To Mr. IRONSIDES

'Twas you who first did put to flight The Amber Cane of sauntring Knight, The Shoulder-knot, the Hat and Feather, And Rocklowe worn in sultry Weather. That SPEC, was you, or Part of you, Which first subdu'd the red-heel'd Shoe. The Snuff-box too, with Nun and Priest, The flutt'ring Coxcomb's nauseous Jest. The only Object that could suit The delicate and well-bred Brute. To Play-house whensoe're you came To SPEC, to Censure and Reclaim, The guilty Chloe curtsy'd low, The Fop his tributary Bow Submissive paid, and strait would be Demure, as if he came to see. To Vice from Folly you could step, Or rather, if you please, could leap. Nor Atheist then, that is, Free-thinker, Nor, for the sake of Rhime, Free-drinker; Nor others tedious to rehearse, Below the Dignity of Verse; Howe're, disguis'd in Virtue's Shape, SPEC's Guilt-pursuing Pen could scape. Great was the Dread, all fell before ye; Tam Fool quam Knave, tam Whig quam Tory. In vain the Rich your Doors would crowd, No Safeguard Money was allow'd. The Town and you did long wage War; That is, 'twas long fight Dog, fight Bear. But you, at last, did overcome, And brought th' Eternal Laurel home. Great was the Glory then, I trow, As great as that of Marlborough. Nor did you rid us of a lesser Evil, He beat the Bourbon, you the Devil.