blefs;

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In golden Chains the willing World she draws,
And hers the Gospel is, and hers the Laws;
Mounts the Tribunal, lifts her fcarlet head,
And fees pale Virtue carted in her stead.
Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal Car,
Old England's Genius, rough with many a Scar,
Dragg'd in the duft! his arms hang idly round,
His Flag inverted trails along the ground!
Our Youth, all livery'do'er with foreign Gold,155
Before her dance: behind her, crawl the Old!
See thronging Millions to the Pagod run,
And offer Country, Parent, Wife, or or Son!
Hear her black Trumpet through the land pro-

claim,

See, all our Nobles begging to be Slaves! See, ail our Fools afpiring to be Knaves!

I never nam'd; the Town's enquiring yet. The poisoning Dame--- F. You mean--- P. I don't.---F. You do.

P. See, now I keep the Secret, and not you! The bribing Statelman---F. Hold, too high you

too low.

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P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; Tell me, which Knave is lawful Game, which not?

Muft great Offenders, once efcap'd the Crown, Like Royal Harts, be never more run down? Admit your Law toipare the Knight requires, 30 As Beafts of Nature may we hunt the Squires? Suppole I ceufure---you know what I mean--To fave a Bishop, may I name a Dean?

F. A Dean, Sir? no; his Fortune is not made, You hurt a man that 's rifing in the Trade.

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P. If not the Tradesman who fet up to-day, Much lefs the 'Prentice who to-morrow may. Down, down, proud Satire! though a realm be poil'd,

Are what ten thousand envy and adore :
All, all look up, with reverential Awe,

At crimes that 'cape, or triumph o'er the Law: While Truth, Worth, Wildom, daily they decry "Nothing is facred now but Villainy."

Yet may this Verfe if fuch a Verte remain) Shew there was one who held it in difdain.

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FR. "TIS all a Libe!---Paxton (Sir) will fay. P. Not yet, my Friend! to-morrow 'faith it may;

5

And for that very caufe I print to-day.
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the Sins of Thirty-nine!
Vice with fuch Giant-ftrides comes on amain,
Invention ftrives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rifing Genies fins up to my Song.
F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lafh; 10
Even Guthry faves half Newgate by a Dash.
Spare then the Perton, and expofe the Vice.
P. How, Sir! not damn the Sharper, but the

Dice?

Come on then, Satire! general, unconfin'd,
Spread thy broad wing, and fouce on all the kind. 15
Ye Statemen, Priefts, of one Religion all!
Ye Tradefmen, vile, in Army, Court, or Hall!
Ye reverend Atheists. F. Scandal! name them,

who?

P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.

Who now that obfolete Example fears?
Ev'n Peter trembles only for his Ears.

F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, You make men defperate, if they once are bad: Elfe might he take to Virtue lome years hence Co P. As S---k, if he lives, will love the Prince. F. Strange fpleen to S---k!

P. Do I wrong the Man?
God knows, I praife a Courtier where I can.
When I confels, there is who feels for Fame,
And melts to Goodness, need I Scarborow name?
Pleas'd let me own, in Ether's peaceful Grove
(Where Kent and Nature vie for Petham's Love)
The Scene, the Master, opening to my view,
I fit and dream I fee my Craggs anew?

Ev'n in a Bishop I can spy Delert:
Secker is decent; Rundel has a Heart;
Manners with Candour are to Benson given;
To Berkley, every Virtue under Heaven.

But does the Court a worthy Man remove?
That inftant, I declare, he has my Love:
I fhun his Zenith, court his mild Decline;
Thus Somers once, and Halifax, were mine.

Oft, in the clear, ftill Mirrour of Retreat,
I ftudy'd Shrewfoury, 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 Atterbar'y's fofter hour!
How fhin'd the Soul, unconquer'ed in the Tower!
How can I Pulteney, Chesterfield forget,
While Roman Spirit charms, and Attic Wit: 85
Argyll, the State's whole Thunder born to wield,
And thake alike the Senate and the Field:
Or Wyndham, just to Freedom and the Throne,
The Mafter of our Paffi ns, 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 Lift fhould 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 praife; 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 ftill a fecret Byals to a Knave:
To find an honeft man, I beat about;
And love him, court him, prai e him, in or out.
F. Then why fo few commended?

