"The quadrant that a Philistine tailor took the height of Goliah by, when he made him his last suit of clothes; for the giant being a man of extraordinary dimensions, it was impossible to do this in any other way than your designers use when they take the height of a country-steeple," &c. &c.--_Reasons for Mr Bayes changing his Religion._ See Preface.] [Footnote 83: THE LAUREAT. _Jack Squab's history, in a little drawn, Down to his evening from his morning dawn._ (Bought by Mr Luttrel, 24th October, 1687.) Appear, thou mighty bard, to open view; Which yet, we must confess, you need not do. The labour to expose thee we may save; Thou standst upon thy own records a knave, Condemned to live in thy apostate rhymes, The curse of ours, and scoff of future times. Still tacking round with every turn of state, } Reverse to Shaftesbury, thy cursed fate } Is always, at a change, to come too late. } To keep his plots from coxcombs, was his care; His villainy was masked, and thine is bare. Wise men alone could guess at his design, } And could but guess, the threads were spun so fine; } But every purblind fool may see through thine. } Had Dick still kept the regal diadem, Thou hadst been poet laureat still to him, And, long ere now, in lofty verse proclaimed His high extraction, among princes famed; Diffused his glorious deed from pole to pole, Where winds can carry, or where waves can roll: Nay, had our Charles, by heaven's severe decree, Been found and murdered in the royal tree, Even thou hadst praised the fact; his father slain, Thou callest but gently breathing of a vein. Impious and villainous, to bless the blow } That laid at once three lofty nations low, } And gave the royal cause a fatal overthrow! } Scandal to all religions, new and old; } Scandal to them, where pardon's bought and sold, } And mortgaged happiness redeemed for gold. } Tell me, for 'tis a truth you must allow, Who ever changed more in one moon than thou? Even thy own Zimri was more stedfast known, He had but one religion, or had none. What sect of Christians is't thou hast not known, And at one time or other made thy own? A bristled baptist bred, and then thy strain Immaculate was far from sinful stain; No songs, in those blest times, thou didst produce, To brand and shame good manners out of use; The ladies had not then one b---- bob, Nor thou the courtly name of Poet Squab. Next, thy dull muse, an independant jade, On sacred tyranny fine stanzas made; Praised Noll, who even to both extremes did run, To kill the father and dethrone the son. When Charles came in, thou didst a convert grow, More by thy interest, than thy nature so; Under his 'livening beams thy laurels spread; }