Now the BILL is past, Wooden Shoes at last.
THE best of all things is the
Golden Mean,
Virtue
resides not in the two Extreams:
E
[...]en the Heavens declare this Maxim true,
Which five Zones have, and yet there are but two
Under which mankind can his Life possess,
That this is so,
Astronomers confess.
Perhaps you'l say, the third shou'd Centre be,
But let two Circles here be drawn by thee.
The third is then Extream, you'l quickly see.
But since 'tis my design to write upon
The
Golden Mean, why stay I here so long?
Of the
Hare and
Partridge let us take a view.
The first's too fearful, and the latter too
Audacious, stays until the Net be drew:
The other starts at e'ery blast of Wind,
As if the Enemy was e'en then behind.
The
Hare is thus like Jealousie and Fears,
Which sets us ost together by the Ears.
Thus it falls out, we frequent are undone
By Hurly-burlies which we strive to shun,
As in the dismal Date of Forty One.
No less simply the
Partridge is beset,
Who takes no care, till in the fatal Net
In which we'd almost been in Eighty Eight.
And then, alas, too late she wou'd avoid
Those Snares in which already she's decoy'd.
Then wisely let us act like
Reynalds, who
Do's timely fly, when that his Foes pursue:
'Tis time to stir, when once the Wooden Shoe
Is seen or heard, for fear of
L—s too.
November'
s Plots were soon enough foreknown,
Before the Pop was made, or Powder blown,
Before the Duke came in, or Wax-work shown.
And tho' the BILL is pass'd, they
Brethren are,
A
[...]d till they're quite undone, need not dispair:
Perhaps some
B—t may harangue the Crowd,
To bring Relief before they're in the Shroud.
The Wheel upon the Axis moveth still,
And various VVinds, various Sails do fill:
There's nothing which is always at a stay,
The Tide it self do's often change its way.
Then if kind
Phoebus shou'd resolve again
To grant to
Phaeton the Horses Rein,
Let him be mindful of his fatal Sire,
'Tis ill Repenting when the VVorld's on fire.
Ʋlysses
like, may Jove
preserve him long
From
Polyphemus, and the
Syrenes Song:
Doedalus
like, may he keep the middle State,
And still beware of
Icarus's Fate.
Printed for W. Jones near Charing-Cross. Price One Penny.