That genia soil receives the fruitful store, And there they grow, and breed a thousand more. Now be their arts display'd, how first they choose A cause and party, as the bard his Muse; Inspired by these, with clamorous zeal they cry, And through the town their dreams and omens fly; So the Sibylline leaves were blown about, Disjointed scraps of fate involved 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 thread the maze of state, These oracles explore, to learn our fate; Pleased with the guides who can so well deceive, Who cannot lie so fast as they believe. Oft lend I, loth, to some sage friend an ear, (For we who will not speak are doom'd to hear); While he, bewilder'd, tells his anxious thought, Infectious fear from tainted scribblers caught, Or idiot hope; for each his mind assails, As LLOYD'S court-light or STOCKDALE'S gloom prevails. Yet stand I patient while but one declaims, Or gives dull comments on the speech he maims: But oh! ye Muses, keep your votary's feet From tavern-haunts where politicians meet; Where rector, doctor, and attorney pause, First on each parish, then each public cause: Indited roads, and rates that still increase; The murmuring poor, who will not fast in peace; Election zeal and friendship, since declined; A tax commuted, or a tithe in kind; The Dutch and Germans kindling into strife; Dull port and poachers vile; the serious ills of life. Here comes the neighbouring Justice, pleased to guide His little club, and in the chair preside. In private business his commands prevail, On public themes his reasoning turns the scale; Assenting silence soothes his happy ear, And, in or out, his party triumphs here. Nor here th' infectious rage for party stops,