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The bribing statesman-F. Huld, too high you go. How can I Pultney, Chesterfield forget,
P. The brib'd elector-F. There you stoop too While Roman fpirit charms, and Actic wit:
low.

Argyll, the state's whole thunder born to wield,
P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; And shake alike the senate and the field :
Tell me, which knave is lawful game, which not? Or Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne,
Mull

great offenders, once escap'd the crown, The master of our passions, and his own! 89 Like royal harcs, he never more run down? Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain, Admit your law to spare the knight repires, 30 Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with As beasts of nature niay we hunt the squires ?

their train; Suppose I censure-you know what I mean And if yet higher the proud lift Mould end, To save a bishop, may | Aame a dean?

Still let me say: No follower, but a friend.
F. A dean, Sir? no; his fortune is not made, Yes think not, friendship only prompts my lays:
You hurt a man that's rising in the trade.

I follow virtue ; where she shines, ' praise ;
P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day, Point she to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Much less the 'prentice who to-morrow may. Or round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory.
Down, down proud facire! though a realm be I never (to my forrow I declare)
spoil'd,

Din'd with the Man of Rofs, or my Lord Mayor. Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild; Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not Or, if a court or country's made a job,

40
grave)

IOO Go drench a pickpocker, and join the mob. Have still a secret bias to a knave :

But, Sir, 1 beg you, (for the love of vice') To find an honest man, 1 beat about;
The matter's weighty, pray confider twice; And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
Have you less pity for the needy cheat,

F. Then why so few commended ?
The poor and friendless villain, than the great ?

P. Not fo fierce; Alas! the small discredit of a bribe

Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse. Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe. But random praise--the tafk can ne'er be done : Then better sure it charity becomes

Each mother asks it for her booby son, To tax directors, who (thank God) have plums; Each widow asks it for the best of men, Still better, ministers; or, if the thing so For him the weeps, for him the weds again. May pinch ev'n there-why lay it on a king. Praise cannot stoop, like satire, to the ground : 119 F. Stop: fop!

The number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd. P. Must satire, then, nor risc nor fall? Enough for half the greatest of these days, Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all. To 'scape my censure, not expect my praise.

F. Yes, Itrike that Wild, I'll juftify the blow. Are they not rich? what more can they pretend? P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years Dare they to hope a poet for their friend?

What Richelieu wanted, Louis scarce could gain, Who now that obfolete example fears?

And what young Ammon wilh’d, but wish'din vain. Ev'n Peter trembles only for his ears. 58 | No power che muse's friendship can command;

F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, No power, when virtue claims it, can withstand :You make men desperate, if they once are bad : To Cato, Virgil paid one honelt line ; I 20 Elfe might he take to virtue fome years hence O let my country's friend illumine mine ! (no fin,

P. As Smk, if he lives, will love the prince. What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's F. Strange splcen to S-k!

I think your friends are out, and would be in. P. Do I wrong the man? P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, God knows, I praise a courtier where I can. The way they take is strangely round about. When I confess, there is who feels for fame, F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow ? And melts to goodness, need I Scarborow name? P. I only call thofc knaves who are so now. Pleas'd let me own, in Eher's peaceful grove

Is that too litele? Come then, I'll comply(Where Kent and nature vie for Pelham's love) Spirit of Arnall! aid me while I lie. The scene, the master, opening to my view, Cobham's a coward, Polwarth is a flave, 130 I sit and dream I see my craggs anew!

And Lyttelton a dark, designing knave; Ev'n in a bishop I can spy defert :

70 St. John has ever been a mighty foolSecker is decent; Rundel has a heart;

But let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull, Manners with candour are to Benson given ; Has never made a friend in private life, To Berkley, every virtue under heaven.

And was, besides, a tyrant to his wife.
But does the court a worthy man remove ?

But
pray,

when others praise him; do I blame? That instant, I declare, he has my love :

Call Verres, Wolley, any odious name? I fhun his zenith, court his mild decline;

Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine, Thus Sommers once, and Halifax, were mine. O all-accomplith'd St. John! deck thy shrine, Oft, in the clear, still mirror of retreat,

What? Thall each spur-galld hackney of the day, I study'd Shrewsbury, the wife and great; 79

When Paxton gives him double pots and pay, 148 Carleton's calm sense, and Stanhope's noble flame, Or each new-pension'd sycophant, pretend Compar'd, and knew their generous end the same: To break my windows if I treat a friend; How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour!

