Now be their Arts display’d, how first they choose A Cause and Party, as the Bard his Muse; Inspir’d by these, with clamorous zeal they cry, And thro’ the Town their Dreams and Omens fly: So the Sibylline[13] Leaves were blown about, Disjointed scraps of Fate involv’d in doubt: So idle Dreams, the Journals of the Night, Are right and wrong by turns, and mingle Wrong with Right. Some Champions for the Rights that prop the Crown, Some sturdy Patriots, sworn to pull them down; Some neutral Powers, with secret Forces fraught, Wishing for War, but willing to be bought; While some to every Side and Party go, Shift every Friend and join with every Foe; Like sturdy Rogues in Privateers they strike This side and that, the Foes of both alike; A Traitor-crew, who thrive in troubled Times, Fear’d for their Force and courted for their Crimes. Chief to the prosperous side the Numbers sail, Fickle and false, they veer with every Gale; As Birds that migrate from a freezing Shore, In search of warmer Climes, come skimming o’er, Some bold Adventurers first prepare to try The doubtful Sunshine of the distant Sky; But soon the growing Summer’s certain Sun Wins more and more, till all at last are won; So, on the early Prospect of Disgrace, Fly in vast Troops this apprehensive Race; Instinctive Tribes! their failing Food they dread, And buy, with timely Change, their future Bread. Such are our Guides; how many a peaceful Head, Born to be still, have they to wrangling led! How many an honest Zealot, stol’n from Trade, And factious Tools of pious Pastors made! With Clews like these they tread the Maze of State, These Oracles explore, to learn our Fate; Pleas’d with the Guides who can so well deceive, Who cannot lie so fast as they believe.