-When fervants too get much too fmart,
And each muft act the mafter's part;
Juft like their mafter when they dine,
Sit long, eat venifon, and drink wine;
When footmen get above their place,
And butlers fhew their lordly face;
When Betty too difdains her pattens,
And flaunts about in filks and fattins;
Or fhould she find the fashion varies,
Then follows all the new vagaries,
Adopts at once my lady's tafte,
And scarce can bear an inch of waift;
Has ear-rings, juft the felf-fame pair,
Binds the fame turban round her hair;
Apes in each part my lady quite,
And trips in muflins juft as white;
When fuch, alas! is all the cafe,
'Tis Johnny got in Ruffman's place.
Again, when wives have got victorious,
And the poor hufband fneaks inglorious,
When John is gentle, Jenny coarfe,
And the gray mare's the better horfe;
Or when you children have your ways,
And strange to tell, papa obeys!
When things are manag'd all fo ill
That little Tommy fays "I will;"
Or laftly, let me tell you when-
When men turn women, women men,
Men hate of all things to be rash,
And women, meek-ey'd women, dash,
Men down their forehead draw their locks,-
And women fhew their colour'd clocks,
Discard their fhame, forget their fex,
And chufe to open all their necks:
When fuch again is all the cafe,
'Tis Johnny got in Ruffman's place.
Oh! would ye ftop the nation's fall,
Then every cobler mind your awl;
You labouring lads push home your spade;
Ye trading Johnnies mind
your trade;
Ye feamen fight and don't debate;
Watch ftatefmen well the helm of ftate;
Ye clergy mind your awful part,
'Tis your's to turn the nation's heart;
Keep parents to the good old way,
And make your children all obey;
Claim not, ye wives, the chief command,
Keep back ye Nancies of the land,
Let women ne'er be over ready,
You'll trim the boat by fitting fteady:
Inftructed thus by Johnny's cafe,
Let ev'ry Briton mind his place.
YOU who love a tale of glory,
Liften to the fong I fing; Heroes of the Christian story, Are the heroes whom I bring.
Warriors of the world, avaunt!
Other heroes me engage;
'Tis not fuch as you I want,
Saints and martyrs grace my page.
Warriors who the world fubdue,
Were but vain and felfifh elves;
While my heroes good and true,
Greater far fubdu'd themselves.
Fearful Chriftian! hear with wonder,
Of the Saints of whom I tell;
Some were burnt, fome fawn asunder,
Some by fire or torture fell.
Some to favage beafts were hurl'd,
Some furviv'd the lion's den;
Was a perfecuting world,
Worthy of these wond'rous men ?
Some in fiery furnace thrown,
Yet efcap'd, unfing'd their hair; There Almighty pow'r was shown, For the Son of God was there.
Now we crown with deathlefs fame,
Thofe who fcorn'd and hated fell;
Worldlings fear contempt and fhame,
Martyrs fear but fin and hell.
How the fhower of ftones defcended,
Holy Stephen on thy head!
While thy tongue the truth defended,
How the glorious Martyr bled!
See his fierce reviler Saul,
How he rails with impious breath! Then obferve converted Paul, Oft in perils, oft in death..
God alone, whofe fovereign pow'r
Did the lion's fury fwage,
Could alone, in one fhort hour,
Still the perfecutor's rage,
Ev'n a woman-women hear,
Read in Maccabees the story!
Conquer❜d nature, love, and fear,
To obtain a crown of glory..
Seven ftout fons fhe faw expire,
(How the mother's foul was pain'd!)
Some by fword, and fome by fire,
How the Martyr was fuftain'd!
Even in Death's acuteft anguish,
Each the tyrant still defy'd;
Each fhe faw in torture languish,
Laft of all the mother dy'd.
Martyrs who were thus arrefted,
In their fhort but bright career, By their blood the truth attefted, Prov'd their faith and love fincere.
Tho' their lot was hard and lowly,
Tho' they perifh'd at the stake;
Now they live with God in glory,
Since they fuffer'd for his fake.
Fierce and unbelieving foes,
But their bodies could deftroy; Short, tho' bitter were their woes Everlasting is their joy.
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