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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 supplies 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 he ne'er was seen.
Niger adopts stray libels ; wisely prone
To covet shame ftill greater than his own.
BATHYLLUS, in the winter of threescore,
Belyes his innocence, and keeps a whore.
Absence of mind BRABANTI0 turns to fame,
Learns to mistake, nor knows his brother's name;
Has words and thoughts in nice diferder set,
And takes a memorandum to forget.
Thus vain, not knowing what adorns, or blots,
Men forge the patents, that create them fots.

As love of pleasure into pain betrays,
So most grow infamous thro’ love of praise.
But whence for praise can such an ardor rise,
When those, who bring that incense, we despise ?
For such 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 wast meant
A nurse of fools, to stock the continent.
Tho' PHOEBUS and the Nine for ever mow,
Rank folly underneath the scythe will grow.
The plenteous harvest calls me forward still,
'Till I surpass in length my lawyer's bill;

A WELCH

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

See TITYRUS, with merriment poffeft,
Is burst 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 these, ye fair! so great a dearth,
That you need purchase monkeys for your mirth ?

Some, vain of paintings, bid the world admire ;
Of houses some; nay, houses that they hire :
Some (perfect wifdom !) of a beauteous wife's
And boast, like Cordeliers, a scourge for life.

Sometimes, thro' pride, the sexes change their airs ;
My lord has vapours, and my lady swears ;
Then, ftranger ftill! on turning of the wind,
My lord wears breeches, and my lady's kind.

To fhew the strength, 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 self-praise betrays to shame,
And therefore lays a stratagem for fame;
Makes his approach in modesty's disguise,
To win applause; and takes it by surprize.
“ To err," says he, “ in small things, is my fate. **
You know your answer, he's exact in great.

My Atile,says 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 success.
“ Ah; That's an hit indeed,” Vincenna cries;
“ But who in heat of blood was ever wise ?
VOL. I.

H

^ I own

« I own 'twas wrong, when thousands call'd me back,
« To make that hopeless, ill-advis'd, attack;
“ All say, 'twas madness; nor dare I deny ;
« Sure never fool so well deserv'd to die."
Could this deceive in others, to be free,
It ne'er, Vincenna, could deceive in thee;
Whose conduct is a comment to thy tongue,
So clear, the dullest cannot take thec

wrong.
Thou on one Neeve wilt thy revenues wear;
And haunt the court, without a prospect there.
Are these expedients for renown? Confess
Thy little self, that I may scorn thee less.

Be wise, Vincenna, and the court forsake;
Our fortunes there, nor thou, nor 1, shall make.
Ev'n men of merit, ere their point they gain,
In hardy service make a long campaign;
Moft manfully besiege their patron's gate,
And oft repuls’d, as oft attack the great
With painful art, and application warm,
And take, at laft, some little place by storm ;
Enough to keep two shoes on Sunday clean,
And starve upon discreetly, in Sheer Lane.
Already this thy fortune can afford ;
Then starve without the favour of my

lord.
"Tis true, great fortunes some 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 nearest, yawning, they advance :
'Tis inhumanity to bless by chance.
If merit sues, 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.

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

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

To shew how much our northern tastes refine,
Imported nymphs our peereffes outshine;
While tradesmen starve, these PHILOMELS are gay; :
For generous lords had rather give than

Behold the masquerade's fantastic scene !
The Legilature 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 set 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, dost thou thy master serve ;
Well has he seen his fervant should not ftarve.

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Thou

Thou to his name haft fplendid temples rais'd;
In various forms of worship seen him prais'd,
Gaudy devotion, like a Roman, shown,
And sung sweet anthems in a tongue unknown.
Inferior off'rings to thy god of vice
Are duly paid, in fiddles, cards, and dice;
Thy sacrifice supreme, an hundred maids !
That folemn rite of midnight masquerades !
If maids the quite exhausted town denies,
An hundred heads of cuckolds

may

suffice.
Thou smil'ft, well pleas’d with the converted land,
To see the fifty churches at a stand.
And that thy minister may never fail,
But what thy hand has planted still prevail,
Of minor prophets a succession sure
The propagation of thy zeal secure.

See commons, peers, and ministers of state,
In solemn 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 just tribunals, bend an awful brow.
How terrible it were to common sense,
To write a Satire, which gave none offence !
And, since from life I take the draughts you see,
If men dislike them, do they censure me?
The fool, and knave, 'tis glorious to offend,
And Godlike an attempt the world to mend;
The world, where lucky throws to blockbeads fall,
Knaves know the game, and honeft men pay all.

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