The wondering world, where'er he moves,
With new delight looks up and loves;
One sex consenting to admire,
Nor less the other to desire;
While he, though seated on a throne,
Confines his love to one alone;
The rest condemn'd, with rival voice
Repining, do applaud his choice.
Fame now reports, the Western Isle
Is made his mansion for a while,
Whose anxious natives, night and day,
(Happy beneath his righteous sway)
Weary the gods with ceaseless prayer,
To bless him, and to keep him there;
And claim it as a debt from Fate,
Too lately found, to lose him late.
VERSES ON THE UPRIGHT JUDGE,
WHO CONDEMNED THE DRAPIER'S PRINTER.
THE church I hate, and have good reason;
For there my grandsire cut his weasand:
He cut his weasand at the altar;
I keep my gullet for the halter.
