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P. So proud, I am no Slave : So impudent, I own myself no knave: 206 So odd, my country's Ruin makes me grave. Yes, I am proud ; I must be proud to fee Men not afraid of God, afraid of me: Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, Yet touch'd and sham'd by Ridicule alone.

O sacred weapon! left for Truth's defence, Sole Dread of Folly, Vice, and Infolence ! To all but Heav'n-directed hands deny'd, The Muse may give thee, but the Gods must guide : Rev'rent I touch thee! but with honest zeal ; 216 To rouse the Watchmen of the public Weal,


VER. 208. Yes, I am proud; etc.] In this ironical exultation the Poet insinuates a subject of the deepest humiliation.

Ver. 211. Yet touch'd and sham'd by Ridicule alone.] The Passions are given us to awaken and support Virtue. But they frequently betray their trust, and go over to the interests of Vice. Ridicule, when employed in the cause of Virtue, Thames and brings them back to their duty. Hence the use and importance of Satire.

Ver. 14. To all but Heav'n-directed bands] “ The Citizen (says Plato, in his fifth book of Laws) who does no injury to any one, without question, merits our esteem. He, who,

not content with being barely just himself, opposes the course of injustice, by prosecuting it before the Magistrate, " merits our esteem vally more. The first discharges the “ duty of a single Citizen: but the other does the office of a “ Body. But he whose zeal stops not here, but proceeds to

MAGISTRATE IN PUNISHING is the most “ valuable blessing of Society. This is the PERFECT

CITIZEN, to whom we Mculd adjudge the prize of Virtue,"



To Virtue's work provoke the tardy Hall,
And goad the Prelate flumb'ring in his Stall.
Ye tinsel Insects! whom a Court maintains,
That counts your Beauties only by your Stains,
Spin all your Cobwebs o'er the Eye of Day!
The Mufe's wing fall bruh you all away:
All his Grace preaches, all his Lordship fings, 224
All that makes Saints of Queens, and Gods of Kings.
All, all but Truth, drops dead-born from the Press,
Like the last Gazette, or the last Address.

When black Ambition stains a public Cause,
A Monarch's Sword when mad Vain-glory draws,
Not Waller's Wreath can hide the Nation's Scar,
Nor Boileau turn the Feather to a Star.

231 VARIATIONS: After ver. 227. in the MS.

Where's now the Star that lighted Charles to rise ?
---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 ?
Hence, lying miracles ! reduc'd so low
As to the regal-touch, and papal-toe;
Hence haughty Edgar's title to the Main,

Britain's to France, and thine to India, Spain ? Ver. 222. Cobwebs] Weak and fight fophiftry against virtue and honour. Thin colours over vice, as unable to hide the light of Truth, as cobwebs to made the fun.

VER. 228. When black Ambition, etc.] The case of Cromwell in the civil war of England; and (ver. 229.) of Louis XIV,' in his conquest of the Low Countries.

VER. 231. Nor Boileau turn the Feather to a Star.] See his Ode on Namur; where (to use his own words) “ il a fait un Altre de la Plume blanche que le Roy porte ordinairement

Not so, when diadem'd with rays divine,
Touch'd with the Flame that breaks from Virtue's

Her Priestess Muse forbids the Good to die,
And opes the Temple of Eternity.

There, other Trophies deck the truly brave,
Than such as Anstis 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 shine, 240 Or beam, good DIGBY, from a heart like thine) Let Envy bowl, while Heav'n's whole Chorus fings, And bark at Honour not confer'd by Kings; Let Flatt'ry fick’ning fee the Incense rise, Sweet to the World, and grateful to the Skies : 245 Truth guards the Poet, fanctifies the line, And makes immortal, Verse as mean as mine.

“ à son Chapeau, et qui est en effet une espece de Comete, 66 farale a nos ennemis.”

Ver. 237. Anftis] The chief Herald at arms. It is the custom, at the funeral of great peers, to caft into the grave the broken staves and ensigns of honour.

VER, 239. Stair ;] John Dalrymple Earl of Stair, Knight of the Thiftle; served in all the wars under the Duke of Marlborough ; and afterwards as Embassador in France,

VER. 240, 241. Hough and Digby] Dr. John Hough Bishop of Worcester, and the Lord Digby. The one an afserior of the Church of England in opposition to the false measures of King James II. The other as firmly attached to the cause of that King. Both acting out of principle, and equally men of honour and virtue.

Yes, the last Pen for Freedom let me draw, When Truth ftands trembling on the edge of Law; Here, Last of Britons ? let your Names be read ; 250 Are none, none living ? let me praise the Dead, And for that Cause which made


Fathers shine, Fall by the Votes of their degen’rate Line.

Fr. Alas ! alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Esays on Man. 255

VARIATIONS, VER. 255. in the MS.

Quit, quit these themes, and write Essays on Man.

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Ver. ult.] This was the last poem of the kind printed by our author, with a resolution to publish no more ; but to enter thus, in the most plain and folemn manner he could, a sort of PROTEST against that insuperable corruption and depravity manners, which he had been

unhappy as to live to see. Could he have hoped to have amended any, he had continued those attacks; but bad men were grown fo Nameless and so powerful, that Ridicule was become as unsafe as it was ineffectual. The Poem raised him, as he knew it would, fome enemies; but he had reason to be satisfied with the approbation of good men, and the testimony of his own conscience,


Receiving from the Right Hon. the Lady




ES, I beheld th' Athenian Queen

Defcend in all her fober charms; “ And take the said, and smil'd ferene)

« Take at this hand celestial arms :

“ Secure the radiant weapons wield;

“ This golden lance shall guard Desert, “ And if a Vice dares keep the field,

“ This steel shall ftab it to the heart."

Aw'd on my bended knees I fell,

Receiv'd the weapons of the ky; And dipt them in the fable Well,

The fount of Fame or Infamy.


The Lady Frances Shirley] A Lady whose great Merit Mr, Pope took a real pleasure to celebrate.

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