Then wisely plead, to me they meant no hurt,

ago :

to you:

Sure, if I spare the minister, no rules

Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind;
Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools ; And mine as man, who feel for all mankind.
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid

F. You're strangely proud.
His faws are toothless, and his harchets lead.

P. So proud, I am no Dave:
It anger'd Tureone, once upon a day,

150

So impudent, I own myself no knave :
To see a footman kick'd that took his pay : So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave.
But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave, Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see
Knew one a man of honour, one a knave,

Men not afraid of God, afraid of me :
The prudent general turn'd it to a jest ;

Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, 210
And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the rest : Yet touch'd and sham'd by ridicule alone.
Which not as present having time to dom

O sacred weapon! left for fruch's defence,
F. Hold, Sir! for God's fake, where's th' affrode Sole dread of folly, vice, and infolence

To all but heaven-directed hands deny'd,
Against your worship when had s–k writ? The muse may give thee, but the gods must guide:
Ur P-ge pour'd forth thc torrent of his wit ? Reverend I touch thee! but with honest zeal;
Or grant the bard whose distich all commend i6o To rouze the watchmen of the public wcal,
[In power a servant, out of power a friend] To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,
To W-le guilty of some venial fin;

And goad the prelate slumbering in his stall.
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in? Ye tinsel infects! whom a court naaintains,

The priest whose flattery bedropt the crown, That counts your beauties only by your stains,
How hurt he you? he only stain'd the gown. Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!
And how did, pray, the florid youth offend, The muse's wing shall brush you all away :
Whose speech you took, and gave it to a friend? All his grace preachés, all his lordship fings,
P.Faith it imports not much from whom it came; All that makes saints of queens, and gods of kings.
Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame, All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the press,
Since the whole house did afterwards the same. Like the last gazette, or the last address.
Let courtly wits to wits afford supply, 171 When black ambition stains a public cause,
As hog to hog in huts of Westphaly;

A monarch's sword when mad vain-glory draws,
If one, through nature's bóunty or his lord's, Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's scar,
Has what the frugal dirty soil affords,

Not Boileau curn the feather to a star. 232
From him the next receives it, thick or thin, Not so, when, diadem'd with rays divine,
As pure a mess almost as it came in ;

Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtuc's.
The blessed benefit, not there confin'd,

shrine,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind; Her priestless muse forbids the good to die,
From tail to mouth, they feed and they carouse : And opes the temple of eternity.
The last full fairly gives it to the house. 180 | There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
F. This filthy fimile, this beastly line

Than such as Auftis casts into the grave;
Quite turns my stomach

Far other stars than • and **

wear,
P. So docs flattery mine: And may descend to Mordington from Stair ;
And all your courtly civet-cats can vent, (Šuch as on Houghs unfully'd mitre shine, 240
Perfume to you, to me is excrement.

Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine)
But hear my father-Japhet, 'tis agreed, Let envy howl, while heaven's whole chorus sings,
Writ not, and Chartres scarce could write or read, And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
In all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite ;

Let flattery fickening see the incense rise,
But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write ; Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies:
And mult no egg in Japhet's face be thrown, Truth guards the poet, sanctifies the line,
Because the deed he forg'd was not my own? 190 And makes immortal verse as mean as mine.
Mult never patriot then declaim at gin,

Yes, the last pen for freedom let me draw,
Unless, good man! he has been fairly in? When truth ftands trembling on the edge of law;
No zealous paftor blame a failing spouse,

Here, last of Britons ! let your names be read;
Without a staring reason on his brows?

Are none, none living ? let me praise the dead,
And each blasphemer quite escape the rod, And for that cause which made your fathers shine,
Because the insult's not on man, but God? Fall by the totes of their degenerate line.
Ask you what provocation I have had ?

