[5] In _The Gentleman's Magazine_ for 1740, p. 89, is no bad copy of verses "on the death of the famous _Flyer_ on the Rope at _Shrewsbury_". It is therefore here inserted. _-----------Magnis tamen excidit ausis._ Fond _Icarus_ of old, with rash essay, In air attempted a forbidden way; Too thin the medium for so cumb'rous freight, Too weak the plumage to support the weight. Yet less he dar'd who soar'd on waxen wing, Than he who mounts to æther on a string. Just as _Arachne_, when the buzzing prey Entangled flutter, and would wing away, From watchful ambuscade insidious springs, And to a slender twine, ascending, clings. So on his rope, th' advent'rer climbs on high, Bounds o'er cathedral heights, and seeks the sky; Fix but his cable, and he'll tell you soon, What sort of natives cultivate the moon. An army of such wights to cross the main, Sooner than _Haddock's_ fleet, shou'd humble _Spain_. As warring cranes on pigmies thund'ring fall, And, without scaling ladders, mount the wall, The proudest spire in _Salop's_ lofty town Safely he gains, and glides as safely down; Then soars again aloft, and downward springs, Swift as an eagle, without aid of wings; Shews anticks, hangs suspended by his toe; Undazzled, views th' inverted chasm below. Invites with beat of drum brave voluntiers, Defies _Jack Spaniard_, nor invasion fears, Land when they will, they ne'er cou'd hurt _his ears_. Methink I see as yet his flowing hair And body, darting like a falling star: Swifter than what "with fins or feathers fly Thro' the ærial or the wat'ry sky." Once more he dares to brave the pathless way, Fate now pursuing, like a bird of prey; And, comet-like, he makes his latest tour, In air excentric (oh! ill-omen'd hour!) Bar'd in his shirt to please the gazing crowd, He little dreamt, poor soul! of winding shroud! Nothing could aught avail but limbs of brass, When ground was iron, and the _Severn_ glass. As quick as lightning down his line he skims, Secure in equal poize of agile limbs. But see the trusted cordage faithless prove! Headlong he falls, and leaves his soul above: The gazing town was shock'd at the rebound Of shatter'd bones, that rattled on the ground; The broken cord rolls on in various turns, Smokes in the whirl, and as it runs it burns. So when the wriggling snake is snatch'd on high In eagle's claws, and hisses in the sky, Around the foe his twirling tail he flings, And twists her legs, and writhes about her wings. _Cadman_ laid low, ye rash, behold and fear, Man is a reptile, and the ground his sphere. Unhappy man! thy end lamented be; Nought but thy own ill fate so swift as thee, Were metamorphoses permitted now, And tuneful _Ovid_ liv'd to tell us how; His apter Muse shou'd turn thee to a daw,