Thus was the hare pursued, though free from guilt;
Thus, Bob, shall thou be maul’d, fly where thou wilt. 
Then, honest Robin, of thy corpse beware;
Thou art not half so nimble as a hare: 
Too ponderous is thy bulk to mount the sky;
Nor can you go to Hell before you die. 
So keen thy hunters, and thy scent so strong,
Thy turns and doublings cannot save thee long.[3]

[Footnote 1:  Right Honourable William Pulteney, afterwards Earl of Bath.]

[Footnote 2:  Sir Robert Walpole, at that time Prime Minister, afterwards first Earl of Orford.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 3:  This hunting ended in the promotion of Will and Bob.  Bob was no longer first minister, but Earl of Orford; and Will was no longer his opponent, but Earl of Bath.—­H.]

ON THE WORDS BROTHER PROTESTANTS AND FELLOW CHRISTIANS, SO FAMILIARLY USED BY THE ADVOCATES FOR THE REPEAL OF THE TEST-ACT IN IRELAND 1733

AN inundation, says the fable,
Overflow’d a farmer’s barn and stable;
Whole ricks of hay and stacks of corn
Were down the sudden current borne;
While things of heterogeneous kind
Together float with tide and wind. 
The generous wheat forgot its pride,
And sail’d with litter side by side;
Uniting all, to show their amity,
As in a general calamity. 
A ball of new-dropp’d horse’s dung,
Mingling with apples in the throng,
Said to the pippin plump and prim,
“See, brother, how we apples swim.” 
  Thus Lamb, renown’d for cutting corns,
An offer’d fee from Radcliff scorns,
“Not for the world—­we doctors, brother,
Must take no fees of one another.” 
Thus to a dean some curate sloven
Subscribes, “Dear sir, your brother loving.” 
Thus all the footmen, shoeboys, porters,
About St. James’s, cry, “We courtiers.” 
Thus Horace in the house will prate,
“Sir, we, the ministers of state.” 
Thus at the bar the booby Bettesworth,[1]
Though half a crown o’erpays his sweat’s worth;
Who knows in law nor text nor margent,
Calls Singleton[2] his brother sergeant. 
And thus fanatic saints, though neither in
Doctrine nor discipline our brethren,
Are brother Protestants and Christians,
As much as Hebrews and Philistines: 
But in no other sense, than nature
Has made a rat our fellow-creature. 
Lice from your body suck their food;
But is a louse your flesh and blood? 
Though born of human filth and sweat, it
As well may say man did beget it. 
And maggots in your nose and chin
As well may claim you for their kin. 
  Yet critics may object, why not? 
Since lice are brethren to a Scot: 
Which made our swarm of sects determine
Employments for their brother vermin. 
But be they English, Irish, Scottish,
What Protestant can be so sottish,
While o’er the church these clouds are gathering
To call a swarm of lice his brethren? 
  As Moses, by divine advice,