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| A JUGGLER long through all the town | |
| Had raised his fortune and renown; | |
| You’d think (so far his art transcends) | |
| The devil at his fingers’ ends. | |
| Vice heard his fame, she read his bill; | 5 |
| Convinced of his inferior skill, | |
| She sought his booth, and from the crowd | |
| Defied the man of art aloud. | |
| ‘Is this, then, he so famed for sleight? | |
| Can this slow bungler cheat your sight? | 10 |
| Dares he with me dispute the prize? | |
| I leave it to impartial eyes.’ | |
| Provoked, the Juggler cried, ‘’Tis done. | |
| In science I submit to none.’ | |
| Thus said, the cups and balls he play’d; | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| He shakes his bag, he shows all fair; | |
| His fingers spreads, and nothing there; | |
| Then bids it rain with showers of gold, | |
| And now his ivory eggs are told. | |
| But when from thence the hen he draws, | 25 |
| Amazed spectators hum applause. | |
| Vice now stept forth, and took the place | |
| With all the forms of his grimace. | |
| ‘This magic looking-glass,’ she cries | |
| ‘(There, hand it round), will charm your eyes.’ | 30 |
| Each eager eye the sight desired, | |
| And every man himself admired. | |
| Next, to a senator addressing, | |
| ‘See this bank-note; observe the blessing. | |
| Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! ’Tis gone.’ | 35 |
| Upon his lips a padlock shown. | |
| A second puff the magic broke, | |
| The padlock vanish’d, and he spoke. | |
| Twelve bottles ranged upon the board, | |
| All full, with heady liquor stored, | 40 |
| By clean conveyance disappear, | |
| And now two bloody swords are there. | |
| A purse she to a thief exposed, | |
| At once his ready fingers closed; | |
| He opes his fist, the treasure’s fled; | 45 |
| 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 churchwarden blows. | 50 |
| ’Tis vanish’d with conveyance neat, | |
| And on the table smokes a treat. | |
| She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, | |
| And from her pockets fills her box. | |
| She next a meagre rake addrest. | 55 |
| ‘This picture see; her shape, her breast! | |
| What youth, and what inviting eyes! | |
| Hold her, and have her.’ With surprise, | |
| His hand exposed a box of pills | |
| And a loud laugh proclaim’d his ills. | 60 |
| A counter, in a miser’s hand | |
| Grew twenty guineas at command. | |
| She bids his heir the sum retain, | |
| And ’tis a counter now again. | |
| A guinea with her torch you see | 65 |
| Takes every shape, but Charity; | |
| And not one thing you saw, or drew, | |
| But changed from what was first in view. | |
| The Juggler now in grief of heart, | |
| With this submission own’d her art. | 70 |
| ‘Can I such matchless sleight withstand? | |
| How practice hath improved your hand! | |
| But now and then I cheat the throng; | |
| You every day, and all day long.’ | |
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