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And then for mine obligingly mistakes That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end, The first lampoon Sir Will or Bubo makes He stood the furious foe, the timid friend, Poor guildless 1! aud can I choose but smile, The damning critic, half-approving wit, When every coxcomb knows me by my style? The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Curst beihe verse, how well soc'er it flow, Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had, That tends to make one worthy man my foe, The doll, the prond, the wicked, and the mad Give virtue scan lal, innocence a fear,
The distant threais of vengeance on his head, Or from the soti-va virgin stead a tear! The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed; But he who huris a harmless neighbour's peace, The tale revir'd, the lie so oft o'erthrown, Iresults fallen worih, or beauty in distress; Tii
' imputed trash and dulness not his own ; Who loves a lie, larue slander helps about, The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape, Who writes a libel, or who copies out; The libellid person, and the pictur'd shape; That fop whose pride aflects a patron's name, Abuse on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread; Yet absent wounds an author's honest fame; A friend in exile, or a father dead; Who can your merit selfishly approve, The whisper that, to greatness still too near, And show the sense of it without the love; Perhaps yet vibrates on his Sov'reign's ear— Who has the vanity to call you Friend, Welcome for ihve, fair Virtue! all the past; Vet wants the honor injurd to defend; For thee, fair Virtue! welcoine even the last ho tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, A. But why insult the poor, affront the great ? And, if he lie not, inust at least betray.
P. A knave 's a knave to me in ev'ry state . Who to the dean and silver tell can swear, Alike my scorn if he succeed or fail, And sees it Connons what was never there; Sperus at court, or Japhet in a jail, Who reads but with a lust to misapply, A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer, Make satire a lampoon, and fiction lic- Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire, A lash like mine bo honest inan shall dread, If on a pillory, or near a throne, But all such babbling block heads in his stearl
. He gain his Prince's car, or lose his own. Let Sporus tremble.-- A. What! that thing Yei suft by nature, more a dupe than wit, of silk?
Sappho can tell you how this man was bit: Sporus, that inere white curd of ass's milk ? This cireadud Sai’rist Dennis will confess Satire or sense, alas! can Sparus seel? Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress : Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? So humble, he has knock'd at Tilald's door,
P. Yetlei inetiap this bug with gilled wings, llas drunk with Cibler, nay has rhym'd for
To please a Mistress, one aspers'd his life; In minnbling of the game they dare not bite. He lash'd himn not, but let her be his wife : Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
Let Budgel charge low Grulstreet on his guill, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. And wriie whate'er he pleas'd, except his Will; Whether in florid impotence he speaks, Let the two Curls of Town and Court abuse And, astheprompterbreathes, the puppersyneaks, His father, mother, body, soul, and muse. Or at uie ear of Eve, familiar tead,
Yet why? that Father held it for a rule, Half froth, half renom, spits himself abroad, It was a sin 10 call our neighbour fool: In pens, or politics, or tales, or lies,
That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore: Or spite, or simit, or rhymes, or blasphemies. Hear this, and spare his faniily, James Moor ! His wit all see-saw, between that and this; Unspotted names, and memorable long ! Now high, now low, now master up, i
, now iniss, If there be force in Virtue or in Song. And he himself one vile antithesis.
Of gentle blood (part shed in Ilonor's cause, Amphibeous thing ! that acting either part, While yet in Britain Honor had applause) The trifling head, or the corrupted heart; Each parentsprung.- A. What fortune, pray?-Fop at the toilet, Aatt'rer at the board,
P. Their own; Now trips a lady, and now struts a lord.. And better got than Bestia's from the throne. Ere's teinpter thus the rabbins have expressid : Born to no Pride, inheriting no Strife, A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.
Nor marrying Discord in a noble wife;
„Not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fuol, No Courts he saw, no Suits would ever try,
O grant O grant me thus to live, and thus to die! Abose the city's best good men in merre, Who sprung from Kings shall know less joy and laugh at peers that put their trust in Peter. than I.
