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MAC FLECKNOE.
ALL humane things are ſubject to decay,
And, when Fate ſummons, Monarchs muſt obey:
This Fleckno found, who, like Auguſtus, young,
Was call'd to Empire, and had govern'd long:
In Proſe and Verſe, was own'd, without diſpute,
Through all the Realms of Non-ſenſe, abſolute.
This aged Prince now flouriſhing in Peace,
And bleſt with iſſue of a large increaſe,
Worn out with buſineſs, did at length debate
To ſettle the Succeſſion of the State:
And pond'ring which of all his Sons was fit
To Reign, and wage immortal War with Wit;
Cry'd, 'tis reſolv'd; for Nature pleads that He
Should only rule, who moſt reſembles me:
Sh—— alone my perfect Image bears,
Mature in Dullneſs from his tender years.
Sh—— alone, of all my Sons, is he
Who ſtands confirm'd in full ſtupidity.
The reſt to ſome faint meaning make pretence,
But Sh—— never deviates into ſenſe.
Some Beams of Wit on other Souls may fall,
Strike through and make a lucid intervall;
But Sh——'s genuine night admits no ray,
His riſing Fogs prevail upon the Day:
Beſides, his goodly Fabrick fills the eye,
And ſeems deſign'd for thoughtleſs Majeſty:
Thoughtleſs on Monarch Oaks, that ſhade the Plain,
And, ſpread in ſolemn ſtate, ſupinely reign.
Heywood and Shirley were but Types of thee,
Thou laſt great Prophet of Tautology.
