COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 201 �Or Hercules might with a Blow, �If once together brought, This Crew of Monsters overthrow, �By which such Harms are wrought. �The Strife, ye Gods! is worthy You, �Since it our Blood has cost ; And scorching Fevers must ensue, �When cooling Sleep is lost. �Strange Revolutions wou'd abound, �Did Men ne'er close their Eyes ; Whilst those, who wrought them would be found �At length more Mad, than Wise. �Passive Obedience must be us'd, �If this cannot be Cur'd; But whilst One Flea is slowly bruis'd, �Thousands must be endur'd. �Confusion, Slav'ry, Death and Wreck �Will on the Nation seize, If, whilst you keep your Thunders back, �We're massacred by Fleas. �Why, prithee, shatter-headed Fop, �The laughing Gods reply; Hast thou forgot thy Broom, and Mop, �And Wormwood growing nigh? �Go sweep, and wash, and strew thy Floor, �As all good Housewives teach; And do not thus for Thunders roar, �To make some fatal Breach: �Which You, jior your succeeding Heir, �Nor yet a long Descent Shall find out Methods to repair, �Tho' Prudence may prevent. ��� �
