Origin of Faction

IN hist'ries of Heathens, by which Tutors train us,
The salt-water Sov'reign is call'd OCEANUS;
His spouse was deliver'd, by man-midwife Triton,
Of this sea-girt island, his fav'rite Britain.

The Naiads were Nurses; old Trident declar'd,
To embellish his offspring no pains shou'd be spar'd:
By flying fish drawn, to Olympus he drove,
And petition'd the Gods, that his suit they'd approve.

Quoth Jupiter, I'll make it King of the Sea:
Avast! reply'd Neptune, pray leave that to me:
I'll guard it with shoals, and I'll make their lads Seamen.
Strong Hercules hollow'd out, I'll make 'em Freemen.

And what will you make, Venus whisper'd to Mars?
Why I'll make all Soldiers, that Nep. don't make Tars.
Momus smil'd, as that droll always merrily means;
He begg'd they'd go partners, and make 'em Marines.

Quoth Saturn, much time I'll allow 'em for thinking;
Buck Bacchus reply'd, no, allow it for drinking:
But Mercury answer'd, a fig for your Wine,
The art of Time-killing by Card-playing's mine.

By Styx, quoth Apollo, but Hermes you're bit;
'Gainst Gaming I'll send 'em an antidote, — Wit:
In England, laugh'd Momus, Wit no one regards,
Save that sort of Wit that's in — Playing your Cards.

Well, well, replies Phoebus, I'll mend their conditions,
I'll teach 'em to fiddle, and send them Physicians.
'Mong Fidlers, quoth Momus, true Harmony's scarce;
And as to your Doctorship, — Physick's a Farce.

Says Venus, I'll people this Island with Beauties,
And tempt Married-Men to be true to their duties.—
You to Married-Men's duty a friend! bawl'd out Juno,
You're a strumpet, you slut, and that I know and you know.

Then turning to Jove, who look'd pale, she began, —
I'll spoil your olympical gift-giving plan:
Herself not consulted, she vow'd she wou'd wrong us,
Blew a Scold from her mouth, and sent Party among us.

God Bacchus, to counterpoise Juno's rash action,
Commanded Silenus to seize upon Faction;
Swift flitted the Fiend, the old Toper outsped,
Whilst Semele's son sent a Flask at his head.

The Imp, by the blow, speechless fell to the ground;
May Wine thus for ever foul Faction confound:
Unanimity! that, that's the Toast of our Hearts,
Though no Party-men here, Here's to all Men of Parts.