HO but has read, if you have read at all,
Of one, they fack the giant-killer call?
He was a bold, ftout, able-bodied man,
To clear the world of fee, faw, fum, his plan :
Whene'er a monster had within his power
A young and tender virgin to devour,
To cool his blood, Jack, like a skilful furgeon,
Bled well the monfter, and releas'd the virgin;
Like the best doctors, did a method learn,
Of curing fevers never to return.
Mayn't I this giant-killing trade renew?
I have my virgin and my monjier too.
Tho' I can't boaft, like Jack, a lift of flain,
I wield a lancet and can breathe a vein;
To his Herculean arm my nerves are weak,
He cleft his foes, I only make mine squeak:
As Indians wound their flaves to please the court,
I'll tickle mine, Great Sirs, to make you sport.
To prove myfelf an humble imitator,
Giants are vices, and Jack ftands for fatire;
By tropes and figures, as it fancy fuits,
Paffions rife monfters, men fink down to brutes;
All talk and write in allegoric diction,
Court, city, town, and country run to fiction!
Each daily paper allegory teaches
Placemen are loeufs, and contractors leeches;
Nay, even Change-alley, where no bard repairs,
Deals much in fiction to pafs off their wares;
For whence the roaring there?-from bulls and bears !
The gaming fools are doves, the knaves are rooks,
Change alley bankrupts waddle out lame ducks!
But, ladies, blame not you your gaming fpoufes,
For you, as well as they, have pigeon-houses.
To change the figure-formerly I've been,
To ftraggling follies only whipper-in;