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THE occafion of publishing these Imitations was the Clamour rais'd on fome of my Epiftles. An Anfwer from Horace was both more full, and of more Dignity, than any I could have made in my own person; and the Example of much greater Freedom in fo eminent a Divine as Dr. Donne, feem'd a proof with what indignation and contempt a Christian may treat Vice or Folly, in ever fo low, or ever so high a Station. Both thefe authors were acceptable to the Princes and Ministers under whom they lived. The Satires of Dr. Donne I verfified, at the defire of the Earl of Oxford while he was Lord Treasurer, and of the Duke of Shrewsbury, who had been Secretary of State; neither of whom look'd upon a Satire on Vicious Courts as any Reflection on those they serv'd in. And indeed there is not in the world a greater error, than that which Fools are fo apt to fall into, and Knaves with good reason to encourage, the mistaking a Satyrift for a Libeller i whereas to a true Satyrift nothing is fo odious as a Libeller, for the fame reason as to a man truly virtuous nothing is fo hateful as a Hypocrite.

Uni aequus Virtuti atque ejus Amicis.

Ma

то

MR. FORTESCUE.

P. THERE are (I fcarce can think it, but am told) There are, to whom my Satire feems too bold :.

Scarce to wife Peter complaifant enough,

And fomething faid of Chartres much too rough..
The lines are weak, another's pleas'd to fay,
Lord Fanny fpins a thousand fuch a day.
Tim'rous by nature, of the rich in awe,
I come to council learned in the Law:
You'll give me, like a friend both fage and free,
Advice; and (as you use) without a Fee.

F. I'd write no more.

P. Not write? but then I think,.
And for my foul I cannot fleep a wink..
I nod in company, I wake at night,
Fools rush into my head, and fo I write.

F. You could not do a worse thing for your life.
Why, if the nights feem tedious-take a wife:
Or rather truly, if your point be reft,
Lettuce and cowflip-wine; Probatum eft.
But talk with Celfus, Celfus will advife

Hartshorn, or fomething that fhall clofe your eyes.
Or, if you needs must write, write CAESAR's Praife,
You'll gain at least a Knighthood, or the Pays..

P. What? like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough, and

fierce,

(verse,

(der?

With ARMS and GEORGE and BRUNSWICK crowd the
Rend with tremendous found your ears afunder,
With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbufs and Thun-
Or nobly wild, with Budgel's fire and force,
Paint angels trembling round his falling Horse?
F. Then all your mufe's fofter art display,
Let CAROLINA smooth the tuneful lay,
Lull with AMELIA's liquid name the Nine,
And fweetly flow thro' all the Royal Line.

P. Alas! few verfes touch their nicer ear;
They fcarce can bear their Laureate twice a year;
And justly CAESAR fcorns the Poet's lays,
It is to Hiftory he trufts for Praise.

F. Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still,
Than ridicule all taste, blafpheme Quadrille,
Abuse the City's best good men in metre,
And laugh at peers that put their trust in Peter.
Ev'n those you touch not, hate you.

P. What should ail them? F. A hundred fmart in Timon and in Balaam : The fewer still you name, you wound the more; Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score.

P. Each mortal has his pleafure: none deny
Scarfdale his Bottle, Darty his Ham-pye;
Ridotta fips and dances, till the fee

The doubling Luftres dance as fast as she;
F-loves the Senate, Hockley-hole his brother,
Like in all elfe, as one Egg to another.

I love to pour out all myself, as plain

As downright SHIPPEN, or as old Montagne :
In them, as certain to be lov'd as feen,

The Soul ftood forth, nor kept a thought within ;
In me what spots (for fpots I have) appear,
Will prove at least the Medium must be clear.
In this impartial glafs, my Muse intends
Fair to expofe myself, my foes, my friends;
Publish the prefent age, but where my text
Is Vice too high, reserve it for the next
My foes shall wish my life a longer date,
And ev'ry friend the less lament my fate.
My head and heart thus flowing thro' my quill,
Verfe-man or Profe-man, term me which you will,
Papift ot Proteftant, or both between,

Like good Erafmus in an honeft mean,

In moderation placing all my glory,

While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Satire's my weapon, but am too discreet
To run a muck, and tilt at all I meet;
I only wear it in a land of Hectors,
Thieves, Supercargoes, Sharpers and Directors.
Save but our Army! and let Jove incrust
Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!
Peace is my dear delight-not FLEURY's more:
But touch me, and no minister so fore.
Whoe'er offends, at fome unlucky time
Slides into verfe, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to Ridicule his whole life long,
And the fad burthen of fome merry fong,

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