FABLE [42] XLII. The Jugglers. John Gay Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T13818 Gay, John, 1685-1732. FABLES. By Mr. GAY. London Printed for J. Tonson and J. Watts, MDCCXXVII. 1727 pp. 141-145. [14],173,[1]p.: ill.; 4°.

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FABLE [ 42 ] XLII. The Jugglers . A Juggler long through all the town Had rais'd his fortune and renown ; You'd think ( so far his art transcends ) The devil at his finger's ends . Vice heard his fame , she read his bill ; Convinc'd of his inferior skill , She sought his booth , and from the croud Defy'd the man of art aloud . Is this then he so fam'd for slight , Can this slow bungler cheat your sight , Dares he with me dispute the prize ? I leave it to impartial eyes . Provok'd , the Juggler cry'd , 'tis done . In science I submit to none . Thus said . The cups and balls he play'd ; By turns , this here , that there , convey'd : The cards , obedient to his words , Are by a fillip turn'd to birds ; His little boxes change the grain , Trick after trick deludes the train . He shakes his bag , he shows all fair , His fingers spread , and nothing there , Then bids it rain with showers of gold , And now his iv'ry eggs are told , But when from thence the hen he draws , Amaz'd spectators humm applause . Vice now stept forth and took the place , With all the forms of his grimace . This magick looking-glass , she cries , ( There , hand it round ) will charm your eyes : Each eager eye the sight desir'd , And ev'ry man himself admir'd . Next , to a senator addressing ; See this Bank-note ; observe the blessing : Breathe on the bill . Heigh , pass ! 'Tis gone . Upon his lips a padlock shone . A second puff the magick broke , The padlock vanish'd , and he spoke . Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board , All full , with heady liquor stor'd , By clean conveyance disappear , And now two bloody swords are there . A purse she to a thief expos'd ; At once his ready fingers clos'd : He opes his fist , the treasure's fled , He sees a halter in its stead . She bids Ambition hold a wand , He grasps a hatchet in his hand . A box of charity she shows : Blow here ; and a church-warden blows , 'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat , And on the table smoaks a treat . She shakes the dice , the board she knocks , And from all pockets fills her box . She next a meagre rake addrest ; This picture see ; her shape , her breast ! What youth , and what inviting eyes ! Hold her , and have her . With surprise , His hand expos'd a box of pills ; And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills . A counter , in a miser's hand , Grew twenty guineas at command ; She bids his heir the summ retain , And 'tis a counter now again . A guinea with her touch you see Take ev'ry shape but Charity ; And not one thing , you saw , or drew , But chang'd from what was first in view . The Juggler now , in grief of heart , With this submission own'd her art . Can I such matchless slight withstand ? How practice hath improv'd your hand ! But now and then I cheat the throng ; You ev'ry day , and all day long .