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And if yet higher the proud Lift should end,
Still let me fay! No Follower, but a Friend.

Yet think not, Friendship only prompts my lays;
I follow Virtue; where the fhines, I praife: 95
Point she to Prieft or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's Beaver caft a Glory.
I never (to my forrow I declare)

Din'd with the MAN of Ross, or my LORD MAY'R.

Some, in their choice of Friends (nay, look not

grave)

Have ftill a fecret Byafs to a Knave:

To find an honeft man I beat about,

100

And love him, court him, praise him, in or out. F. Then why fo few commended?

Find

P. Not fo fierce;

you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verfe. 105

NOTES.

VER. 92. And if yet higher, &c.] He was at that time honoured with the efteem and favour of his Royal Highness the Prince.

VER. 93. Still let me fay! No Follower, but a Friend.] i. e. Unrelated to their parties, and attached only to their perfons. VER. 99. my Lord May'r.] Sir John Barnard, Lord Mayor in the year of the Poem, 1738. A citizen eminent for his virtue, public fpirit, and great talents in Parliament. An excellent Man, Magiftrate, and Senator. In the year 1747, the City of London, in memory of his many and fignal fervices to his Country, erected a fiatue to him. But his image had been placed long before in the heart of every good Man.

VER. IC2. To find an honest man, &c.] In this fearch, in which he was very fincere, it would have been well if he had not fometimes trufted to the reports of others, who had less penetration, but more passions to gratify.

But random Praife-the task can ne'er be done;
Each Mother asks it for her booby Son,
Each Widow afks it for the Best of Men,
For him the weeps, for him the weds agen.
Praise cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground; 1 10
The Number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for half the Greatest of these days,
To'scape my Cenfure, not expect my Praise.
Are they not rich? what more can they pretend?
Dare they to hope a Poet for their Friend? 115
What RICHLIEU wanted, Louis fcarce could gain,
And what
young AMMON wish'd, but wifh'd in

vain.

No Pow'r the Mufe's Friendship can command; No Pow'r when Virtue claims it, can withstand:

NOTES.

VER. 116. What Richlieu wanted, &c.] The thing here infinuated is, that the greatest character for Politics, Munificence, or Conquefts, when feparated from virtue, would never gain the praises of the true Poet. But munificence approaching nearer to Virtue than either the other two, he fays, Louis fearce could gain; while Richlieu and young Ammon went without.

Ibid. Louis fcarce could gain,] By this expreffion finely infinuating, that the great Boileau always falls below himself in thofe paffages where he flatters his Mafter. Of which he gives us an inftance in Ver. 231. where the topic of adulation is exceeding childish and extravagant.

To Cato, Virgil pay'd one honeft line;

120

O let my Country's Friends illumine mine! What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's

I think

no fin,

your

Friends are out, and would be in. P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, The way they take is strangely round about. 125 F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow? P. I only call those Knaves who are so now. Is that too little? Come then, I'll complySpirit of Arnall! aid me while I lie. COBHAM'S a Coward, POL WARTH is a Slave, And LYTTELTON a dark defigning Knave, ST. JOHN has ever been a wealthy FoolBut let me add, Sir ROBERT's mighty dull, Has never made a Friend in private life, And was, befides, a Tyrant to his Wife,

NOTES.

130

135

VER. 120. To Cato, Virgil pay'd one honeft line;] It is in the ÆN.

"His dantem jura Catonem."

VER. 121. O let my Country's Friends illumine mine!] A pretty expreffion, alluding to the old practice of illuminating MSS, with gold and vermilion.

VER. 129. Spirit of Arnall!] Look for him in his place, Dunc. B. ii. Ver. 315. P.

VER. 130. Polwarth] The Hon Hugh Hume, Son of Alexander Earl of Marchmont, Grandfon of Patric Earl of Marchmont, and distinguished, like them, in the cause of Liberty. P.

But pray, when others praise him, do I blame?
Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name?
Why rail they then, if but a Wreath of mine,
Oh All-accomplish'd ST. JOHN! deck thy shrine?
What? fhall each spurgall'd Hackney of the
day,

When Paxton gives him double Pots and Pay, 141
Or each new-penfion'd Sycophant, pretend
To break
my Windows if I treat a Friend;
Then wifely plead, to me they meant no hurt,
But 'twas my Guest at whom they threw the dirt?
Sure, if I fpare the Minister, no rules

146
Of Honour bind me, not to maul his Tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid
His Saws are toothless, and his Hatchet's Lead.

It anger'd TURENNE, once upon a day, 150 To fee a Footman kick'd that took his pay: But when he heard th' Affront the Fellow

gave, Knew one a Man of Honour, one a Knave; The prudent Gen'ral turn'd it to a jest, And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the rest: 155

NOTES.

VER.136. do I blame?-Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name?] The Leaders of Parties, be they as florid as they will, generally do their bufinefs by a fingle ruie of Rhetoric; which they may have learnt of Quintilian, or perhaps of a much older Sophift, Si nihil, quod nos adjuvet, erit, quæramus quid Adverfarium lædat. SCRILL.

Which not at present having time to do—

F. Hold Sir! for God's fake, where's th' Affront to you?

Or

Against your worship when had S-k writ? Or P-ge pour'd forth the Torrent of his Wit? grant the Bard whofe diftich all commend 160 [In Pow'r a Servant, out of Pow'r a Friend] To W-le guilty of fome venial sin; What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?

The Priest whofe Flattery be-dropt the Crown, How hurt he you? he only ftain'd the Gown. And how did, pray, the florid Youth offend, Whofe Speech you took, and gave it to a Friend? P.Faith, it imports not much from whom it came; Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame, Since the whole House did afterwards the fame. Let Courtly Wits to Wits afford fupply, As Hog to Hog in huts of Weftphaly; If one through Nature's Bounty or his Lord's, Has what the frugal dirty foil affords,

171

From him the next receives it, thick or thin, 175 As pure a mess almost as it came in;

NOTES.

VER. 160. the Bard] A verfe taken out of a poem to Sir R. W.

P.

VER. 164. The Prieft, &c.] Spoken not of any particular priest, but of many priests.

P.

VER. 165. And how did, &c.] This feems to allude to a complaint made Ver. 71. of the preceding Dialogue.

P.

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