If man by feeding well commences great,

Much more the worm to whom that man is meat.

To glory fome advance a lying claim,
Thieves of renown, and pilferers of fame :

Their front fupplies what their ambition lacks;
They know a thoufand lords, behind their backs.
Cottil is apt to wink upon a peer,

When turn'd away, with a familiar leer;

And Hy's eyes, unmercifully keen,

Have murder'd fops, by whom she ne'er was feen.
NIGER adopts ftray libels; wifely prone
To covet fhame ftill greater than his own.
BATHYLLUS, in the winter of threescore,
Belyes his innocence, and keeps a whore.
Absence of mind BRABANT 10 turns to fame,
Learns to miftake, nor knows his brother's name ;
Has words and thoughts in nice diforder set,
And takes a memorandum to forget.

Thus vain, not knowing what adorns, or blets,
Men forge the patents, that create them fots.
As love of pleasure into pain betrays,
So moft grow infamous thro' love of praise.
But whence for praise can such an ardor rise,
When thofe, who bring that incense, we despise?
For fuch the vanity of great and small,

Contempt goes round, and all men laugh at all.

Nor can ev'n Satire blame them; for, 'tis true,
They have most ample cause for what they do.
O fruitful Britain! doubtless thou waft meant
A nurse of fools, to stock the continent.
Tho' PHOEBUS and the Nine for ever mow,
Rank folly underneath the fcythe will grow.
The plenteous harvest calls me forward ftill,
'Till I furpafs in length my lawyer's bill;

A WELCH

A WELCH defcent, which well-paid heralds damn ;
Or, longer still, a DUTCHMAN's epigram.
When, cloy'd, in fury I throw down my pen,
In comes a coxcomb, and I write again.

See TITYRUS, with merriment poffeft,
Is burft with laughter, ere he hears the jeft:
What need he stay? for when the joke is o'er,
His teeth will be no whiter than before.
Is there of thefe, ye fair! fo great a dearth,
That you need purchase monkeys for your mirth?
Some, vain of paintings, bid the world admire ;
Of houses fome; nay, houses that they hire:
Some (perfect wifdom!) of a beauteous wife;
And boast, like Cordeliers, a scourge for life.
Sometimes, thro' pride, the fexes change their airs;
My lord has vapours, and my lady fwears;
Then, ftranger ftill! on turning of the wind,
My lord wears breeches, and my lady's kind.
To fhew the ftrength, and infamy of pride,
By all 'tis follow'd, and by all deny'd.
What numbers are there, which at once pursue
Praise, and the glory to contemn it, too!
VINCENNA knows felf-praise betrays to shame,
And therefore lays a stratagem for fame;
Makes his approach in modefty's disguise,
To win applause; and takes it by furprize.
"To err," fays he, " in fmall things, is my fate."
You know your answer, he's exact in great.

"My ftile," fays he, " is rude and full of faults."
But oh! what fenfe! what energy of thoughts!
That he wants algebra, he must confess ;
But not a foul to give our arms fuccefs.
"Ah; That's an hit indeed," Vincenna cries;
"But who in heat of blood was ever wife?

VOL. I.

H

" I own

"I own 'twas wrong, when thousands call'd me back,
"To make that hopeless, ill-advis❜d, attack;

"All fay, 'twas madness; nor dare I deny ;
"Sure never fool fo well deserv'd to die.”
Could this deceive in others, to be free,
It ne'er, Vincenna, could deceive in thee;
Whofe conduct is a comment to thy tongue,
So clear, the dulleft cannot take thee wrong.
Thou on one fleeve wilt thy revenues wear;
And haunt the court, without a prospect there.
Are thefe expedients for renown? Confefs
Thy little felf, that I may fcorn thee less.

Be wife, Vincenna, and the court forfake;
Our fortunes there, nor thou, nor I, fhall make.
Ev'n men of merit, ere their point they gain,
In hardy service make a long campaign;
Moft manfully befiege their patron's gate,
And oft repuls'd, as oft attack the great
With painful art, and application warm,
And take, at laft, fome little place by storm;
Enough to keep two fhoes on Sunday clean,
And farve upon discreetly, in Sheer Lane.
Already this thy fortune can afford;

Then ftarve without the favour of my lord.

"Tis true, great fortunes fome great men confer;

But often, ev'n in doing right, they err:

From caprice, not from choice, their favours come;
They give, but think it toil to know to whom:
The man that's neareft, yawning, they advance:
'Tis inhumanity to bless by chance.

If merit fues, and greatness is so loth
To break its downy trance, I pity both.

I grant at court, PHILANDER, at his need,
(Thanks to his lovely wife) finds friends indeed.

Of

Of every charm and virtue she's poffeft:
Philander! thou art exquifitely bleft;
The public envy! Now then, 'tis allow'd,
The man is found, who may be justly proud:
But, fee! how fickly is ambition's taste!
Ambition feeds on trash, and loaths a feaft;
For, lo! Philander, of reproach afraid,
In fecret loves his wife, but keeps her maid.

Some nymphs fell reputation; others buy;
And love a market where the rates run high:
Italian mufic's fweet, because 'tis dear;
Their vanity is tickled, not their ear:
Their tastes would leffen, if the prices fell,
And SHAKESPEAR's wretched ftuff do quite as well;
Away the difinchanted fair would throng,
And own, that English is their mother tongue.

To fhew how much our northern tastes refine,
Imported nymphs our peereffes outshine;

While tradesmen ftarve, these PHILOMELS are gay;
For generous lords had rather give than pay.
Behold the masquerade's fantaftic scene!
The Legiflature join'd with Drury-lane!
When Britain calls, th' embroider'd patriots run,
And serve their country-if the dance is done.
"Are we not then allow'd to be polite ?"
Yes, doubtless; but first fet your notions right.
Worth, of politeness is the needful ground;
Where that is wanting, this can ne'er be found.
Triflers not e'en in trifles can excel;

"Tis folid bodies only polish well.

Great, chofen prophet! For these latter days,
To turn a willing world from righteous ways!
Well, HR, doft thou thy mafter serve;
Well has he seen his servant should not starve.

Thou to his name haft fplendid temples rais'd;
In various forms of worship feen him prais'd,
Gaudy devotion, like a Roman, shown,
And fung sweet anthems in a tongue unknown.
Inferior off'rings to thy god of vice
Are duly paid, in fiddles, cards, and dice;
Thy facrifice fupreme, an hundred maids !
That folemn rite of midnight masquerades! .
If maids the quite exhaufted town denies,
An hundred heads of cuckolds may fuffice.
Thou fmil'ft, well pleas'd with the converted land,
To fee the fifty churches at a ftand.

And that thy minister may never fail,
But what thy hand has planted still prevail,
Of minor prophets a fucceffion sure
The propagation of thy zeal fecure.

See commons, peers, and ministers of state,
In folemn council met, and deep debate!
What Godlike enterprize is taking birth?
What wonder opens on th' expecting earth?
'Tis done! with loud applause the council rings!

Fix'd is the fate of whores and fiddle-strings!

Tho' bold these truths, thou, Muse, with truths like these,

Wilt none offend, whom 'tis a praise to please:

Let others flatter to be flatter'd, thou,
Like juft tribunals, bend an awful brow.
How terrible it were to common sense,
To write a Satire, which gave none offence!
And, fince from life I take the draughts you see,
If men dislike them, do they cenfure me?
The fool, and knave, 'tis glorious to offend,
And Godlike an attempt the world to mend ;
The world, where lucky throws to blockheads fall,
Knaves know the game, and honeft men pay all.

How