Hear her black Trumpet thro' the Land proclaim, That NOT TO BE CORRUPTED IS THE SHAME. 160. 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, 165

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.

170

Written in MDCCXXXVIII.

DIALOGUE II.

IS all a Libel - Paxton (Sir) will fay
P. Not yet, my Friend! 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 !

5

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 rifing Genius fins up to my Song

F. Yet none but you by Name the guilty lash; 10 Ev'n Guthry faves half Newgate by a Dash.

NOTES.

VER. I. Paxton.) Late sollicitor to the Treasury. VER. 11. Ev'n Guthry.) The Ordinary of Newgate, VOL. IV.

R3

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 fouce on all the kind. 15
Ye Statefmen, Priefts, of one Religion all!
Ye Tradesmen, vile, in Army, Court, or Hall!
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 Sifter, who forswore a Debt,
I never nam'd; the Town's enquiring yet.
The pois'ning Dame - F. You mean

F. You do.

P. I don't.

20

P. See, now I keep the Secret, and not you! The bribing Statesman-F. Hold, too high you go. 24 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? Muft 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 meanTo fave a Bishop, may I name a Dean ?

NOTES.

30

who publishes the memoirs of the Malefactors, and is often prevailed upon to be so tender of their reputation, as to * fet down no more than the initials of their name. P.

35

F. A Dean, Sir? no: his Fortune is not made, You hurt a man that's rifing in the Trade. P. If not the Tradesman who set up to day, Much less the 'Prentice who to morrow may. Down, down, proud Satire! tho' a Realm be spoil'd, Arraign no mightier Thief than wretched Wild; Or, if a Court or Country's made a job, Go drench a Pick-pocket, and join the Mob.

40

But, Sir, I beg you (for the Love of Vice !)

The matter's weighty, pray confider twice;

Have you less pity for the needy Cheat,

The poor and friendless Villain, than the Great? 45

Alas! the small Discredit of a Bribe

Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe.

Then better fure it Charity becomes

To'tax Directors, who (thank God) have Plums;

Still better, Ministers; or, if the thing

50

May pinch ev'n there--why lay it on a King.

NOTES.

VER. 35. You hurt a man that's rising in the Trade.] For, as the reasonable De la Bruyere observes, " Qui ne " fait être un ERASME, doit penser à être Evoque."

SCRIBL.

VER. 39. Wretched Wild] Jonathan Wild, a famous Thief, and Thief-Impeacher, who was at last caught in his own train and hanged. P.

VER. 42. for the love of Vice] We must confider the Poet as here directing his discourse to a follower of the new system of Politics, That private vices are public benefits SCRIBL.

F. Stop ! stop!

P. Must Satire, then, nor rise nor fall?

Speak out, and bid me blame no Rogues at all.

F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow.
P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years ago:

Who now that obsolete Example fears?
Ev'n Peter trembles only for his Ears.

F. What always Peter? Peter thinks you mad,
You make men desp'rate if they once are bad :
Else might he take to Virtue some years hence
P. As S---k, if he lives, will love the PRINCE.
F. Strange spleen to S---k!

--

P. Do I wrong the Man ?

56

60

64

God knows, I praise a Courtier where I can.
When I confefs, there is who feels for Fame,
And melts to Goodness, need I SCARB'ROW name?
Pleas'd let me own, in Esher's peaceful Grove
(Whent Kent and Nature vye for PELHAM's Love)