BOUNCE to FOP. AN HEROICK EPISTLE.
By Dr. S—T.
[Price Six-Pence.]
BOUNCE TO FOP.
AN HEROICK EPISTLE FROM A DOG at TWICKENHAM TO A DOG at COURT.
By Dr. S—T.
DUBLIN, Printed, LONDON, Reprinted for T. COOPER, in Paternoster-Row. M.DCC.XXXVI.
BOUNCE TO FOP.
TO thee, sweet
Fop, these Lines I send,
Who, tho' no Spaniel, am a Friend.
Tho, once my Tail in wanton play,
Now frisking this, and then that way,
Chanc'd, with a Touch of just the Tip,
To hurt your Lady-lap-dog-ship;
Yet thence to think I'd bite your Head off!
Sure
Bounce is one you never read of.
FOP! you can dance, and make a Leg,
Can fetch and carry, cringe and beg,
And (what's the Top of all your Tricks)
Can stoop to pick up
Strings and
Sticks.
We Country Dogs love nobler Sport,
And scorn the Pranks of Dogs at Court.
Fye, naughty Fop! where e'er you come
To f
[...]t and p
[...]ss about the Room,
To lay your Head in every Lap,
And, when they think not of you—snap!
The worst that Envy, or that Spite
E'er said of me, is, I can bite:
That sturdy Vagrants, Rogues in Rags,
Who poke at me, can make no Brags;
And that to towze such Things as
flutter,
To honest
Bounce is Bread and Butter.
While you, and every courtly Fop,
Fawn on the Devil for a Chop,
[Page 7] I've the Humanity to hate
A Butcher, tho' he brings me Meat;
And let me tell you, have a Nose,
(Whatever stinking Fops suppose)
That under Cloth of Gold or Tissue,
Can smell a Plaister, or an Issue.
Your pilf'ring Lord, with simple Pride,
May wear a Pick-lock at his Side;
My Master wants no Key of State,
For
Bounce can keep his House and Gate.
When all such Dogs have had their Days,
As knavish
Pams, and fawning
Trays;
When pamper'd
Cupids, beastly
Veni's,
And motly, squinting
Harvequini's,
Shall lick no more their Lady's Br
[...],
But die of Looseness, Claps, or Itch;
[Page 8] Fair
Thames from either ecchoing Shore
Shall hear, and dread my manly Roar.
See
Bounce, like
Berecynthia, crown'd
With thund'ring Offspring all around,
Beneath, beside me, and a top,
A hundred Sons! and not one
Fop.
Before my Children set your Beef,
Not one true
Bounce will be a Thief;
Not one without Permission feed,
(Tho' some of
J
[...]'s hungry Breed)
But whatsoe'er the Father's Race,
From me they suck a little Grace.
While your fine Whelps learn all to steal,
Bred up by Hand on Chick and Veal.
My Eldest-born resides not far,
Where shines great
Strafford's glittering Star:
[Page 9] My second (Child of Fortune!) waits
At
Burlington's Palladian Gates:
A third majestically stalks
(Happiest of Dogs!) in
Cobham's Walks:
One ushers Friends to
Bathurst's Door;
One fawns, at
Oxford's, on the Poor.
Nobles, whom Arms or Arts adorn,
Wait for my Infants yet unborn.
None but a Peer of Wit and Grace,
Can hope a Puppy of my Race.
And O! wou'd Fate the Bliss decree
To mine (a Bliss too great for me)
That two, my tallest Sons, might grace
Attending each with stately Pace,
To keep off Flatt'rers, Spies, and Panders,
[Page 10] To let no noble Slave come near,
And scare Lord
Fannys from his Ear:
Then might a Royal Youth, and true,
Enjoy at least a Friend—or two:
A Treasure, which, of Royal kind,
Few but Himself deserve to find.
Then
Bounce ('tis all that
Bounce can crave)
Shall wag her Tail within the Grave.
And tho' no Doctors, Whig or Tory ones,
Except the Sect of
Pythagoreans,
Have Immortality assign'd
To any Beast, but
†
Dryden's Hind:
Yet Master
Pope, whom Truth and Sense
Shall call their Friend some Ages hence,
Tho' now on loftier Themes he sings
Than to bestow a Word on
Kings,
[Page 11] Has sworn by
Sticks (the Poet's Oath,
And Dread of Dogs and Poets both)
Man and his Works he'll soon renounce,
And roar in Numbers worthy
Bounce.
FINIS.
ERRATA.
Page 7. Line 14. for Harvequini's, read Harlequini's.