The
Man
bitten
by
Fleas
.
A
Peevish
Fellow
laid
his
Head
On
Pillows
,
stuff'd
with
Down
;
But
was
no
sooner
warm
in
Bed
,
With
hopes
to
rest
his
Crown
,
But
Animals
of
slender
size
,
That
feast
on
humane
Gore
,
From
secret
Ambushes
arise
,
Nor
suffer
him
to
snore
;
Who
starts
,
and
scrubs
,
and
frets
,
and
swears
,
'Till
,
finding
all
in
vain
,
He
for
Relief
employs
his
Pray'rs
In
this
old
Heathen
strain
.
Great
Jupiter
!
thy
Thunder
send
From
out
the
pitchy
Clouds
,
And
give
these
Foes
a
dreadful
End
,
That
lurk
in
Midnight
Shrouds
:
Or
Hercules
might
with
a
Blow
,
If
once
together
brought
,
This
Crew
of
Monsters
overthrow
,
By
which
such
Harms
are
wrought
.
The
Strife
,
ye
Gods
!
is
worthy
You
,
Since
it
our
Blood
has
cost
;
And
scorching
Fevers
must
ensue
,
When
cooling
Sleep
is
lost
.
Strange
Revolutions
wou'd
abound
,
Did
Men
ne'er
close
their
Eyes
;
Whilst
those
,
who
wrought
them
wou'd
be
found
At
length
more
Mad
,
than
Wise
.
Passive
Obedience
must
be
us'd
,
If
this
cannot
be
Cur'd
;
But
whilst
One
Flea
is
slowly
bruis'd
,
Thousands
must
be
endur'd
.
Confusion
,
Slav'ry
,
Death
and
Wreck
Will
on
the
Nation
seize
,
If
,
whilst
you
keep
your
Thunders
back
,
We're
massacr'd
by
Fleas
.
Why
,
prithee
,
shatter-headed
Fop
,
The
laughing
Gods
reply
;
Hast
thou
forgot
thy
Broom
,
and
Mop
,
And
Wormwood
growing
nigh
?
Go
sweep
,
and
wash
,
and
strew
thy
Floor
,
As
all
good
Housewives
teach
;
And
do
not
thus
for
Thunders
roar
,
To
make
some
fatal
Breach
:
Which
You
,
nor
your
succeeding
Heir
,
Nor
yet
a
long
Descent
Shall
find
out
Methods
to
repair
,
Tho'
Prudence
may
prevent
.
For
Club
,
and
Bolts
,
a
Nation
call'd
of
late
,
Nor
wou'd
be
eas'd
by
Engines
of
less
Weight
:
But
whether
lighter
had
not
done
as
well
,
Let
their
Great-Grandsons
,
or
their
Grandsons
tell
.