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XIII. eligion of the town, ning, policy o'th' gown, press’d; and shine in thee alone.

int, the lawyer's sophistry,
·, critic's jest; all end in thee,
e at last, and sleep eternally.

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Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free,

Oppress’d with argumental tyranny,
And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.

With thee in private modest Dulness lies,

And in thy bosom lurks in Thought's disguise ; Thou varnisher of Fools, and cheat of all the Wise!

Yet thy indulgence is by both confest;

Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest.


Silence the knave's repute, the whore

The only honour of the wishing dame;
The very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.

But could'st thou seize some tongues that now are

free, How Church and State should be oblig'd to thee? At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome wouldst thou be !

Yet speech ev’n there, submissively withdraws,

From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause : Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy Laws.

XII. Past services of friends, good deeds of foeś,' What Fav'rites gain, and what the Nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.

The country wit, religion of the town,

The courtier's learning, policy o'th' gown,
Are best by thee express’d; and shine in thee alone.

The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry,

Lord's quibble, critic's jest; all end in thee,
All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.



“If one turns to the authors of the last age for the character of this Lord, one meets with nothing but encomiums on his wit and good-nature. He was the finest gentleman in the voluptuous court of Charles the Second, and in the gloomy one of King William. He had as much wit as his first master, or his contemporaries, Buckingham and Rochester; without the royal want of feeling, the Duke's want of principles, or the Earl's want of thought. The latter said with astonishment, “ That he did not know how it was, but Lord Dorset might do any thing, and yet was never to blame !" It was not that he was free from the failings of humanity, but he had the tenderness of it too, which made every body excuse whom every body loved; for even the asperity of his verses seems to have been forgiven to

“ The best-good man, with the worst natured-muse." “ This line is not more familiar than Lord Dorset's own poems to all who have a taste for the genteelest beauties of natural and easy verse, or than his Lordship's own bon-mots, of which I cannot help repeating one of singular humour : Lord Craven was a proverb for officious whispers to men in power. On Lord Dorset's promotion, King Charles having seen Lord Craven pay his usual tribute to him, asked the former what the latter had been saying? The Earl replied gravely,“ Sir, my Lord Craven did me the honour to whisper, but I did not think it good manners to listen.” When he was dying, Congreve, who had been to visit him, being asked how he had left him, replied, “ Faith, he slabbers more wit than other people have in their best health.”

“ His Lordship and Waller are said to have assisted Mrs. Catherine Philips in her translation of Corneille's Pompey.”

Royal and Noble Authors, vol. ii. p. 95.




Tho' Artemisia talks, by fits,
Of councils, classics, fathers, wits ;

Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
Yet in some things methinks she fails,
"Twere well if she would pare her nails,

And wear a cleaner smock.

Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such nastiness, and so much pride,

Are oddly join'd by fate :
On her large squab you find her spread,
Like a fat corpse upon a bed,

That lies and stinks in state.



She wears no colours (sign of grace)
On any part except her face ;

All white and black beside :
Dauntless her look, her gesture proud,
Her voice theatrically loud,

And masculine her stride.

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