the midst
of them a great golden _N_ hung upon a Bough of the Tree, which by the
Help of a little false Spelling made up the Word _N-ew-berry_.

I shall conclude this Topick with a _Rebus_, which has been lately hewn
out in Free-stone, and erected over two of the Portals of _Blenheim_
House, being the Figure of a monstrous Lion tearing to Pieces a little
Cock. For the better understanding of which Device, I must acquaint my
_English_ Reader that a Cock has the Misfortune to be called in _Latin_
by the same Word that signifies a _Frenchman_, as a Lion is the Emblem
of the _English_ Nation. Such a Device in so noble a Pile of Building
looks like a Punn in an Heroick Poem; and I am very sorry the truly
ingenious Architect would suffer the Statuary to blemish his excellent
Plan with so poor a Conceit: But I hope what I have said will gain
Quarter for the Cock, and deliver him out of the Lion's Paw.

I find likewise in ancient Times the Conceit of making an Eccho talk
sensibly, and give rational Answers. If this could be excusable in any
Writer, it would be in _Ovid_, where he introduces the Eccho as a Nymph,
before she was worn away into nothing but a Voice. The learned
_Erasmus_, tho' a Man of Wit and Genius, has composed a Dialogue [4]
upon this silly kind of Device, and made use of an Eccho who seems to
have been a very extraordinary Linguist, for she answers the Person she
talks with in _Latin, Greek_, and _Hebrew_, according as she found the
Syllables which she was to repeat in any one of those learned Languages.
_Hudibras_, in Ridicule of this false kind of Wit, has described _Bruin_
bewailing the Loss of his Bear to a solitary Eccho, who is of great used
to the Poet in several Disticks, as she does not only repeat after him,
but helps out his Verse, and furnishes him with _Rhymes_.

_He rag'd, and kept as heavy a Coil as
Stout Hercules for loss of_ Hylas;
_Forcing the Valleys to repeat
The Accents of his sad Regret;
He beat his Breast, and tore his Hair,
For Loss of his dear Crony Bear,
That Eccho from the hollow Ground
His Doleful Wailings did resound
More wistfully, bu many times,
Then in small Poets Splay-foot Rhymes,
That make her, in her rueful Stories
To answer to Introgatories,
And most unconscionably depose
Things of which She nothing knows:
And when she has said all she can say,
'Tis wrested to the Lover's Fancy.
Quoth he, O whither, wicked_ Bruin,
_Art thou fled