Not fit to live on Chriftian ground,
They and their houses fhall be drown'd;
Whilft you fhall fee your cottage rife,

The chimney widen'd, and grew higher," Became a fteeple with a fpire.

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The kettle to the top was hofft,
And there ftood faften'd to a joift,

But with the upside down, to show
Its inclination for below:
In vain; for a fuperior force
Apply'd at bottom stops its course :
Doom'd ever in fufpence to dwell,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bella

A wooden jack, which had almost
Loft by difufe the art to roaft,
A fudden alteration feels,

Increas'd by new inteftine wheels;
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion flower."

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70

The flier, though 't had leaden feet,

Turn'd round fo quick, you scarce could fee 't;

But, flacken'd by fome fecret power,

Now hardly moves an inch an hour.
The jack and chimney, near ally'd,

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Had never left each other's fide:

The

The chimney to a steeple grown,

The jack would not be left alone

But, up against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and ftill adher'd;
And ftill its love to houfhold-cares,
a fhrill voice at noon, declares,

By a
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roaft-meat, which it cannot turn."

The groaning-chair began to crawl,

Like a huge fnail, along the wall;
There ftuck aloft in public view,
And, with small change, a pulpit grew.
The porringers, that in a row
Hung high, and made a glittering fhow,
To a lefs noble fubftance chang'd,
Were now but leathern buckets rang'd.

The ballads, pafted on the wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood,
Now feem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in picture, fize, and letter;
And, high in order plac'd, defcribe >
The heraldry of every tribe *.

A bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did ufe,

Was metamorphos'd into pews;

*The tribes of Ifrael are fometimes diftinguished in country churches by the enfigns given to them by Jacob.

E.2

Which

Which still their ancient nature keep,
By lodging folks difpos'd to fleep.

The cottage by fuch feats as thefe
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then defir'd their hoft
To ask for what he fancy'd moft.
Philemon, having paus'd a while,
Return'd them thanks in homely ftyles
Then faid, My houfe is grown fo fine,
Methinks, I ftill would call it mine,
I'm old, and fain would live at eafe;
Make me the parfon, if you please.

He fpoke, and prefently he feels
His grazier's coat fall down his heels:
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-fleeve;
His waistcoat to a caffock grew,
And both affum'd a fable hue;"
But, being old, continued juft
As thread-baré, and as full of duft.
His talk was now of tithes and dues :
He fmok'd his pipe, and read the news;
Knew how to preach old fermons next,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text;
At chriftenings well could act his part,
And had the fervice all by heart;
Wish'd women might have children fast,
And thought whofe fow had farrow'd laft;

Against diffenters would repine,

And stood up firm for right divine;

Found his head fill'd with many a system:

But claffic authors, be ne'er mifs'd 'em.
Thus having furbish'd up a parfon,

Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.
Instead of home-fpun coifs, were feen

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Good pinners edg'd with colberteen ;

140

Her petticoat, transform'd apace,

Became black fattin flounc'd with lace.

Plain Goody would no longer down,
'Twas Madam, in her grogram-gown.
Philemon was in great furprize,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim;
And the admir'd as much at him.
Thus happy in their change of life
Were feveral years this

man and wife :

When on a day, which prov'd their laft,
Difcourfing o'er old ftories paft,

They went by chance, amidft their talk,
To the church-yard to take a walk;
When Baucis hastily cry'd out,

My dear, I fee your forehead fprout!

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155

Sprout quoth the man; what 's this you tell us? I hope you don't believe me jealous! *But yet, methinks, I feel it true; And really yours is budding too — Nay, now I cannot stir It feels as if 'twere taking root.

my foot;

Description would but tire my Muse ; In short, they both were turn'd to yews.

E 3

160

Old

Old Goodman Dobfon of the green
Remembers, he the trees has feen;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to fhew the fight;
On Sundays, after evening-prayer,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew ;,
Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew:
Till once a parfon of our town,
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;
At which 'tis hard to be believ'd
How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew fcrubbed, dy'd a-top, was stunted ;
So the next parfon ftubb'd and burnt it.

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175

On the fuppofed DEATH of PARTRIDGE, the Almanack-Maker. 1709.,

WELL; 'tis as Bickerstaff has guess'd,

Though we all took it for a jest :

Partridge is dead; nay more, he dy'd
Ere he could prove the good 'fquire ly'd.
Strange, an aftrologer fhould die
Without one wonder in the sky!
Not one of all his crony ftars
Το pay their duty at his hearfe!
No meteor, no eclipfe appear'd l
No comet with a flaming beard!

The