410

In power, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd Behind the foremost, and before the laft.

305

"But why all this of Avarice? I have none." I wish you joy, Sir of a Tyrant gone; But does no other lord it at this hour, As wild and mad? the Avarice of power? Does neither Rage inflame, nor Fear appali? Not the black fear of death, that faddens all? With terrors round, can Realon hold her throne, 310 De pife the known, nor tremble at th' unknown? Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire, In fpite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire? Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind, And count each Birth-day with a grateful mind? 315

Has life no fournefs, drawn fɔ near its end;
Canft thou endure a foe, forgive a friend?
Has but melted the rough parts away,
As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay?
Or will you think, my friend, your bufinefs

age

done,

320

20

Those write because all write, and to have ftill
Excule for writing, and for writing ill.

Wretched indeed! but far more wretched yet 39 Is he who makes his meal on others wit: 'Tis chang'd, no doubt, from what it was before; His rank digeftion makes it wit no more: Senfe, paft through him, no longer is the fame; For food digefted takes another name.

I pass o'er all thofe Confeffors and Martyrs, 35 Who live like S--tt--n, or who die like Chartres, Out-cant old Eldras, or out-drink his heir, Out-ufure Jews, or Irishmen out-fwear; Wicked as Pages, who in early years A&t fins which Prifca's Confeffor fcarce bears. 40 Ev'n those I pardon, for whofe finful fake Schoolmen new tenements in hell muft make; Of whofe ftrange crimes no Canonift can tell In what Commandment's large contents they

dwell.

One, one man only breeds my just offence; 45 Whom crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave Impudence:

30

Time, that at laff matures a clap to pox,
Whofe gentle progrefs makes a calf an ox,
And brings all natural events to pass,
Hath made him an Attorney of an Afs.
No yong divine, new-benefice'd, can be
More pert, more proud, more pofitive, than he,
What further could I wifh the fop to do,
But turn a wit, and cribble verses too?
Pierce the foft labyrinth of a Lady's Ear
With rhymes of thi per cent. and that per year
Or court a Wife, fpread out his wily parts,
Like nets or lime-twigs, for rich Widows' hearts,
Call himself Barrister to every wench,

55

65

And wooe in language of the Pleas and Bench? 6s
Language, which Boreas might to Auster hold
More rough than forty Germans when they fold.
Curs'd be the wretch, fo venal and fo vain:
Paltry and proud, as drabs in Drory-lane.
'Tis fuch a bounty as was never known,
If PETER deigns to help you to your own!
What thanks, what praise, if Peter but fupplies!
And what a folemn face, if he der.ies!
Grave, as when prifoners shake the head and sweat
'Twas only Suretifhip that brought them there. 70
His Office keeps your Parchment fates entire,
He ftarves with cold to fave them from the fire;
For you he walks the fireets through rain or
duft,

75

For not in Chariots Peter puts his truft;
For you be feats and labours at the laws,
Takes God to witness he affects your caufe,
And lies to every Lord in every thing,
Like a King's Favourite---or like a King.
There are the talents that adorn them all,
From wicked Waters ev'n to godly **
Not more of Simony beneath black gowns,
Not more of baftardy in heirs to Crowns.
In fhillings and in pence at first they deal;
And steal fo little, few perceive they steal;
Till, like the Sea, they compass all the land, 85
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover
ftrand:

And when rank Widows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a Duke to Janflen punts at White's,

Nay troth th' Apoftles (though perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of Ton ues enough:
Yet the e were all poor Gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas Travel made them what they were.
Thus, others talents having nicely shown, 80
He came by fure tranfition to his own:
Till I cry'd out, You prove yourself so able,
Pity you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguift half fo good,
I make no queftion but the Tower had ford. 85
Obliging Sir! for Courts you fure were made:
"Why then for ever bury'd in the shade?
Spirits like you, fhould fee and fhould be feen,
"The King would fmile on you---at least the
Queen."

86

Ah, gentle Sir! you Courtiers fo caiole us--- 90
But Tully has it," Nunquam minus folus ;”
And as for Courts, forgive me, if I fay
No leffons now are taught the Spartan way;
Though in his pictures Luft be full display'd,
Few are the Converts Aretine has made;
And though the Court fhow Vice exceeding clear,
None fhould, by my advice, learn Virtue there.
At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes,
Squeaks like a high-stretch'd luteftring, and re-
plies;

95

100

105

Oh, 'tis the fweeteft of all earthly things To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings!" Then, happy Man who fhows the Tombs ! said I, He dwells amidst the Royal Family; He every day from King to King can walk, Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk; And get, by fpeaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living, Eafe and Bread. "Lord, Sir, a mere Mechanic! ftrangely low, And coarse of phrafe,---your English all are fo. How elegant your Frenchmen!" Mine, d'ye mean?

