And he, the dragon never sleeping,
Guarded each fair Hesperian pippin.
No hobby horse, with gorgeous top,
The dearest in Charles Mather's[1] shop,
Or glittering tinsel of May fair,
Could with this rod of Sid compare.
Dear Sid, then, why wert thou so mad
To break thy rod like naughty lad!
You should have kiss'd it in your distress,
And then return'd it to your mistress;
Or made it a Newmarket[2] switch,
And not a rod for thy own breech.
But since old Sid has broken this,
His next may be a rod in piss.
ATLAS, we read in ancient song,
Was so exceeding tall and strong,
He bore the skies upon his back,
Just as the pedlar does his pack;
But, as a pedlar overpress'd,
Unloads upon a stall to rest,
Or, when he can no longer stand,
Desires a friend to lend a hand;
- ↑ An eminent toyman in Fleet street.
- ↑ Lord Godolphin is satirized by Mr. Pope for a strong attachment to the turf. See his Moral Essays.