P. Not fo fierce;
Find you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verie. 105
But random Praife---the tafk can ne'er be done :
Each Mether as it for her booby Son,
Each Widow afks it for the Beft of Men,
For him the weeps, for him the weds again.
Praife cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground: 110
The Number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for half the Greatest of these days,
To 'icape my Cenfure, not expect my Praife.
Are they not rich? what more can they pretend?
Dare they to hope a Poet for their Friend? 115
What Richlieu wanted, Louis fcarce could gain,
And what young Ammon with'd, but with'd in

vain.

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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,

135

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 ftrangely round about. 125
F. They too may be crrupted, 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.
But pray, when others praife lim, do I b'at?
Can Verre Wolfey, any odious purae ?

135

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

When Paxton gives rim double Pots and Pay,
Or each new-per from'd Sycophant, pretend
To break my windows if I treat a Friend;
Then wi'ely 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 Tooks;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid
His Saws are toothlefs, and his Hatchets Lead.
It anger'd Turenne, once upon a day, 150
To fee a Footman kick'd that took his p
pay:
But when he heard th' Affront the Fellow gave,
Knew one a Man of Honour, one a Knave;
The prudent General turn'd it to a jest,
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 worship when had S---k_writ?
Or P---ge pour'd forth the Torrent of his Wit?
Or grant the Bard whose distich all commend
[In Power a Servant, out of Power a Friend]
To Wle guilty of tome venial fin;
What's that to you who ne'er was cut por in?

The Priest whofe Flattery bedropt the Crown,
How hurt he you? he only ftain'd the Gown.
And how did, pray, the florid Youth offend,
Whofe Speech you took, and gave it to a Friend?
P.Faith it imperts not muchfrom 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 foil affords,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin, 173
As pure a mefs almost as it came in;
The bleffed beffefit, not there confin'd,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind;
From tail to mouth, they feed and they caroufe:
The last full fairly gives it to the Houfe.

F. This filthy fimile, this beaftly line Quite turns my stomach--

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183

P. So does Flattery mine: And all your courtly Civet-cats can vent, Perfume to you, to me is Excrement. But hear me further---Japhet, 'tis agreed, Writ not, and Chartres fcarce could write or reach, 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 forg'd was not my own? 190Muft never Patriot then declaim at Gin, Unle's, good man! he has been fairly in? No zealous Pafter blame a failing Spoute, Without a ftaring Reafon on his brows? And each blafphemer quite efcape the red, Because the infult 's not on Man, but God?

105

Afk you what Provocation I have had ? The ftrong Antipathy of Good to Bad. When Truth or Virtue an Affront endures, ThʼAffrenç A mine, my friend, and should be you.

Mine, as a foc profefs'd to falfe pretence,
Who think a Coxcomb's honour like his fenfe;
Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind;
And mine as man who feel for all mankind.
F. You're ftrangely proud.

P. So proud, I am no flave
So impudent, I own myself no knavɛ.
So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave.
Yes, I am proud, I must be proud to lee
Men not afraid of God, afraid ofme:

Sale from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, 210
Yet touch'd and fham'd by Ridicule alone.

O facred weapon! left for truth's defence,
Sole dread of felly, vice, and infolence!
To all but heaven-directed hands deny'd,
The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods muft
guide:

Reverent I touch thee! but with honeft zeal;
To Youze the watchmen of the public weal,
To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,
And goad the prelate lumbering in his stall.
Ye tinfel in ects! whom a court maintains, 220
That counts your beauties only by your itins,
Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!
The mu e's wing fhall brush you all away:
All his Grace preaches, all his Lordship fings,
All that makes Saints of Queens, and Gods of
Kings.

All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the prefs,
Like the laft Gazette, or the laft Addrels.

When black ambition ftains a public cause, A Monarch's word, when mad vain-glory draws,

Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fear, 230 Not Boileau turn the feather to a star.

Not fo, when, diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's fhrine,

Her prieftefs Mufe forbids the Good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.

may

235

Law;

Imitated in the 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 fhort)
Have kept it---as you do at Court.
You humour me when I am fick,
Why not when I am iplenetick?
In town what objects could I meet?
The fhops fhut up in every street,,
And funerals blackening all the doors,
And
yet mora melancholy whores;
And what a duft in every place!.
And a thin court that wants your face,
And fevers raging up and down,
And Wand H** both in town!

