But should he in the parliament,
By patriotism led;

Unvote his votes of twenty years,
And unsay all he has said,

He'll have but two things left to do,

Both which he'll do, I hope;

Go to the Cocoa Tree at noon,

And sup at night with Pope.

Doddington had more wit and unsteadiness than Pulteney; quite as ambitious, but less acrimonious; no formidable enemy; no sure political but agreeable friend. Doddington's speeches were as dainty and pointed as Pulteney's were copious and wandering from the subject. Ostentatious in his person, houses, and furniture, he wanted in his expense the taste he never wanted in his conversation. Pope and Churchill treated him with more severity than he deserved, a fate that may attend a man of the greatest wit, when his parts are more suited to society than to composition. The verse remains; the bon mots and sallies are forgotten.—W.

Bub's Diary is curious, indeed, not so much from the secrets it blabs, which are rather characteristic than novel, but from the wonderful folly of the author, who was so fond of talking of himself, that he tells all he knew of himself, though scarce an event that does not betray his profligacy, and (which is still more surprising that he should disclose), the contempt in which he was held.-W.

It had been well for Doddington's memory if his fame had been suffered to rest on the tradition of his wit, and the evidence of his poetry. The posthumous publication of his Diary has not enlarged the stock of his reputation, in which he relates little but what tends to his disgrace; however, with all its faults, the book is valuable.-W.

A GRUB UPON BUB*

(Written for the use of the Votesmen of Bridgewater, March 1740-1.)

To the Tune of "Packinton's Pound."

GOOD people draw near, and attend to my song, And despise not my ballad for being a Grub; For if 'tis not a good one, at least 'tis not long, And I'll tell you, in short, the fall of poor Bub: How he lost his good place,

And is in disgrace,

And does not know where to show his flat face; For the Torys will never receive such a scrub, And no Whig at court will be civil to Bub.

George Bub Doddington, afterwards created Baron Melcombe.

When the Knights of the Bath by King George

were created,

He greatly desired he that order might wear; But he had not one star, for poor Bub was ill-fated, And ne'er a red ribbon fell to his share:

For the King would not dub,

So low-born a scrub,

Nor the order disgrace with a fellow like Bub; But he calmly and quietly put up the thing, And follow'd the court, tho' not led in a string.

When for sometime he had sat at the Treasury board,

[ear;

And the clerks there with titles had tickled his From ev'ry day hearing himself call'd a lord,

He begg'd of Sir Robert to make him a peer,

But in an ill hour;

For Walpole look'd sour,

And said, it was not in his will or his pow'r.

"Do you think, Sir, the King would advance such a scrub,

Or the

peerage debase with the name of a Bub?"

He's on this grown a patriot, and soon will

harangue,

And of Virtue will prate like a saint on a tub; But I shall leave him for Sir William* to bang, If he 'as but a clear stage, how he'll mumble poor Bub:

Who has never a friend,

That assistance will lend,

Or his cause, tho' his life were at stake, will defend;

Nay, if 'twas not in hopes to give Walpole a rub, The patriots themselves would p-ss upon Bub.

* Sir William Younge, Secretary at War.—W.