Wrote in 1722

To bring New Years, revolving Time makes haste, And dulls the treach'rous Mem'ry to the Past. As Ages fly, and Seasons quick return, An Infant Race, that shall succeed, in born; Whose Father's Acts shall in our News be read, When we and they are call'd the senseless Dead.

To trace fresh Deeds, red War, and vast Design, From the cold Artic to th' Antartic Line, Our Types perform the hard, yet pleasing, Toll, And Science spread to Earth's remotest Isle.

If you delight to view Muscovia's Lord; What diff'rent Scenes his Projects can afford, Our News impart, and paint the wond'rous Man, From Moscow's Court to distant Astracan. The Volga, and Tanais' rapid Stream, And Half th' extensive Caspian, yield to him: E'er this th' Euxinus, and Meotis' shore, Where Azof rears her Head, confess his Pow'r. Thus prone to War, and disciplin'd in Fight, At last to Half the Globe he'll claim a Right.

If Prussia please: It self a little State, Obeys a Prince, whose Virtues make him Great. If Suevia: Peace repairs her Loss in Fight; She happy seems: But Holstein wants his Right. Denmark with Envy views the Czar's Design. Poland's vex'd Lords sad Poland undermine. In Peace the wand'ring Portugueze remain; And no new Stratagems are form'd in Spain. Whilst Mahomet's Hereditary Cheat Sways Half the World, and reigns superbly Great: His proud Sultanas, in Calm Midland Seas, Ride uncontroul'd, and dare what Port they please: Ev'n Malta's self, and Gozzo's Fort, appear Secure in Strength; yet now possess'd with Fear.

If Persia: Scenes of Blood offend the Eye; Here Heaps of Slain in grinning Horrors lie: There, in Confusion, plunder'd Towns arise, To Meriveis' Lust a Sacrifice: Contending Cheats assert Religion's Right, And Mahomet has Ali put to flight.

If, on the Prospect of Our Native Isle, You spend a serious Thought, forbear to smile; Britain against all Force, except her own, Remains unhurt, whilst George maintains the Throne; But trayt'rous Plots her kindly Peace devour, And murd'rous Schemes of Profit make her poor.

If o'er the Country, where we live, we roam, And view the private Managements at Home, No Scenes of Pleasure will the Senses joy: 'Tis Rapine all, and Aptness to destroy. Designs, for want of Cash, in Embrio rest; Whilst, to retrieve, each thinks his Project best. Here Paper-Schemes, for Paper-Cash, appear, Here Satyr lies, and — Lampoon there. Confus'd, amid'st the Prate of Thousand Fools, We fly the Cure propos'd by Reason's Rules.

Now to apply.— My annual Task is done, And a new Year of News with us begun; Yet for my Weekly Toil, to visit you, Something, among the GEN'ROUS must be due. As once th' Egyptians Hieroglyphicks wrote, Made Signs for Words, and Pictures shew'd the Thought; Asham'd to ask, I Figures form'd, to try How well with you that Language wou'd comply. But knowing that our Art the Pref'rence bore Of all the Ways of silent Speech before, I still, more plain, express my self in Print, To beg the Annual Gift; that's all that's in't.