Ev’n those you touch not, hate you. O Friend ! may each domestic bliss be thine !
P. What should ail them! Be no unpleasing Melancholy mine :
F. A hundred smarı in l'imon and in Balaam. Me fet the tender office loug engage, The fewer still you paine, you wound the more To rock the cradle of reposing Age ;
Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score. With lenient arts extend a Mother's breath, P. Each mortal has his pleasure : none deny Make languorsmile, and smooth the bed of death; Scarsdale his bottle, Darty his ham-pye; Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, Ridotta sips and dances, till she see And keep awhile one parent froin the sky! The doubling lustres dance as fast as she; On cares like these, if length of days attend, F- loves the senate, Hockley hole his brother, MayHeaven, toblessthosedays,preservemy friend, Like in all else as one egg to another. Preserve him social, cheerful, and screne, I love to pour out all myself, as plain Anci just as rich as when he serv'd a Queen. As downright Shippen, or as old Montaigne :
2. Whether that blessing be denied or given, In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen. Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heaven. The soul stood forth, nor kept a thought
In me what spots (for spots I have) appear, «$ 20. Sutires and Epistles of Horace imitated. Pope. Will prove at least the inedium must be clear. SATIRE I.
In this impartial glass my Muse intends
Fair to expose myself, my foes, my friends ;
Publish the present age ; but where my text P. There are (I scarce can think it, butain told) Is vice too high, reserve it for the next : There are to whom my Satire seems too bold ; My foes shall wish my life a longer date, Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough, And ev'ry friend the less lament my fate. And soinething said of Chartres inuch toorongh. My head and heart thus flowing thro' my quill, The lines are weak, aạother's pleas'd to say; Verseman or proseman, torm me which you will, Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day. Papist or Protestant, or both between, Tim'rous by nature, of the rich in awe, Like yood Erasmus, in an honest mean, I come to counsel learned in the law :
In moderation placing all my glory, You 'll give me, like a friend hoch sage and free, While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory. Advice; and (as you use) without a fee. Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet F: I'd write no more.
To run a-muck, and tilt at all I meet; A. Not write ? but then I think: I only wear it in a land of hectors, And for my soul I cannot sleep a wink. Thieves, supercargoes, sharpers, and directors. I nod in company, I wake at night ;
Save but our army! and let Jove incrust
F. You could not do a worse thing for your life. Peace is my dear delight not Fleury's more:
Who'er offends, at some unlucky time Lettuce and cowslip wine – probatum est. Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme, But talk with Celsus, Celsus will advise Sacred 10 ridicule his whole life long, Hartshorn,or something that shall close youreyes. And the sad burthen of some inerry song. Or, if you neçds must write, write Cæsar's praise; Slander or poison drearl froin Delia's rage; You'll gain at least a knighthood, or the lays, Hard words, or hanging, if your judge
be Page : P. What! like Sir Richard, ruinbling, rough, From furious Sappho scarce a miller fate, and fierce,
(the verse, P-x'd hy lies love, or libellid by her hate, With Arms, and George, and Brunswick crowd Its proper pow'r to huri, each creature feels; Rend with tremendous sound your ears asunder, Bulls aim their horns, and as-es lift their heels; With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss, and 'Tis a bear's talent not to kick, but hug; thunder?
And no man wonders he's not stung by pug. Or nobly wild, with Bulgel's fire and force, So drink with Waters, or with Chartres eat ; Paint angels trembling round his failing horse : They'll never poison you, they'll only cheat.
F. Then all your Muse's softer art display, Then, learned Sir !' (to cut the matter stort) Let Carolina smooth the tuneful lay,
Whate'er niv tate, or well or ill at Court, Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine, Whether old age, with faint but cheerful ras, And sweetly now thro' all the royal line. Attends to gild the ev'ning of my day;
P. Alas! few, verses touch their nicer ear ; Or death's black wing already be display'd, They scarce can bear their Laureate twice a-year; To wtap me in the universal shade ; And justly Cæsar scorns the poet's lays ; Whether the darken'd room to muse invite, It is to history he trusts for praise.
