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Dragg'd in the duft! his arms hang idly round,
His Flag inverted trails along the ground!
Our Youth, all livery'd o'er with foreign Gold,
Before her dance: behind her, crawl the Old!
See thronging Millions to the Pagod run,
And offer Country, Parent, Wife, or Son!
Hear her black Trumpet through the land proclaim,
That NOT TO BE CORRUPTED IS THE SHAME. 160
In Soldier, Churchman, Patriot, Man in Power,
'Tis Avarice all, Ambition is no more!
See, all our Nobles begging to be Slaves!
See, all our Fools afpiring to be Knaves!
The Wit of Cheats, the Courage of a Whore,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore:
All, all look up, with reverential Awe,
At crimes that 'fcape, or triumph o'er the Law:
While Truth, Worth, Wifdom, daily they decry-
"Nothing is facred now but Villainy."

Yet may this Verfe (if fuch a Verfe remain).
Show there was one who held it in difdain.

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EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

TO THE

SATI R. E S.

Written in MDCC XXXVIII.

II..

FS all a Libel-Paxton (Sir) will fay. P.Not yet, my Friend! to-morrow 'faith it may;

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DIALOGUE

And for that very caufe I print to-day.
How fhould I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the Sins of Thirty-nine!
Vice with fuch Giant-ftrides 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 lask;
Even Guthry faves half Newgate by a Dash..
Spare then the Perfon, and expose the Vice.

P. How, Sir! not damn the Sharper, but the Dice?
Come on then, Satire! general, unconfin❜d,
Spread thy broad wing, and fouce on all the kind. 15
Ye Statesmen, Priefts, of one Religion all!

Ye Tradesmen, vile, in Army, Court, or Hall!
Ye reverend Atheists. F. Scandal! name them, Who?
P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.

Who

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Who ftarv'd a Sifter, who foreswore a Debt,
I never nam'd; the Town 's enquiring yet.
The poisoning Dame- F. You mean-
F. You do.

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P. I don't.

P. See, now I keep the Secret, and not you!
The bribing Statefman-F. Hold, too high you go.
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 efcap'd the Crown,.
Like Royal Harts, be never more run down?
Admit your Law to fpare the Knight requires,,
As Beafts of Nature may we hunt the Squires?
Suppose I cenfure-you know what I mean-
To fave a Bishop, may I name a Dean ?

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F. A Dean, Sir? no; his Fortune is not made,
You hurt a man that 's rifing in the Trade.

P. If not the Tradefman who fet up to day,
Much lefs the 'Prentice who to-morrow may.
Down, down, proud Satire! though 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 Pickpocket, and join the Mob.

But, Sir, I beg you, (for the Love of Vice!)
The matter 's weighty, pray confider twice;
Have you lefs pity for the needy Cheat,
The poor and friendless Villain, than the Great?
Alas! the fmall Difcredit of a Bribe

Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe.

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Then

Then better fure it Charity becomes

To tax Directors, who (thank God) have Plums;
Still better, Minifters; or, if the thing
May pinch ev'n there-why lay it on a King.

F. Stop! ftop!

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P. Muft Satire, then, nor rife nor fall? Speak out, and bid me blame no Rogues at all. F. Yes, ftrike that Wild, I'll justify the blow. P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years ago: Who now that obfolete Example fears? Ev'n Peter trembles only for his Ears.

F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, You make men desperate, if they once are bad: Elfe might he take to Virtue fome years hence- 60 P. As S-k, if he lives, will love the Prince. F. Strange fpleen to S-k!

P. Do I wrong the Man? God knows, I praise a Courtier where I can. When I confefs, there is who feels for Fame, And melts to Goodnefs, need I Scarborow name? 65 Pleas'd let me own, in Efher's peaceful Grove (Where Kent and Nature vie for Pelham's Love) The Scene, the Mafter, opening to my view, I fit and dream I fee my Craggs anew!

Ev'n in a Bishop I can spy Defert: Secker is decent; Rundel has a Heart; Manners with Candour are to Benson given; To Berkley, every Virtue under Heaven.

But does the Court a worthy Man remove? That inftant, I declare, he has my Love:

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I fhun his Zenith, court his mild Decline;
Thus Sommers once, and Halifax, were mine..
Oft, in the clear, fill Mirrour of Retreat,
I ftudy'd Shrewsbury, the wife and great;
Carleton's calm Senfe, and Stanhope's noble Flame, 80
Compar'd, and knew their generous End the fame:
How pleafing Atterbury's fofter hour!

How fhin'd the Soul, unconquer'd in the Tower!
How can I Pulteney, Chefterfield forget,
While Roman Spirit charms, and Attic Wit:
Argyll, the State's whole Thunder born to wield,
And thake alike the Senate and the Field:

And if yet higher the proud Lift fhould end,
Still let me fay! No Follower, but a Friend.
Yet think not, Friendship only prompts my lays:
I follow Virtue; where fhe fhines, I praise;
Point she to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's Beaver caft a Glory.

Or Wyndham, juft to Freedom and the Throne,
The Mafter of our Paffions, and his own?.
Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain, 90
Rank'd with their Friends, not number'd with their

Train;

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To find an honest man, I beat about;

And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.

F. Then why fo few commended?

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I never (to my forrow I declare)

Din'd with the Man of Rofs, or my Lord Mayor. Some, in their choice of Friends (nay, look not grave) Have ftill a fecret Byafs to a Knave:

P. Not

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