* * * * *
He had been long t'wards mathematics,
Opticks, philosophy, and staticks,
Magick, horoscopy, astrology,
And was old dog at physiology:
But, as a dog that turns the spit,
Bestirs himself, and plies his feet
To climb the wheel, but all in vain,
His own weight brings him down again;
And still he's in the self-same place,
Where at his setting out he was:
So, in the circle of the arts,
Did he advance his nat'ral parts:
Till falling back still, for retreat,
He fell to juggle, cant, and cheat:
For as those fowls that live in water
Are never wet, he did but smatter:
Whate'er he labour'd to appear,
His understanding still was clear,
Yet none a deeper knowledge boasted,
Since old Hodge Bacon, and Bob Grosted,
* * * * *
Do not our great _Reformers_ use
This SIDROPHEL to forebode news?
To write of victories next year,
And castles taken yet i'th' air?
Of battles fought at sea, and ships
Sunk, two years hence, the last eclipse?
A total o'er throw giv'n the KING
In Cornwall, horse and foot, next spring?
And has not he point-blank foretold
Whatso'er the _Close Committee_ would?
Made Mars and Saturn for the _cause_,
The Moon for _fundamental laws_;
The Ram, the Bull, the Goat, declare
Against the _Book of Common Prayer_;
The Scorpion take the _Protestation_,
And Bear engage for Reformation;
Made all the _royal stars_ recant,
Compound, and take the covenant.
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