Or whiten'd wall provoke the skewer to write, MF. Better be Cibber, I 'll maintain it still, In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint, Than ridicule all taste, blaspheżne quadrille, Like Lee or Budgel, I will rhyme and print.
F. Alas, young man ! your days can ne'er be (A doctrine sage, but truly none of mine),
And the brain dancing io the maniling bowl,
Yet for small turbots such esteein profess? To virtue only and her friends a friend, Because God made these large, the other less. The world beside may murnrer or commend. Oldfield, with more than harpy tlıroat enduud, Know, all the distant din that world can keep, Cries, "send me, gods! a whole hog barbecnud, Rolls o'er my grotto, and but sooths my sleep.' o blast it, sonth winds, till a stench exhale There, my retreat the best companions grace, Rank as the ripeness of a rabbit's tail ! Chiefs out of war, and statesinen ont of place. By what criterion do you eat, d'ye think, There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl If this is priz'd for sweetness, that for stink ? The feast of reason and the flow of soul : When the tir'd glutton labors thro' a treat, And he, whose lightning pierc'd th'Iberian lines, He finds no relish in the sweetest incat ; Now forms my quincunx, and now tanks my He calls for something bitter, something sour, Or rames the genius of the stubborn plain, (vines; And the rich feast concludes extremely poor : Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain. Cheap eggs, and herbs, and olives still we see; Envy must own, I live among the great,
Thus much is left of old Simplicity!
The Robin-red-breast till of late had rest,
; To one that was, or would have been, a Pecr.
Or ey’n to crack live Crawfish recominend, This is my plea, on this I rest my cause —
I'd never doubt at Court to make a frieod. What saith iny counsel, learned in the laws ? "Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother
F. Your plea is good; but still I say, beware! About one vice, and fall into the other :
Between Excess and Famine lies a mean ;
Avidien, or his Wife (no matter which, Consult the statute, quart. I think it is, For him you'll call a dog, and her a bitch) Edwardii serl. or prim. et quint. Eliz. Sell their presented partridges and fruits, See Libels, Satires-here vou have it-rcad. And humbly live on rabbits and on roots : P. Livels and Satires ! lawless things indeed ! One half-pint bottle serves them both to dine, But grave Epistles, bringing vice to light, And is at once their vinegar and wine. Such as a king might read, a Bishop writé, But on some lucky day (as when they found Such as Sir Robert would approve
A lost Bank bill, or heard theirson was drown'd)
F. Indeed? At such a feast, old vinegar to spare, The case is alter'd you may then proceed ;
Is what two souls so gen'rous cannot bear: In such a cause the plaintiff' will be hiss'd,
Oil, though it stink, they drop by drop impart; My lords the judges laugh, and you're disiniss d. But sonise the cabbage with a bounteous heart.
He knows to live who kceps the middle state,
And neither leans on this side nor on that ; To Mr. Bethel.
Nor stops for one bad cork his butler's payi
Swears, like Albutius, a good cook away; What, and how great, the virtue and the Nor lets, like Nævius, ev'ry error pass; To live on little with a cheerful heart, [art, The musly winc, foul cloth, or greasy glass.
Now bear what blessings Temperance can Or, blest with little, whose preventing care bring :
In peace provides fit arms against a war? (Thus said our friend, and what he said I sing) Thus Bethel spoke, who always speaks his First Ileal:h: the stomach (crainuu'd from ev'ry thought, dishi,
And always thinks the very thing he ought: A tomb of boild and roast, and flesh and fish, His equal mind I copy what I call, Where bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acidjar, And as I love, would imitate, the man. And all the man is one intestine war.) In South-sea days not lappier, wien surmis'd Remembers oft the school-boy's simple fare, The lord of thousands, than if now excis'd; The temp?rate sleeps, and spirits liglit as air. In forest planted by a father's hand,
How pale each worshipful and rev'rend guests Than in fire acres now of rented land. Rise from a Clergy or a City feast !
