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The whisper, that to greatness still too near,
A. But why insult the poor, affront the great ?
my scorn, if he succeed or fail, Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail, A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer, Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire ; 365 If on a pillory, or near a throne, He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.
Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Sappho can tell you how this man was bit ; This dreaded sat’rist Dennis will confess
370 Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress : So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor. Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply? Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's lie. 375
To Ver. 355. A friend in exile,] The Bishop of Rochester, Dr. Atterbury.
VER. 363. Sporus at court,] In former editions, Gloncus af
Ver. 368. in the MS.
Once, and but once, his heedless youth was bit,
To please his mistress, one aspers'd his life,
390 And better got, than Bestia's from the throne. Born to no pride, inheriting no strife, Nor marrying discord in a noble wife, Stranger to civil and' religious rage, The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.
P. Their own,
VER. 378. Let Budgel] Budgel, in a weekly pamphlet called the Bee, bestowed much abuse on him., in the imagination that he Writ some things about the Last Will of Dr. Tindal, in the Grube street Journal; a paper wherein he never had the least hand, direction, or supervisal, nor the least knowledge of its author.
Ver. 379. except bis.Will;] Alluding to Tindal's will: by which, and other indirect practices, Budgel, to the exclusion of the next heir, a nephew, got to himself almost the whole fortuns of a man entirely unrelated to him,
No courts hè, saw, no suits would ever trý,
404 Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.
O friend ! may each domestic bliss be thine ! Be no unpleasing melancholy mine : Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, 410 Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky ! On cares like these, if length of days attend, May Heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend, Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene, And just as rich as when he serv'd a QUEEN.
After ver. 405. in the MS.
And of myself, too, something must I say?
A. Whether that blessing be deny'd or giv'n,
VÆR. 417. And just as ricb, &c.) After the death of Queen Anne, Arbuthnot removed from St. James's-street to Dover-street, probably not in so good circumstances, or such extensive practice, as before.