The Wit of Cheats, the Courage of a Whore, 165 Arraign no mightier Thief than wretched Wild;

Oft, in the clear, ftill Mirrour of Retreat,
I ftudy'd Shrewsbury, the wife and great;
Carleton's calm Sente, and Stanhope's noble
Flame,
80

Compar'd, and knew their generous End the fame:
How pleafing Atterbur'y's fofter hour!
How fhin'd the Soul, unconquer'ed in the Tower!
How can I Pulteney, Cheflerfield forget,
While Roman Spirit charms, and Attic Wit: 85
Argyll, the State's whole Thunder born to wield,
And shake alike the Senate, and the Field: .
Or Wyndham, just to Freedom and the Throne,
The Master of our Paffions, and his own?
Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in
vain,

90

Rank'd with their Friends, nor number'd with
their Train;

And if yet higher the proud List should end,
Still let me fay! No Follower, but a Friend.
Yet think nt, Friendship only prompts my lays:
I follow Virtue; where the fhines, I praise; 95
Point the to Prieft or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's Beaver caft a Glory.
I never (to my forrow I declare)
Din'd with the Man of Rofs, or my Lord Mayor.
Some, in their choice of Friends (nay, look not
grave)

Have fill a fecret Byafs to a Knave:
To find an honeft man, I beat about;
And love bim, court him, praise him, in or out.
F. Then why fo few commended?

P. Not fo fierce ;

Find you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verfe. 105
But random Praife---the talk can ne'er be done :
Each Mether afks it for her booby Son,
Bach Widow afks it for the Best of Men,
For him the weeps, for him the weds again.
Praife cannot ftoop, like Satire, to the ground: Iro
The Number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for haif the Greatest of these days,
To 'cape my Cenfure, not expect my Praise.
Are they not rich? what more can they pretend?
115
Dare they to hope a Poet for their Friend?
What Richlieu wanted, Louis fcarce cou'd gain,
And what young Ammon wish'd, but with'd in

vain.

120

No Power the Mufe's Friendship can command;
No Power, when Virtue claims it, can withstand:
To Cato, Virgil paid one honeft line;
O let my Country's Friends illumine mine!
---What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's
no fin,

I think your Friends are out, and would be in.
P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out,
The way they take is strangely round about. 125
F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow?
P. I only call thofe Knaves who are so now.
Is that too little? Come then, I'll comply---
Spirit of Arnall! aid me while I lie.
Cobham's a Coward, Polwarth is a Slave,
And Lyttelton a dark, defigning Knave;
St. John has ever been a mighty Fool-
But let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull,
Has never made a Friend in private life,
And was, befides, a Tyrant to his Wife.

130

135

But pray, when others praise him, do I b'ame? Call Verres, Wolíey, any odious name?

|

Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine,
O all-accomplish'd St. John! deck thy fhrine?
What? fhall each fpur-gall'd Hackney of the
day,

i

When Paxton gives him double Pots and Pay,
Or each new-penfion'd Sycophant, pretend
To break my windows if I treat a Friend;
Then wiely plead, to me they meant no hurt,
But 'twas my Gueft at whom they threw the

dirt?

145

Sure, if I pare the Minifter, no rules
Of honour bind me, not to maul his Tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid
His Saws are toothless, and his Hatchets Lead.
150
It anger'd Turenne, once upon a day,
To fee a Footman kick'd that took his pay :
But when he heard th' Affront the Fellow gave,
Knew one a Man of Honour, oné a Knave;
The prudent General turn'd it to a jeft,
And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the reft: 155
Which not at prefent having time to do---
F. Hold, Sir! for God's fake, where's th' Affront
to you?

Against your worthip when had S---k writ?
Or P--ge pour'd forth the Torrent of his Wit?
Or grant the Bard whofe diftich all cominend 160
[In Power a Servant, out of Power a Friend]
To W-le guilty of tome venial fin;
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?

The Priest whofe Flattery bedropt the Crown
How hurt he you? he only ftain' the Gown.
And how did, pray, the florid Youth offend,
Whole Speech you took, and gave it to a Friend?
P.Faith it imports not muchirom whom it came;
Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame,
Since the whole Houfe did afterwards the fame.
Let Courtly Wits to Wits afford fupply,
As Hog to Hog in Huts of Weftphaly;
If one, through Nature's bounty or his Lord's,
Has what the frugal, dirty leil affords,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin, 178
As pure a mefs almost as it came in ;
The bleffed benefit, not there confin'd,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind;
From tail to mouth, they feed and they caTou è:
The last full fairly gives it to the Houfe.

F. This filthy fimile, this beaitly line
Quite turns my ftomach---

190

P. So does Flattery mine:
And all your conrtly Civet-cats can vent,
Perfume to you, to me is Excrement.
But hear me further---Japhet, 'tis agreed,
Writ not, and Chartres fearce could write or read,
In all the Courts of Pindus guiltless quite;
But Pens can forge, my Friend, that cannot write ;
And muft no Egg in Japhet's face be thrown,
Because the Deed he org'd was not my own? 190
Muft never Patriot then declaim at Gin,
Unlefs, good man! he has been fairly in?
No zealous Paftor blame a failing Spoule,
Without a flaring Reafon on his brows?
And each blafphemer quite efcape the fed, 195
Because the infult 's not on Man, but God?