F. Alas, alas! pray end what you began,
The strong antipathy of good to bad.

And write next wintet more Esays on Man.
When truth or virtuc an affront enduses;
Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be

After ver. 227, in the MS.
yours.
Mine, as a foe profess'd to false pretence,

Where's now the star that lighted Charles to rise?
Who think a corcombs honour like his sense ;

With that which follow'd Julius to the skies. Angels, that watch'd the Royal Oak so well,

How chanc'd ye nod, when luckless Sorel fell ?
VARIATIONS.

Hence, lying miracles ! reduc'd so low
Ver, 185, in the MS.

As to the regal touch and papal toe ;
I grant it, Sir ; and further 'tis agreed,

Hence haughty Edgar's title to the Main,
Japhet writ not, and Chartres scarce could read. Britain's to France, and thine to India, Spain :

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200

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The bribing Ratesman-F. Hold, too high you go. How can I Pultney, Chesterfield forget,
P. The brib'd elector-F. There you stoop too While Roman fpirit charms, and Attic wit:
low.

Argyll, the state's whole thunder born to wield,
P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; And shake alike the fenate and the field :
Tell me, which knave is lawful game, which not? Or Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne,
Mun great offenders, once escap'd the crown, The mafter of our passions, and his own? 89
Like royal harcs, be never more run down? Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain,
Admit your law to spare the knight requires, 30 Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with
As bearts of nature may we hunt the squires ?

their train; Suppose I censure--you know what I mean And if yet higher the proud lift Mould end, To save a bishop, may I name a dean?

Still let me say! No follower, but a friend. F. A dean, Sir ? no; his fortune is not made, Yes think not, friendship only prompts my lays: You hurt a man that's rifing in the trade.

I follow virtue; where the shines, I praise ;
P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day,

Point she to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Much less the 'prentice who to-morrow may. Or round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory.
Down, down proud fatire! though a realm be I never (to my forrow I declare)
fpoil'd,

Din'd with the Man of Ross, or my Lord Mayor. Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild; Some, in their choice of friends (na

look no Or, if a court or country's made a job,

40
grave)

IO. Go drench a pickpocker, and join the mob. Have ftill a secret bias to a knave :

But, Sir, 1 beg you, (for the love of vice') To find an honest man, I beat about;
The matter's weighty, pray confider twice; And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
Have you less pity for the needy cheat,

F. Then why so few commended ?
The poor and friendless villain, than the great ?

P. Not fo fierce ; Alas! the small discredit of a bribe

Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse. Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe. But random praise--the tafk can ne'er be done : Then better sure it charity becomes

Each mother asks it for her booby son, To tax directors, who (thank God) have plums; Each widow asks it for the best of men, Still better, minifters; or, if the thing so For him the weeps, for him the weds again. May pinch ev'n there-why lay it on a king. Praise cannot stoop, like satire, to the ground : 119 F. Stop: stop!

The number may be hang'd, but not be crowa'd. P. Must satire, then, nor risc nor fall ? Enough for half the greatest of these days, Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all. To 'scape my censure, not expect my praise.

F. Yes, Atrike that Wild, I'll juftify the blow. Are they not rich? what more can they pretend? P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years Dare they to hope a poet for their friend? ago :

What Richelieu wanted, Louis scarce could gain, Who now that obsolete example fears?

And what young Ammon wilh’d, but wish'din vain. Ev'n Peter trembles only for his ears. 58 No power che muse's friendship can command;

F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, No power, when virtue claims it, can withstand : You make men desperate, if they once are bad : To Cato, Virgil paid one honeft line ; 120 Else might he take to virtue fome years hence Olet ny country's friend illumine mine! (no fin,

P. As S-k, if he lives, will love the prince. What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's F. Strange spleen to S-k!

I think your friends are out, and would be in. P. Do I wrong the man? P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, God knows, I praise a courtier where I can. The way they take is (trangely round about. When I confess, there is who feels for fame, F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow? ; And melts to goodness, need I Scarborow name? P. I only call thofc knaves who are so now. Pleas'd let me own, in Esher's peaceful grove Is that too litele? Come then, I'll comply(Where Kent and nature vie for Pelham's love) Spirit of Arnall! aid me while I lic. The scene, the master, opening to my view, Cobham's a coward, Polwarth is a flave, 130 I sit and dream I see my craggs anew!

