A simple quaker, or a quaker's wife,
Outdo Landaffe in doctrine,-yea in life:
Let humble ALLEN, with an aukward shame,
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Virtue may choose the high or low degree,
'Tis just alike to virtue, and to me ;

135

Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,

140

She's still the same, belov'd, contented thing.
Vice is undone, if she forgets her birth,
And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth:
But 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore ;
Let greatness OWN HER, and she's mean no more,
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess,
Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless;
In golden chains the willing world she draws,
And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws,
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,

147

And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead.

150

Lo!

VER. 129. This calls the church to deprecate our sin,] Warburton says, this alludes to the Forms of Prayer composed in the times of public calamity and distress; where the fault is generally laid upon the people.

VER. 130. Gin.] A spirituous liquor, the exorbitant use of which had almost destroyed the lowest rank of the people, till it was restrained by an act of parliament in 1736.

VER. 131. Let modest FOSTER,] An eminent dissenting preacher.

VER. 133. A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,] The Quaker's wife was Mrs. Drummond.

VER. 134. Outdo Landaffe] A prelate of irreproachable character, who is said never to have offended Pope; and whose son is no small ornament to his profession, Dr. Harris of Doctors Commons.

Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
Dragg'd in the dust! his arms hang idly round,
His flag inverted trails along the ground!
Our youth, all liv'ry'd o'er with foreign gold,
Before her dance: behind her, crawl the old!
See thronging millions to the pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or son!

155

Hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim,
That NOT TO BE CORRUPTED IS THE SHAME.

In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow'r,
'Tis av'rice all, ambition is no more!
See, all our nobles begging to be slaves;
See all our fools aspiring to be knaves!
The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore :
All, all look up, with reverential awe,
At crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law:
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry-
"Nothing is sacred now but villainy."

Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)
Show, there was one who held it in disdain.

160

165

EPILOGUE

TO THE

SATIRE S.

DIALOGUE II.

FR. 'TIS all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will say.

P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow 'faith

[it may;

And for that very cause I print to-day.
How should I fret to mangle ev'ry line,
In rev'rence to the sins of thirty-nine?
Vice with such giant strides comes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain ;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rising genius sins up to my song.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash;
Ev'n Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash.

VER. 1. Paxton] Late solicitor to the Treasury.

5

10

Spare

VER. II. Ev'n Gutbry] The Ordinary of Newgate, who publishes the Memoirs of the Malefactors, and is often prevailed upon to be so tender of their reputation, as to set down no more than the initials of their name.

as

Spare then the

person, and expose the vice.

P. How, Sir! not damn the sharper, but the dice? Come on then, Satire! gen'ral, unconfin'd,

Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind.
Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all!

Ye tradesmen, vile, in army, court, or hall!

16

Ye rev'rend atheists. F. Scandal! name them, Who? P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.. Who starv'd a sister, who forswore a debt,

20

I never nam'd; the town's enquiring yet.
The pois'ning dame-F. You mean. -P. I don't.
F. You do.

P. See, now I keep the secret, and not you!

The bribing statesman-F. Hold, too high you go.

P. The brib'd elector-F. There you stoop too low. P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; Tell me, which knave is lawful game, which not? Must great offenders, once escap'd the crown, Like royal harts, be never more run down? Admit your law to spare the knight requires, As beasts of nature may we hunt the squires? Suppose I censure. you know what I mean. To save a bishop, may I name a dean'?

F. A dean, Sir? No: his fortune is not made,

You hurt a man that's rising in the trade.

30

35

P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day, Much less the 'prentice who to-morrow may. Down, down, proud Satire! though a realm be spoil'd, Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild;

Or,