours 511:01,056[B ]| Suffice to put an End to yours? 511:01,057[B ]| Perhaps, you think, you're Woman-proof, 511:01,058[B ]| And always will come safely off; 511:01,059[B ]| Or hope to be no worse affronted, 511:01,060[B ]| Than when you after Daphne hunted, 511:01,061[B ]| Where Fortune, to prevent a Quarrel, 511:01,062[B ]| Your Misadventure crown'd with Lawrel, 511:01,063[B ]| But let me tell you as a Friend, 511:01,064[B ]| (Indeed 'tis seldom known to mend) 511:01,065[B ]| This lower World is strangely change'd, 511:01,066[B ]| Since with Admetus' Sheep you rang'd, 511:01,067[B ]| For should you now a Nymph pursue, 511:01,068[B ]| Instead of turning into Yew, 511:01,069[B ]| Or Birch, or Bays, 'tis, by my Soul, as 511:01,070[B ]| Likely, she might become a Bolus. 511:01,071[B ]| Then think, how would the Gods endure 511:01,072[B ]| To see you spawl their azure Floor? 511:01,073[B ]| And must you not at once sustain 511:01,074[B ]| The bitterest Pangs of Rage and Pain, 511:01,075[B ]| When ev'ry giggling Girl above 511:01,076[B ]| Shall smirk, and tip the Wink on Jove, 511:01,077[B ]| To smoke your Honour sadly chewing, 511:01,078[B ]| The filthy Rags of Caterwawling?" 511:01,000[' ]| 511:01,079[' ]| The Dean look'd gruff, and pass'd him by; 511:01,080[' ]| Leaving his Lacquey to reply. 511:01,081[C ]| "For once, Friend Momus, fairly bit; 511:01,082[C ]| No longer now pretend to Wit. 511:01,083[C ]| He, whom you see, and make your Jest, 511:01,084[C ]| No God is, but a mortal Priest. 511:01,085[C ]| And ev'n a Priest of such a Make 511:01,086[C ]| As scarce excuses the Mistake; 511:01,087[C ]| The God you fancy'd him to be, 511:01,088[C ]| 'Tis true, hath not more Wit than He; 511:01,089[C ]| But herein still a Difference lies, 511:01,090[C ]| Your God was once kick'd from the Skies; 511:01,091[C ]| And by the righteous Laws of Fate 511:01,092[C ]| Was doom'd to fall from God's Estate. 511:01,093[C ]| But he, whom proud I call my Master 511:01,094[C ]| Is subject to no such Disaster. 511:01,095[C ]| These Volumes in my Hand behold! 511:01,096[C ]| (In Faulkner's Shop they're to be sold) 511:01,097[C ]| These shall to future Ages tell, 511:01,098[C ]| The Drapier never sunk, or fell."