་་

115

I have but one; I hope the fellow's clean.
Oh! Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die,
Your only wearing is your Padua oy."
Not. Sir, my only, I have better still,
And this you fee is but my difhabille---
Wild to get loofe, his patience I provokė,
Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.
But as coarfe iron, fharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch moft hurts when anger'd to a fore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis ftill the curfe, 120
You only make the matter worfe and worse.

140

Who, having lost his credit, pawn'd his rent,
Is therefore fit to have a Government:
Who, in the fecret, deals in Stocks fecure,
And cheats th' unknowing Widow and the Poor:
Who makes a Truft of Charity a Job,
And gets an Act of Parliament to rob:
Why Turnpikes rife, and now no Cit nor Clown
Can gratis lee the country, or the town: 145
Shortly no lad fhall chuck, or lady vole,
But fome excifing Courtier will have toll.
He tells what Strumpet places fells for life,
What 'Squire his lands, what Citizen his wife:
At laft (which proves him wifer fill than
all)

What Lady's face is not a whited wall,

150

As one of Woodward's patients, fick, and fore,
I puke, I naufeate,---yet he thrufts in more:
Trims Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part,
And talks Gazettes and Poftboys o'er by heart. 156
Like a big wife at fight of loath me meat
Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, and fweat.
Then as a licens'd ipy, whom nothing can
Silence or hurt, he libels every Man;
Swears every place entail'd for years to come, 160
In fure fucceffion to the day of doom:
He names the price for every office paid,
And fays our wars thrive ill, becaufe delay'd;
Nay hints, 'tis by connivance of the Court,

| Than Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a Port. 165
Not more arnazement feiz'd on Circe's guests,
To fee themselves fall headlong into beafts,
Than mine to find a fubject stay'd and wife
Already half turn'd traitor by furprise.
I felt th' infection flide from him to me;
As in the pox, fome give it to get free;
And quick to fwallow me methought I faw
One of our Giant Statues ope its jaw.

170

175

In that nice Moment, as and ther Le Stood uft a-tilt, the Minifter came by. To him he flies, and bows, and bows again, Then, clofe as Umbra, ioins the dirty train. Not Fannius' felf more impudently near, When half his nofe is in his Prince's ear. I quak' at heart, and, ftill afraid to fee All the Court fill'd with ftranger things than he, Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail, And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.

180

190

Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence To whole ome Solitude, the narle of Senfe; 185 Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings, And the free foul looks down to pity Kings! There (ober thought purfued th' amufing theme, Till Fancy colour'd it, and form'd a Dream, A Vifion hermits can to Hell transport, And fore'd ev'n me to fee the damn'd at Coun. Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state, Beheld fuch scenes of envy, fin, and hate. Bafe Fear becomes the guilty, not the free; Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but fuits not me: 195 Shall I, the Terror of this finful town, Care, if a livery'd Lord er fmile or frown? Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can, Tremble before a noble Serving-man? O my fair mistress, Truth! fhall I quit thee 200 For huffing, braggart, puft Nobility? Thou, who fince yefterday haft roll'd o'er all The bufy, idle blockheads of the ball,

Haft thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier fort,
Than fuch as fwell this bladder of a court?
Now pox on those who fhow a Court in wax! 205
It ought to bring all Courtiers on their backs:
Such painted puppets! fuch a varnish'd race
Of hollow gewgawe, only drefs and face!
Such waxen nofes, ftately ftaring things---
No wonder fome folks bow, and think them Kings.
See! where the British youth, engag'd no more,
At Fig's, at White's, with felons, or a whore,
Pay their laft duty to the Court, and come
All fresh and fragrant, to the drawing-room
In hues as gay, and odours as divine,
As the fair fields they fold to look fo fine.
That's velvet for a King!" the flatterer fwears;
'Tis true, for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's.
Our Court may juftly to our ftage give rules, 220
That helps it both to fool's coats and to fools.
And why not players strut in courtiers clothes?
For thefe are actors too, as well as thofe :
Wants reach all ftates; they beg but better dreft,
And all is fplendid poverty at beft. 225

;215

Painted for fight, and effenc'd for the smell, Like frigates fraught with ipice and cochinell, Sail in the Ladies: how each pirate eyes So weak a veffel, and fo rich a prize! Top-gallant he, and the in all her trim, He boarding her, fhe ftriking fail to him:" "Dear Countefs! you have charms all hearts to

hit!"