Content with little, I can piddle here What life in all that ample body, say?
On brocoli and mutton round the year; What heavenly particle inspires the clay?
But antient friends (tho'poor, or out of play). The soul subsides, an! wickedly inclines That touch my bell, I cannot turn away. To seem but mortal, even in sound Divines. "Tis true, no turbots dignify my
On morning wings how activesprings themind Butgulgeons, founders, whatny Thamesaffords. That leaves the load of yesterday behind ! To llounslow heath I point, and Bansted-down; How easy ev'ry labor it pursues !
Thence comics your inution, and these chicks How coming to the Poet ev'ry Muse!
my own : Not but we may exceed some holy time, From yon old walnut trec a slow'r shall fall; Or tir’d in search of Truth, or search of Rhyme; And grapes, long ling'sing on my only wall, Ill healih some just indulgence may engage, And figs from standard and espalier join ; And more, the sickness of long life, Old Age; The devil is in you, if you cannot dine:[place);
Then cheerful healths (your mistress shall have If our intemp'rate Youth the vessel drains ? And, what's more rare, a poet shall say grace.
Ourfatliers prais'd rank Ven’son. You suppose, Fortune not much of humbling me can boast : Perhaps, young men! your fathers had no nose. Tho' double tax’d, hów licle have I lost ! Not so: a Buck was then a week's repast, My life's amusements have been just the same And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it last; Before and after standing armies came. More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could My lands are sold, my father's hoụse is gone : come,
I'll hire another's ; is not that my own, [gate Than eat the sweetest by themselves at home. And yours, my friends? thro' whose frecop'ning Why had not l in those good times my birth, None comes too early, none departs too late ; Ere coxcoinb pyes or coxcombs were on earth? For I who hold sage Ilomer's rule the best,
Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear, Welcome the coming, speed the guing guest. That sweetest music to an honest car
“ Pray Heaven it last! (cries Swift) as you go on: (For, faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong! “ I wish to God this house had been your own. The world's good word is better than a song), “ Pity! to build, wiilout a son or wite; Who has notiearn’d, fresh sturgeon and ham-pyc Why, you'll enjoy it only all your
life." Are no rewards for want and infamy? Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one, When luxury has lick d up all thy pelf, Whether the name belong to Pope or Veron? Curs'd by thy neighbours, ihy trustees, thyself; What's property ? dear Swift! you see it aller To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame, From you to nie, from me to Peter Walier; Think how posterily will treat thy name, Or, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's share; And buy a rope, that future times may tell Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir ; Thou hast at least bestow'd a penny well, Or in pure equity (the case not clear) “ Right," cries his Lordship, “fora rogue in need The Chancery takes your rents for twenty year ; « To have a taste, is insolence indeed :
At best, it falls to some ungracious son, (own.” “ In me, 'tis poble, suits my birth and state, Who cries, “ My father's damn'd, and all's my “My wealth unwieldly, and my heap too great." | Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford, Then, like the Sun, let Bounty spread her ray, Become the portion of a booby lord; And shine that superfluity away.
And Hensley, once proud Buckingham's delight, O Impudence of wealth! with all thy store, Slides to a scriv'ner, or a city knight. How dar'st thou let one worthy man be poor? Let lands and houses have what lords they will, Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall? Let us be fix’d, and our own masters still. Make Quays, build Bridges, or repair Whitehall: Or to thy Country let that heap be lent, The First Epistle of the First Book of Horace. As M-o's was, but not at five per cent. Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind,
To Lord Bolinglroke. Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankind. And who stands safest ? tell.ine, is it he Sr. John, whose love indulg'd my labors past, That sprcads and swells in pu'd prosperity; Matures my present, and shall bound my last!
Why will you break the Sabbath of my days? 'Tis the first Virtue, Vices to abhor;
And the first Wisdom, to be a Fool no more. Public too long, ah lei me hide my age!
