In vain; for a fuperior Force
Apply'd at Bo tom, ftops its Course,
Doom'd ever in fufpence to dwell,
'Tis now no Kettle, but a Bell.
A WOODEN Jack, which had almost
Loft, by difufe, the Art to roaft,
A fudden Alteration feels,
Increas'd by new Inteftine Wheels;
And what exalts the Wonder more,
The Number made the Motion flow'r.
The Flyer, tho't had leaden Feet,
Turn'd round fo quick, you scarce could fee't;
But flacken'd by fome fecret Pow'r,
Now hardly moves an inch an Hour.
The Jack and Chimney near ally'd,
Had never left each other's Side;
The Chimney to a Steeple grown,
The Jack would not be left alone ;
But up against the Steeple rear'd,
Became a Clock, and ftill adher'd;
And ftill its Love to Houfhold Cares,
By a fhrill Voice at Noon declares,
Warning the Cook-Maid, not to burn
That Roaft-Meat which it cannot turn.
THE Groaning Chair began to crawl,
Like an huge Snail along the Wall;
There ftruck aloft in publick View;
And with fmall Change, a Pulpit grew.
The Porringers, that in a Row
Hung high, and made a glitt'ring Show,
To a lefs noble Substance chang'd,
Were now but leathern Buckets rang'd.
The Ballads pasted on the Wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood;
Now feem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in Picture, Size, and Letter;
And high in. Order plac'd, describe
The Heraldry of every Tribe.
A BEDSTEAD of the Antique Mode,
Compact of Timber, many a Load,
Such as our Ancestors did ufe,
Was metamorphos'd into Pews:
Which still their ancient Nature keep,
By lodging Folks difpos'd to Sleep.
THE Cottage, by fuch Feats as these, Grown to a Church by juft Degrees, The Hermits then defir'd their Hoft To afk for what he fancy'd most. Philemon having paus'd a While, Return'd 'em Thanks in homely Style; Then faid, my Houfe is grown so fine, Methinks I ftill wou'd call it mine: I'm old, and fain wou'd live at Eafe, Make me the Parfon, if you please.
HE fpoke, and presently he feels
His Grazier's Coat fall down his Heels;
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each Arm a Pudding Sleeve ;
His Waistcoat to a Caffock grew,
And both aflum'd a fable Hue;
But being old, continu'd juft
As thread-bare, and as full of Dust.
His Talk was now of Tythes and Dues ;
He fmok'd his Pipe and read the News ;
Knew how to preach old Sermons next,
Vamp'd in the Preface and the Text;
At Chrift'nings well could act his Part,
And had the Service all by Heart;
Wifh'd Women might have Children fast,
And thought whofe Sow had farrow'd laft;
Against Diffenters would repine,
And stood up firm for Right divine.
Found his Head fill'd with many a System,
he never mist 'em.
THUS having furbifh'd up a Parfon,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their Farce on.
Inftead of Homc-fpun Coifs were seen
Good Pinners edg'd with Colberteen;
Her Petticoat transform'd a-pace,
Became black Satin flounc'd with Lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down,
'Twas Madam, in her Grogram Gown.
Philemon was in great Suprize,
And hardly could believe his Eyes,
Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim;
And the admir'd as much at Him.
THUS, happy in their Change of Life,
Were fev'ral Years this Man and Wife;
When on a Day, which prov'd their last.
Difcourfing o'er old Stories paft,
They went by Chance amidst their Talk,
To the Church Yard to take a Walk ;
When Baucis haftily cry'd out,
My Dear, I fee your Forehead fprout!
Sprout, quoth the Man, What's this you tell us?
I hope you don't believe me Jealous :
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really, yours is budding too
Nay, - now I cannot fir my Foot;
It feels as if 'twere taking Root.
DESCRIPTION would but tire
In short, they both were turn'd to Yews.
OLD Goodman Dobfon of the Green
Remembers he the Trees has feen;
He'll talk of them from Noon till Night,
And goes with Folks to fhew the Sight;.
On Sundays, after Ev'ning Pray'r,
He gathers all the Parish there;
Points out the Place of either Yew;
Here Baucis, there Philemon grew.
Till once a Parfon of our Town,
To mend his Barn cut Baucis down;
At which 'tis hard to be believ'd,
How much the other Tree was griev'd,
Grew fcrubby, dy'd a-top, was stunted;
So, the next Parfon ftubb'd and burnt it.
YAREFUL Obfervers may foretel the Hour (By fure Prognofticks) when to dread a Show'r. While Rain depends, the penfive Cat gives o'er Her Frolicks, and pursues her Tail no more. Returning Home at Night, you'll find the Sink Strike your offended Senfe with double Stink.
you be wife, then go not far to dine,
You'll spend in Coach-hire more than save in Wine.
A coming Show'r your fhooting Corns prefage,
Old Aches throb, your hollow Tooth will rage,
Saunt'ring in Coffee-Houfe is Dulman seen ;
He damns the Climate, and complains of Spleen.
MEAN While the South, rifing with dabbled Wings,
A fable Cloud a-thwart the Welkin flings,
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