Thirteen Descriptions of the GREAT A. drawn from the Life by that celebrated Master D—d J—s D-ve, Poet…

Illit'rate Dolt! whose muddy Pate contains, Scandal and Lies, but not a Dram of Brains.

Who can this Upstart's Insolence endure, Whose Soul's as mean, and base, as Birth obscure! But Nothing is so proud and vain as He That is grown rich, from Want and Beggary.

A Blust'ring Fool presents himself to View, To his own Interest, and the Devil's true. "They're Rogues, and Rascals, Scoundrels, German Boors, "Engregious Villains, perjur'd Sons of Whores, "Who won't turn honest Franklin out of Doors. "Rather than he should gain an Inch of Ground, "I swear by — I'll spend Three Thousand Pound."

Old Havanna upon the Stage appears, Laden with Sins, with Money, and with Years, See! the old Sharper! cooking up his Stum With Sugar, with Water, with Brandy, with Cider, with Rum For his unlawful Trade to the — But Mum! Of ev'ry Mixture vile, he makes a Trial, What won't pass for Madeira will for Fyall. If Wines adulterate his Coffers fill, He values not how many they may kill. Span'ards! beware, and with him deal no further, Lest his Adultery should prove your Murther.— Thrice happy Boys, whom Daddy loves so well, To make ye rich, he's riding Post to H— And you, sweet Youths! will follow his Example, And under Foot, all Truth and Virtue trample.

Make room! make room! for blund'ring Willy's GUTS Mark his unmeaning Phiz, see how he struts! Nature thy Wisdom's great, who hast thought fit To give him Wealth to cover Want of Wit.

Here comes old Drip-Pan fam'd for his Deceit, Who in his Sugar never gave good Weight. In him no Truth, no Honesty or Trust is, His Rogu'ry unfits him for Ch—f J—ce.

A driv'ling Fool is now brought on the Stage, Who, tho' in Years advanc'd is not of Age. Had Busby oft'ner lash'd this Blockhead's Breech He might have taught him Spelling, and eight Parts of Speech; But now alas! (so void is he of Sense,) He knows not Grammar or his Accidence: And all his little Reading at the School Renders him only an accomplish'd Fool. Go Hog! Go Home! and wallow in your Stye, And undisturb'd eat Tripe and Oyster-Pye.

Here comes Will Epicure, that Kitchen Cot, Whose Pride boils over, like a Porridge Pot, Arm'd with Corinthian Brass for his Defence, And more than treble Stock of Impudence. His Lies and Falshood well deserve Rebuke, Although he really thinks himself a Duke. And why mayn't Fortune sordid Earth refine, And from a Dunghill drawn a Meteor shine? Have you not often seen on Signpost high, A chatt'ring Monkey look with scornful Eye, On those of humane Shape, who pass'd him by? 'Till of his Hat and Doublet stript; but then The Jackanapes appear'd a Jackanapes agen.

View now the Man who feigns a PATRIOT's Life, Yet fructified on a poor Negro's Wife. The Fact most plain and flagrant now appears That he had used her more than Twenty Years. In youthful Days one Doxy would not do, He kept in Pay both PEG and CHLOE too. But when grown old (tho' she did beg and crave) He sold her at Jamaica for a Slave: And now alas! this quondam MAID of HONOUR Has none but Quaco got to lie upon her; But had she staid, then would Mulatto SAM Have learnt from his black Honourable DAM, He'd sprung from Loins of Judge, and Soup of Clam. But what does Will for Want of Chlo and Peg?— He occupies the Velvet Widow Greg.— All his Designs concenter in himself For building Castles and amassing Pelf. And can you then imagine, stupid Fools! Whom he has wrought on to be Slaves and Tools, That he the PUBLICK will not sell for Gain, Who will his Name for PRIVATE Fortune stain? If so; burn Incense to your Idol God, Think yourselves blest, if he vouchsafe a Nod; Confide in him your sacred Rights to keep, And vote a Wolf the Guardian of your Sheep.

Here Bully ROUNDHEAD comes, a Sage Divine Who Adoration pays at Plutus' Shrine. A mighty Zealot now for Calvin's Church, Tho' once he would have left her in the Lurch. Not Godliness but Gold's his only View; No Crime to him tho' e'er so vile is new; A tricking Judge, and Presbyterian Jew.

Come Will! advance, hold up thy bloated Face, Of thy own Sect and Party the Disgrace. Mind him, good People! if he walks or stands, How like a FLATMAN rowing with his Hands. No Bags, by Sales of Land had e'er been fill'd, Had not his Brother John by Pox been kill'd. But now grown rich, proud, saucy, and uncivil, In Coach and Four he's riding to the D—

Waddlerump come on; Thy great Head is such, As never furnish'd was, with over much. Glad would he be (cou'd he but find the Way) To make Mankind to him low Homage pay. Observe him well, whene'er he Silence breaks How big he swells, and sputt'ring stutt'ring speaks, "O, Johnny, Jemmy, Andrew, if you're wise "You will immediately get up and rise, "Nor stand thus idly lying on your Beds; "But shake dull Sleep from off your lousy Heads. "To Court! to Court! if we're outdone in Votes, "We Presbyterians can't cut Quakers' Throats; "And therefore I to look out sharp am bent, "Lest they our noble Tragedy prevent."— This, this is he, who scruples not to go Upon the Bench, durante placito; For well he knows, he scarce an Hour should sit, If the Law was quam bene gesserit.

In Scandal sure the Devil can't go higher Than what's invented by this foul-mouth'd Squire: Tho' none but Fools the Mudbrain will believe, He still has Hopes the Publick to deceive.

See Tickets bought by John with Spanish Dollar, Whose Father well deserves a hempen Collar. And if we may presage from what is done, No less may be expected from the Son.