And Lyttelton a dark, designing knave; Ev'n in a bishop I can spy defert :

70 St. John has ever been a mighty foolSecker is decent; Rundel has a heart;

But let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull, Manners with candour are to Benson given ; Has never made a friend in private life, To Berkley, every virtue under heaven.

And was, besides, a tyrant to his wife. But does the court a worthy man remove ? But pray, when others praise him; do I blame? That instant, I declare, he has my love :

Call Verres, Wolley, any odious name? 1 lhun his zenith, court his milá declinc;

Why rail chey then, if but a wreath of mine, Thus Sommers once, and Halifax, were mine. O all-accomplith'd St. John ! deck thy shrine, Oft, in the clear, ftill mirror of retreat,

What ? Mall each spur-gall'd hackney of the day, I Nudy'd Shrewsbury, the wise and great; 79 When Paxton gives him double pots and pay, 141 Carleton's calm lense, and Scanhope's noble flame, Or each new-pension'd fycophant, pretend Compar'd, and knew their generous end the same: To break my windows if I treat a friend; How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour!

Then wisely plead, to me they meant no hurt,

22e

Sare, if I spare the minister, no rules

Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind; Of honour bind me, not to maul his cools ; And mine as man, who fcel for all mankind. Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be said

F. You're strangely proud. His faws are toothless, and his hatchets lead.

P. So proud, I am no Dave: It anger'd Turenne, once upon a day, 150 So impudent, I own myself no knave : To see a footman kick'd that took his pay : So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave, Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see. Knew ope a man of honour, one a knave,

Men not afraid of God, afraid of me : The prudent general turn'd it to a jest ;

Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, 210 And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the rest : Yet touch'd and sham'd by ridicule alone. Which not at present having time to do

O sacred weapon ! left for truth's defence, F. Hold, Sir! for God's fake, where's th' affrode Sole dread of folly, vice, and infolence : to you?

To all but heaven-directed hands deny'd, Against your worship when had $-k writ? The muse may give thee, but the gods must guide : Ur P-ge pour'd forth thc torrent of his wit ? Reverend I touch thee! but with honest zeal; Or grant the bard whose diftich all commend 160 To rouze the watchmen of the public wcal, (In power a servant, out of power a friend] To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall, To W-le guilty of some venial sin;

And goad the prelate slumbering in his fall. What's that to you who tie'er was out nor in ? Ye tinsel insects! whom a court maintains,

The priest whose flattery bedropt the crown, That counts your beauties only by your stains, How hurt he you? he only stain'd the gown. Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day! And how did, pray, the forid youth offend, The muse's wing shall brush you all away: Whose speech you cook, and gave it to a friend? All his grace preaches, all his lordship lings, P. Faith it imports not much from whom it came; All that makes saints of queens, and gods of kings. Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame, All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the presó, Since the whole house did afterwards the same. Like the last gazette, or the last address. Let courtly wits to wits afford supply, 171 When black ambition stains a public cause, As hog to hog in huts of Westphaly;

A monarch's sword when mad vain-glory draws, If one, through nature's bounty or his lord's, Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's scar, Has what the frugal dirty foil affords,

Not Boileau curn the feather to a star. 231 From him the next receives it, thick or thin, Not so, when, diadem'd with rays divine, As pure a mess almost as it came in ;

Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's, The blessed benefit, not there confin'd,

shrine
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind; Her priestless muse forbids the good to die,
From tail to mouth, they feed and they carouse : And opes the temple of eteroity.
The last full fairly gives it to the house. 180 There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
F. This filthy fimile, this beally line

Than such as Anfis cafts into the grave;
Quite turns my stomach-

Far other stars than • and * * P. So does flattery mine : And may descend to Mordington from Stair ; And all your courtly civet-cats can vent, (Such as on Houghs unfully'à mitre shine, 240 Perfume to you, to me is excrement.

Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine) But hear my fatherJaphet, 'tis agreed, Let envy howl, while heaven's w hole chorus sings, Writ not, and Chartres scarce could write or read, And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings; la all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite;

Let Aattery sickening see the incense rise, But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write; Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies: · And must no egg in Japhet's face be thrown, Truth guards the poet, sanctifies the line, Because the deed he forg'd was not my own? 190 And makes immortal verse as mean as mine. Mult never patriot then declaini at gin,

Yes, the last pen for freedom let me draw, Unless, good man ! he has been fairly in ? When truth ftands trembling on the edge of law; No zealous paftor blame a failing spouse,

Here, last of Britons ! let your names be read; Without a faring reason on his brows?

Are none, none living? let me praise the dead, And each blasphemer quite escape the rod, And for that cause which made your fathers shine, Because the insult's not on man, but God? Fall by the totes of their degenerate line. Ask you what provocation I have had ?

F. Alas, alas ! pray end what you began, The strong antipathy of good to bad.

And write next wintet more Essays on Man. When truth or virtue an affront endures, Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be

After ver. 227, in the MS. yours.

200 Mine, as a foe profess'd to false pretence,

Where's now the star that lighted Charles to rise? Who think a Corcombs honour like his sense ;

With that which follow'd Julius to the skies. Angels, that watch'd the Royal Oak so well,

How chanc'd ye nod, when luckless Sorel fell? VARJATIONS.

Hence, lying miracles! reduc'd fo low Ver, 185, in the MS.

As to the regal touch and papal toe ; I grant it, Sir; and further 'tis agreed,

Hence haughty Edgar's title to the Main, Japhet writ not, and Chartres (carce could read. Britain's to France, and thine to India, Spain:

wear,

I MITATIONS OF HORACE.

EPISTLE vii.

IMITATED IN TUE MANNER OF DR, Swift, Tis true, my lord, i gave my word, I would be with you, June the third ; Chang'd it to Auguft, and (in short) Have kept it as you do at court. You humour me when I am sick, Why not when I am fpleneric tó town, what objects could I meet ? The shops shut up in every Arcet, And funerals blackening all the doors, And yet more melancholy whores : And what a duit in every place! And a thin coust that wants your face, And fevers raging up and down, And W* and H** both in town!

“ The dog-days are no more the case."
'Tis true, but winter comes apace :
Then fouthward let your bard retire,
Hold out some monthis 'twixt sun and fire,
And you shall sec, the first warm weather,
Me and the butterflics together.

My lord, your favours well I know;
'Tis with dilindtion you beftow;
And not to every one that comes,
Just as a Scotsman doe, his plums.

Pray take them, Sir Enough's a feast :
“ Eat some, and pocket up the refl".
What, rob your boys? those pretty rogues!
No, Sir, you'll leave chem to the hogs.'
Thus fools with compliments befiege ye,
Contriving never to oblige ye.
Scatter your favours on a sop,
Ingratitude's the certain crop;
And 'tis but just, I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wise man always is or should
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a difference in his thought
Berwixe a guinca and a groat.

Now this I'll say, you'll find in me

But if you'd hate me always near A word, pray, in your honour's car. I hope it is your resolution To give me back my conftitution ! The sprightly wit, the lively eye, Th' engaging smile, the gaiety, That laugh'd down many a summer fun, And kepe you up so oft till one : And all that voluntary vein, As when Belinda rais'd my strain.

A weazel once made shift to flink. In at a corn-lost through a chink; But having amply stuff'd his skin, Could not get out as he got in; Which one belonging to the house ('Twas not a man, it was a mouse) Observing, cry'd,“ You 'scape not so, “ Lean as you came, Sir, you must go."

Sir, you may spare your application, I'mi no such beast, nor his relation; Nor one that temperance advance, Cramm'd to the throat with Ortolans : Extremely ready to resign All that may make me none of mine. South. Şea subscriptions take who plcase, Leave me but liberty and ease. 'Twas what I said to Craggs and Child, Who prais'd my modesty, and smild. Give me, I cry'd, (enough for me) My bread, and independency! So bought an annual rent or two, And liv'd- just as you see I do ; Near fifty, and without a wife, I trust that sinking fund, my life. Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well, Shrink back to my paternal cell, A little house, with trees a-row, And, like its master, very low. 'There dy'd my father, no man's debtor, And there I'll die, oor werse nor better, To set this matter full before ye, Our old friend Swift will tell his story. “ Harley, the nation's great suppost"

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