author:John Gay

“ Should Heaven’s just bolts, Orgilio’s wealth confound,
And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o’er the land the dismal rumour flies,
And public mournings pacify the skies:
The laureate tribe in servile verse relate,
How virtue wars with persecuting fate;
With well-feigned gratitude the pensioned band
Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.
See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,
And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome ”

“ Exalt each trifle, ev'ry vice adore,
Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore;
Can Balbo’s eloquence applaud, and swear
He gropes his breeches with a monarch’s air.
'For arts like these preferr'd, admir'd, caress’d,
They first invade your table, then your breast;
Explore your secrets with insidious art,
Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart;
Then soon your ill-plac'd confidence repay,
Commence your lords, and govern or betray.
'By numbers here, from shame or censure free,
All crimes are safe, but hated poverty. ”

“ With ev'ry wild absurdity comply,
And view each object with another’s eye:
To shake with laughter e'er the jest they hear,
To pour at will the counterfeited tear;
And as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.
'How, when competitors like these contend,
Can surly virtue hope to fix a friend? ”