"The dog-days are no more the cafe."
'Tis true, but winter comes apace:
Then fouthward let your bard retire,
Hold out fome months 'twixt fun and fire,
And you fhall fee, the firft warm weather,
Me and the Butterflies together.

My Lord, your favours well I know;
'Tis with diftinction you beftow;
And not to every one that comes,
Juft as a Scotiman does his plums..
Pray take them, fir---Enough's a feaft:
Eat fome, and pocket up the rest"
What, rob your boys? thofe pretty rogues!
"No, fir, you'll leave them to the hogs."
Thus fools with compliments befiege ye,
Contriving never to oblige ye.
Scatter your favours on a fop,
Ingratitude 's the certain crop;
And 'tis but juft, I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wile man always is or fhould
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a difference in his thought
Betwixt a guinea and a groat.

Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me
A fafe companion and a free;
But if you'd have me always near---
A word, pray, in your honour's ear.
I hope it is your refolution
To give me back my constitution!
The fprightly wit, the lively eye,
Th' engaging mile, the gaiety,
That laugh'd down many a fummer fun,
And kept you up fo oft till one:
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda rais'd my ftrain.

A weazel once made fhift to flink
In at a corn-loft through a chink ;
But having amply stuff'd his skin,
Could not get out as he got in;
Which one belonging to the Houfe
('Twas not a Man, it was a Moute)
Obferving, cry'd, "You 'fcape not fo,.

Lean as you came, fir, you must go." Sir, you may fpare your application, Pra no fuch beaft, not his relation;

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Ah found no more thy foft alarms,

Nor circle fober fifty with thy charms! Mother too fierce of dear defires

Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires. To number five direct your doves,

There spread round Murray all your blooming loves;

Noble and young, who ftrikes the heart

With every sprightly, every decent part; Equal, the injur'd to defend,

To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend. He with a hundred arts refin'd,

Shall ftretch thy conquefts over half the kind; To him each rival fhall fubmit,

Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then fhall thy form the marble grace,

(Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face: His houfe, embofom'd in the grove,

Sacred to focial life and focial love, Shall glitter o'er the pendent green,

Where Thames reflects the vifionary scene: Thither the filver-founding lyres

Shall call the fmiling loves, and young de

fires;

There, every Grace and Mufe fhall throng,
Exait the dance, or animate the song;
There youths and nymphs, in confort gay,
Shall hail the rifing, clofe the parting day.
With me, alas! thofe joys are o'er;

For me the vernal garlands bloom no more. Adieu! fond hope of mutual fire,

The ftill-believing, ftill renew'd defire; Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl,

And all the kind deceivers of the foul! But why? ah tell me, ah too dear!

Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear? Why words fo flowing, thoughts fo free, Stop, or turn nonfenfe, at one glance of thee? Thee, drefs'd in fancy's airy bearn,

Abfent I follow through th' extended dream; Now, now I ceafe, I clafp thy charms,

And now you burft (ah, cruel!) from my

A STANDISH AND TWO PENS.

YES, I beheld th' Athenian Queen

Defcend in all her fober charms; "And take (the faid, and fmil'd ferene) "Take at this hand celeftial arms.

"Secure the radiant weapons wield;

"This golden lance fhall guard defert, "And if a vice dares keep the field, "This fteel fhall ftab it to the heart."

Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,
Receiv'd the weapons of the fky;
And dipp'd them in the fable well,
The fount of fame or infamy.

"What well? what weapon? (Flavia cries)
"A ftandifh, fteel and golden pen!
"It came frorn Bertrand's, not the kies;

I gave it you to write again..

"But, friend, take heed whom you attack; "You'll bring a houfe (I mean of Peers)". "Red, blue, and green, nay white and black, "L and all about your ears.

"You'd write as fmooth again on glast,
"And run, on ivory, fo glib,
"As not to ftick at fool or afs,"
"Nor stop at flattery or fib.

"Athenian Queen! and fober charms!
"I tell you, fool, there's nothing in't:
"'Tis Venus, Venus gives thefe arms;
"In Dryden's Virgil fee the print.

"Come, if you'll be a quiet foul,

"That dares tell neither truth nor lies, "I'll lift you in the harmless roll"Of thofe that fing of these poor eyes,”

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