But to the world no bugbear is so great See, modest Cibber now has left the stage ; As want of ligure, and a small estate. Our Gen'rals, now, retir'd to their estates, To either India see the merchant fly, Hang their old Trophies o'er the Garden gates ; Seard at the spectre of pale Poverty! In Life's cool ev’ning, satiate of applause, See him, with pains of body, pangs of soul, Nor fond of bleeding even in Brunswick's cause. Burn through the Tropic, freeze beneath the Pole!
A voice there is, that whispers in my ear, [hear, Will thou do nothing for a nobler end, (Tis Reason's voice, which sometimes one can Nothing, to make Philosophy thy friend ? " Friend Pope! be prudent, let your Muse Take To stop thy foolish views, thy long desires, " And never gallop Pegasuis to death ; [breath, and ease thy heart of all that it admires ?
Lest stiff and stately, void of fire or force, Here Il isdoin calls: "Seek l'irtue first, be bold! " You linp, like Blackinore, on a Lord Mayor's “ As Gold to Silver, Virtue is to Gold." “ horse."
There, London's voice: “Get moncy, moneystill! Farewell, Wen, Verse, and Love, and ev'ry top, And then let Virtue follow, if she will." The rhyines and rattles of the inan or boy; This, this the saving doctrine preach'd to all, What right, what true, what fit we justly call, From low St. James's up to high St. Paul! Let this be all my care --
- for this is All: From him whose quills stand quiver'd at his ear, To lay this harvest tip, and hoard with haste, Tohim who notches sticks at Westminster. Thai ev'ry day will want, and inosi, the last. Barnard in spirit, sense, and truth abounds ; But ask not to what Doctors I apply ;
“ Pray then, what wants he?" Fourscore thouSworn to no master, of no sect am 1 :
sand pounds; A. drives the storm, at any door I knock; A pension, or such harness for a slave And house with Montaigne now, or now with As-Bug now has, and Dorimant would have. Sometimes a Patriot, active in debate, (Loche. Barnard, thou art a Cit
, with all thy worth; Slix with the World, and battle for the State, But Bug and D*1, their Honors and so forth. Free as youne Lyttleton her cause pursue,
Yet ev'ry child another song will sing : Still true to Virtue, and as warın as true: *Virtue, brave boys! 'tis Virtue makes a King." Sometinies with Aristippus, or St. Paul, True, conscious Honor is to feel no sin; Indulge my candor, and grow all to all ; He's arm'd without that's innocent within : Back io iny native moderation slide,
Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of brass And win my way by vielding to the tide. Compar'd to this, a Minister 's an Ass.
Long, as to him, whu works for debı, the day, And say, to which shall our applause belong, Long as the night to her whose Love's away, This new Court jargon, or the good old song ? long as the year's dull circle seems to run The modern language of corrupted peers, When the brisk Minor pants for twenty-one ; Or what was spoke at Cressy or Poitiers ? So slow th' unprofitable moments roll, Whocounsels best! whowhispers, “Be but great, That lock up all the functions of my soul ; “With praise or infamy, leave that to fate; That keep me from myself, and still delay “ Get Place and Healti, if possible with grace; Life's instant business to a future day : • If not, by any means get Wealth and Place :" That task, which as we follow, or despise, For what?' to have a box where Eunuchs sing, The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise : And foremost in the circle eye a KingWhich done, the pooresi can no wants endure ; Ur he, who bids the face wiih steady view And, which not done, the richest must be pour. Proud Fortune,andlookshallowGreainessthroo;
Late as it is, I pitiyself to school, And, while he bids thee, sets th’Example too?
Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom inove " Fuli inany a beast goes in, but none come out."
Can ihey direct what measures to pursue,
of his pride.
Who know themselves so little what to do? Be furious, envious, sloihtul, mad, or drunk, Alike in nothing but one lust of gold, Slave to a wife, or vassal to a punk,
Just half the land would buy, and half be sold; A Sivitz, a High Durch, or a Low Dutch bear : Their couniry's wealth our mightier Misers drain, All that we ask is but a patient car.
Or cross, to plunder provinces, the main ;