Afk you what Provocation I have had ?
The frong Antipathy of Good to Bad.
When Truth or Virtue an Affront endures,
Th'Affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours.

Her prieftefs Mufe forbids the Good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.
There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than fuch as Anftis cafts into the grave;
Far other Stars than * and ** wear,
And may defcend to Mordington from Stair;
(Such as on Hough's unfully'd mitre fhine, 240
Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine)
Let envy howl, while Heaven's whole chorus
fings,

And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let flattery fickening fee the incenfe rife,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the fkies: 245
Truth guards the poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verfe as mean as mine.
Yes, the laft pen for Freedom let me draw,
When Truth ftands trembling on the edge of
Law;

Here, laft of Britons ! let your names be read; 250
Are none, none living? let me praise the Dead,
And for that Caufe which made your fathers
shine,

Fall by the Votes of their degenerate line.

F. Alas, alas! pray end what you began,
And write next winter more Fffays on Man. 255
VOL. VI.

or one that temperance advance, samm'd to the throat with ortolans: extremely ready to refign

All that may make me none of mine. outh-fea fubfcriptions take who please, cave me but liberty and ease.

Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child, Who prais'd my modefty, and imil'd. lve me, I cry'd, (enough for me) y bread, and independency! "o bought an annual-rent or two, und liv'd-juft as you fee I do; ear fifty, and without a wife, 1 truft that finking fund, my life. an I retrench? Yes, mighty well, rink back to my paternal cell, A little houfe, with trees a-row, And, like its master, very low. Chere dy'd my father, no man's debtor, And there I'll die, nor worfe nor better. o fet this matter full before ye, fur old friend Swift will tell his ftory. Harley, the nation's great fupport--ut you may read it, I ftop short.

The latter Part of SATIRE VI.* Charming noons! and nights divine! 2r when I fup or when I dine,

y friends above, my folks below,
hatting and laughing all-a-row,

he beans and bacon fet before 'em,
The grace-cup ferv'd with all decorum :
Each willing to be pleas'd, and please,
And even the very dogs at ease!
Here no man prates of idle things,
How this or that Italian fings,

A neighbour's madness, or his fpoufe's,
Or what's in either of the Houses:
But fomething much more our concern,
And quite a fcandal not to learn:
Which is the happier, or the wifer,
A man of merit, or a mifer?

Whether we ought to chute our friends,
for their own worth, or our own ends?
What good, or better, we may call,
And what, the very best of all?
Our friend Dan Prior told (you know)

A tale extremely " à propos:"

He had a ftory of two mice.

me a town-life, and in a trice

Once on a time (fo runs the Fable)
A County Moufe, right hofpitable,
Receiv'd a Town Moufe at his board,
luft as a Farmer might a Lord.
A frugal moule, upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his friend, and had a foul,
new what was handforne, and would do't,
On juft occafion, " coûte qui coûte."
He brought him bacon (nothing lean);
Pudding, that might have pleas'd a Dean;
Cheese, fuch as men in Suffolk make,
Lat wifh'd it Stilton for his fake;
Yet, to his gueft though no way sparing,
He eat himicif the rind and paring,

* See the first part in Swift's Poems.

Our courtier fearce could touch a bit,
But fhow'd his breeding and his wit ;
He did his best to feem to eat,

And cry'd, "I vow you're mighty neat.
65" But Lord, my friends, this favage fcene! 195
"For God's fake, come, and live with men:

70

"Confider, mice, like men must die,

"Both mall and great, both you and I :
"Then spend your life in joy and sport,
"(This doctrine, friend, I learn'd at Court)." 180
The verieft hermit in the nation

May yield, God knows, to strong temptation.
Away they came, through thick and thin,
To a tall houfe near Lincoln's-Inn:

75 ('Twas on the night of a debate,

When all their Lordships had fate late.)

Behold the place, where if a poet
Shin'd in defcription, he might show it;
Tell how the moon-beam trembling falls,
80 And tips with filver all the walls;

Palladian walls, Venetian doors,
Grote co roo, and ftucco floors,
But let it (in a word) be said,
The Moon was up, and Men a-bed,
The napkin 's white, the carpet red:
The guests withdrawn had left the treat,
And down the mice fate, tête à tête."
Our courtier walks from difh to dish,
Taftes for his friend of fowl and fish,
135 Tells all their names, lays down the law,
Que ça eft bon! Ah goûtez ça!

140

185

190

1955

That jel's rich, this maim ey healing, Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in." Was ever fuch a hippy fwain? Te ftuffs and wills, and ftuffs again. "I'm quite afham'd---'tis mighty rade "To eat fo much---but all 's to good.

I have a thousand thanks to give--My Lord alone knows how to live." 145 No fooner faid but from the hall

150

Rush chaplain, butler, dogs and all.
"A rat, a rat! clap too the door”---
The cat comes bouncing on the floor.
O for the heart of Homer's mice,
Or Gods to fave them in a trice!
(It was by Providence they think,
For your damn'd ftucco has no chink.)
"An't pleafe your honour, quoth the Peafant,
This fame deffert is not fo pleafant:
"Give me again my hollow tree,
"A Cruft of Bread, and Liberty!"

155

160

165

179

200

205

210

215

220

Shall ftretch thy conquefts over half the kind; In vain they fehem'd, in vain they bled!