230

And "Sweet Sir Fopling! you have fo much wit!"
Such wits and beauties are not prais'd for nought,
For both the beauty and the wit are bought. 235
"Twould burft even Heraclitus with the spleen,
To fee thole anticks, Fopling and Courtin':
The Prefence feems, with things fo richly odd,
The mofque of Mahmoud, or fome queer Pa-god.
See them lurvey their limbs by Durer's rules, 240
Of all beau-kind the beft proportion'd fools!
Adjuft their clothes, and to confeffion draw
Thofe venial fins, an atom, or a straw:
But oh! what terrors muft diftract the soul
Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole;
Or fhould one pound of powder lets befpread
Thofe monkey-tails that wag behind their head!
Thus finifh'd, and corrected to a hair,
They march, to prate their hour before the Fair.
So first to preach a white-glov'd Chaplain goes, 250
With band of Lily, and with cheek of Rofe,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim,
Neatnefs ittel, impertinent in him,

both,

254

Let but the Ladies fmile, and they are bleft:
Prodigious! how the things proteft, proteft? 255
Peace, fools, or Gonfon will to Parifis feize you,
If once he catch you at your Jefu. Jein!
Nature made every Fop to plague his brother,
Juft as one Beauty mortifies another.
But here's the Captain that will plague them
260
Whofe air cries Arm! whofe very look's an oath,
The Captain's honest, Sirs, and that's enough,
Though his foul's bullet, and his body buff.
He fpits fore-right; his haughty cheat before,
Like battering Yams, beats open every door: 265
And with a face as red, and as awry,
A Herod's hangdogs in old Tapestry,

Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curfe,
Has yet a ftrange ambition to look worfe:
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe, 270
Jefts like a licens'd foul, commands like law
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it fo
As men from fails to execution go.;
For hung with deadly fins I fee the wall,
And lin'd with Giants deadlier than them all: 275
Each Man an Akapart, of ftrength to tofs
For quoits, both Terple-bar and Charing-crofs.
Scar'd at the grizly forms, I fweat, I fly,
And thake all o'er, like a diicover'd fpy.
Courts are too much for wits fo weak as
mine:

280 Charge them with Heaven's Artillery, bold Di

vine!

FR. NOT twice a twelvemonth you appear in Print,

5.

And when it comes, the Court fee nothing in't.
You grow correct, that once with Rapture write
And are, befides, too moral for a Wit.
Decay of Parts, alas! we all must feel---
Why new, this moment, don't I fee you fteal?
'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye
Said, "Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs a
Tory:"

And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
Tolaugh at fools who put their truft in Peter."10
But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice;
Bubo obferves, he lafh'd no fort of Vice:
Horace would fay, Sir Billy fery'd the Crown,
Blunt could do, Bufines, Higgins knew the Town;
In Sappho touch the Failings of the Sex,
In reverend Bifhops note fome fmall Neglects,
And own the Spaniard did a waggifh thing,
Who cropt our Ears, and fent them to the King.
This fly, polite, infinuating ftyle
Could pleafe at Court, and make AUGUSTUS
fmile:

An artful Manager, that crept between

This Friend and Shame, and was a kind of Screen. But 'faith your very Friends will foon be fore; Patriots there are, who with you 'd jeft no more-And where's the Glory? 'twill be only thought 25 The Great man never offer'd you a groat.

Go fee Sir ROBERT--

30

P. See Sir ROBERT ---hum--And never laugh---for all my life to come? Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchang'd for Power; Seen him, uncumber'd with a Venal tribe Smile withour Art, and win without a Bribe. Would he oblige me! let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind. Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt; 35 The only difference is, I dare laugh out.

F. Why yes with Scripture ftill you may be

free;

A Horfe-laugh, if you please, at honefty;
A Joke on JEKYLL, or fome odd Old Whig,
Who never chang'd his Principle, or Wig; 40
A Patriot is a Fool in every age,
Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage:
Thefe nothing hurts; they keep their Fashion still,
And wear their ftrange old virtue, as they will.
If any afk you, "Who's the Man so near
"His prince, that writes in Verfe, and has his
ear?"

