Dropt on a sudden from the skies, To catch and fix our wondering eyes, To witch, with wand instead of whip, The world with noble horsemanship, To twist and twine, both horse and man, On such a well-concerted plan, That, Centaur-like, when all was done, We scarce could think they were not one? Could she not to our itching ears Bring the new names of new-coin'd peers, 940 Who walk'd, nobility forgot, With shoulders fitter for a knot Than robes of honour; for whose sake Heralds in form were forced to make, To make, because they could not find, Great predecessors to their mind? Could she not (though 'tis doubtful since Whether he plumber is, or prince) Tell of a simple knight's advance To be a doughty peer of France? 950 Tell how he did a dukedom gain, And Robinson was Aquitain? Tell how her city chiefs, disgraced, Were at an empty table placed,-- A gross neglect, which, whilst they live, They can't forget, and won't forgive; A gross neglect of all those rights Which march with city appetites, Of all those canons, which we find By Gluttony, time out of mind, 960 Established, which they ever hold Dearer than any thing but gold? Thanks to my stars--I now see shore-- Of courtiers, and of courts no more-- Thus stumbling on my city friends, Blind Chance my guide, my purpose bends In line direct, and shall pursue The point which I had first in view, Nor more shall with the reader sport Till I have seen him safe in port. 970 Hush'd be each fear--no more I bear Through the wide regions of the air The reader terrified, no more Wild ocean's horrid paths explore. Be the plain track from henceforth mine-- Cross roads to Allen I resign; Allen, the honor of this nation; Allen, himself a corporation; Allen, of late notorious grown For writings, none, or all, his own; 980 Allen, the first of letter'd men, Since the good Bishop[262] holds his pen, And at his elbow takes his stand, To mend his head, and guide his hand. But hold--once more, Digression hence-- Let us return to Common Sense; The car of Phoebus I discharge, My carriage now a Lord Mayor's barge. Suppose we now--we may suppose In verse, what would be sin in prose-- 990 The sky with darkness overspread, And every star retired to bed; The gewgaw robes of Pomp and Pride In some dark corner thrown aside; Great lords and ladies giving way To what they seem to scorn by day, The real feelings of the heart, And Nature taking place of Art; Desire triumphant through the night, And Beauty panting with delight; 1000 Chastity, woman's fairest crown, Till the return of morn laid down. Then to be worn again as bright As if not sullied in the night; Dull Ceremony, business o'er, Dreaming in form at Cottrell's[263] door; Precaution trudging all about To see the candles safely out, Bearing a mighty master-key,