Has not my Friend transported run,

(E’er Isis own’d her tuneful Son)

Where antick Punch with rustick Strain

Attracts each Ear of Country Swain;

Has He not mark’d how in the Shew,

(The Kings and Princes all arow,).

Each Maid the tinceld Toys surprize,

And strike each glistning Schoolboys Eyes?

But if you look behind the Scene,

You’ll view at once the whole Machine;

The Prompter gives the Voice to speak,

The Thread prevents the Joints to break,

And move the Plume the Puppet wears,

A senseless, lifeless Log appears.

So this fair Book with gaudy Coat

Arrests each wond’ring Gazer’s Note.

What Puppet e’er so flaunting gay,

Dress’d out in all it’s bright Array?

What Coxcomb e’er so neatly bounds,

Tho fam’d for trifling Europe rounds?

No graceful Bell in birth-day Pride

Prefer’d the various Dance to guide,

No flutt’ring Beau, whom Flattrys Bay

Presents this Bell an easy Prey,

Without e’er shew’d so gay and sprank,

Or prov’d within a purer Blank.

And yet this Blank (to shew I’d send

What’s not unworthy of my Friend)

E’er thus transform’d it saw the Light,

Adorn’d a Nymph as gay and bright,

As blooming fair, if Fame says true,

As youthful Fancy ever drew.

Long Time it serv’d to deck her Pride,

Till thin’d by wear, ‘twas laid aside,

Consign’d at length the Ragman’s Care,

It sighing thus prefer’d it’s Pray’r.

“At length since all-consuming Time

“With wasting Hand has struck my Prime,

“Ye Pow’rs (since once renew’d my Frame

“Is lost my former Use and Name)

“O! let me still the Fair attend,

“And blooming Cloe o’er me bend,

“To Me Her brightest Wit display,

“Through Me her purest Thoughts convey;

“Or let some Bard, whose studeous Mind

“With ev’ry human Art’s refind,

“With sacred Verse adorn my Page,

“That still shall stand the Test of Age?

            The Gods consent to half the Pray’r,

            The rest the Wind’s disperst in Air.

And since no more, the Fates withstand,

These Leaves shall reach fair Cloe’s Hand.

Whom should they else but Thee attend,

The sweetest Bard and gentlest Friend?

Who else fulfill the Fate’s Command

Reserv’d for Thy creative Hand?

O! then Thy choicest Stone display,

And here inscribe Thy brightest Lay.

No longer then the Wit will hold,

“A lifeless Log bedoub’d with Gold,

“A senseless Puppet dress’d for Shew

True Emblem of a modern Beau;”

But rich with thy instructive Ryme,

It dares the Tooth of trying Time,

On that strong Basis founds its Throne,

And calls Eternity its own.