45

Why answer LYTTELTON; and I'll engage
The worthy Youth fhall ne'er be in a rage:
But were his Verfes vile, his Whisper base,
You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's cafe, 50
Sejanus, Wolfey, hurt not honeft FLEURY,
But well may put fome Statesman in a fury.

Laugh then at any, but at Fools or Foes; Thefe you but anger, and you mend not those. Laugh at your Friends, and, if your Friends are 55

fore,

So much the better, you may laugh the more.
To Vice and Folly to confine the jeft,
Sets half the world, God knows, against the reft;
Did not the Sneer of more impartial men
At Senfe and Virtue balance all again.
Judicious Wits fpread wide the Ridicule,
And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.

60

P. Dear Sir. forgive the Prejudice of Youth:
Adieu Diftin&tion, Satire, Warmth, and Truth!
Come, harmless Characters that no one hit; 65
Come, Henley's Oratory, Ofborn's Wit!
The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The Flowers of Bubo, and the Flow of Young!
The gracious Dew of Pulpit Eloquence,
And all the well-whipp'd Cream of Courtly
Sense,
70

That firft was H---vy's, F---'s next, and then,
The S---te's, and then H---vy's once agen.
O come, that eafy Ciceronian ftyle,
So Latin, yet fo English all the while,
As, though the Pride of Middleton and Bland, 75
All Boys ray read, and Girls may understand!
Then might I fing, without the leaft offence,
And all I hung fhould be the Nation's Senfe;
Or teach the Melancholy Mufe to mourn,
Hang the fad Verfe on CAROLINA'S Urn, 30
And hail her paffage to the Realms of Reft,
All parts perform'd, and all her Children bleft!
So---Satire is no more---I feel it die---
No Gazetteer more innocent than I---
And let, a God's name, every Fool and Knave 85
Be grac'd through life, and flatter'd in his Grave,

F. Why fo? if Satire knows its Time and Place, You ftill may lafh the greatest---in Disgrace: For merit will by turns forfake them all; Would you know when? exactly when they fall.ge But let all Satire in all Changes fpare Immortal S---k, and grave De-re. Silent and foft, as Saints remov'd to Heaven, All Ties diffolv'd, and every fin forgiven, These may fome gentle minifterial Wing Receive, and place for ever near a King! There, where no Paffion, Pride, or Shame tran port, Lull'd with the fweet Nepenthe of a Court; There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's disgrace

95

Once break their reft, or ftir them from their
Place:

But paft the Senfe of human Miseries,
All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes ;
No check is known to blush, no heart to throb,
Save when they lose a Question, or a Job.

P. Good Heaven forbid, that I should blaft their glory,

Who know how like Whig Minifters to Tory, And when three Sovereigns dy'd, could fearce be

vext,

Confidering what a gracious Prince was next.
Have I, in filent wonder, feen fuch things
As Pride in Slaves, and Avarice in Kings; 110
And at a Peer, or Peerefs, fhall I fret,
Who ftarves a Sifter or forfwears a Debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boaft;
But fhall the dignity of Vice be loft?
Ye Gods! fhall Cibber's Son, without rebuke, 115
Swear like a Lord, or Rich outwhore a Duke?
A Favourite's Porter with his Master vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?

Shall Ward draw Contracts with a Statefman's kill?

Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a Will? 120
It is for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things)
To pay their Debts, or keep their Faith, like
Kings?

125

If Blount di patch'd himself, he play'd the man;
And fo mayit thou, illuftrious Pafferan!
But fhall a Printer, weary of his life,
Learn, from their Books, to hang himself and
Wife?

This, this, my friend, I cannot, muft not bear ;
Vice thus abus'd, demands a Nation's care:
This calls the Church to deprecate our Sin,
And burls the Thunder of the Laws on Gin. 130
Let modeft Fofter, if he will, excell
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well;
A fimple Quaker, or a Quaker's Wife,
Outdo Landaffe in Doctrine,---yea in Life:
Let humble Allen, with an ank ward Shame, 135
Do good by ftealth, and blush to find it Fame;
Virtue may choole the high or low Degree,
'Tis juft alike to Virtue, and to me;
Dwell in a Monk, or light upon a King,
She's fill the fame belov'd, contented thing. 140
Vice is undone, if the forgets her Birth,
And toops from Angels to the dregs of Earth:
But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a Whore;
Let Greatness own her, and the 's mean no more,