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Give Virtue fcandal, Innocence a fear,
Or from the foft-ey'd Virgin steal a tear!
But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
Infults fallen Worth, or Beauty in distress,
Who loves a Lye, lame flander helps about,
Who writes a Libel, or who copies out :
That fop, whofe pride affects a patron's name,
Yet abfent, wounds an author's honest fame :
Who can your merit felfifhly approve,

And fhow the fenfe of it without the love;
Who has the vanity to call you friend,

Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend;
Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you fay,
And, if he lye not, muft at leaft betray:
Who to the Dean, and filver bell can fwear,
And fees at Cannons what was never there;
Who reads, but with a luft to mifapply,
Make Satire a Lampoon, and Fiction Lye.
A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,
But all fuch babbling blockheads in his stead.

Let Sporus tremble---A. What? that thing of silk,
Sporus, that mere white curd of Afs's milk?
Satire or fenfe, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings;
Whofe buzz the witty and the fair annoys,

Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys:
So well-bred fpaniels civilly delight
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite..

Eternal fmiles his emptiness betray,
As fhallow ftreams run dimpling all the way,
Whether in florid impotence he speaks,

And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks;

Or at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,

Half froth. half venom, fpits himself abroad,
In puns, or politics or tales, or lies,


Or fpite, or fmut, or rhymes, or blafphemies.
His wit all fee-faw, between that and this,
Now high, now low, now mafter up, now mifs,
And he himself one vile Antithefis.
Amphibious thing! that acting either part,
The trifling head, or the corrupted heart,
Fop at the toilet. Matt'rer at the board,
Now trips a Lady, and now ftruts a Lord.
Eve's temper thus the Rabbins have expreft,
A Cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.
Beauty that fhocks you, parts that none will truft,
Wit that can creep, and Pride that licks the duft.

Not Fortune's worshipper, nor Fashion's fool,
Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor fervile; be one Poet's praise,
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways:
That Flattery, even to Kings, he held a fhame,
And thought a lie in verfe or profe the fame,
That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his fong:
That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end,
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half-approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;

Laugh'd at the lofs of friends he never had,
The dul', the proud, the wicked, and the mad;
The diftant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv'd, the lye fo oft o'erthrown,
Th' imputed trash, and dulness not his own;
The morals blacken'd when the writings 'fcape,
The libel'd perfon, and the pictur'd shape;
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread,
A friend in exile, or a father dead;
The whisper, that to greatnefs still too near,
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his SoV'REIGN's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past:
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome even the last!

A. But why infult tho poor, affront the great?
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in every ftate:
Alike my scorn, if he fucceed or fail,
Sparus at court, or Japhet in a jail,
A hireling fcribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the poft corrupt, or of the fhire;
If on a pillory, or near a Throne,
He gain his Prince's ear, or lose his own.

Yet foft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Sappho can tell you how this man was bit: This dreaded sat'rift Dennis will confefs Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress: So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor. Full ten years flander'd, did he once reply? Three thoufand uns went down on Welsted's lyc.

To please a Mistress one afpers'd his life;
He lath'd him not, but let her be his wife:
Let Budgel charge low Grulfireet on his quill,
And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his Will;
Let the two Curls of town and court, abuse
His father, mother, body, foul, and muse.
Yet why that Father held it for a rule,
It was a fin to call our neighbour fool:

That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore : Hear this, and fpare his family, James Moore ! Unfpotted names, and memorable long!

If there be force in Virtue, or in Song.

Of gentle blood (part shed in Honour's cause, While yet in Britain Honour had applause) Each parent fprung----A. What fortune, pray?P. Their own

And better got, than Belia's from the throne.
Born to no Pride, inheriting no strife,
Nor marrying Difcord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walk'd innoxious thro' his age.
No Courts he faw, no fuits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lye.
Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's fubtile art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By Nature honeft, by Experience wife,
Healthy by temperance, and by exercife;
His life, tho' long, to sickness past unknown,
His death was inftant, and without a groan.

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O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die!
Who fprung from kings fhall know lefs joy than I.
O Friend may each domeftic blefs be thine!
Be no unpleafing Melancholy mine:
Me, let the tender office long engage,
To rock the cradle of reposing Age,

With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,

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Make Languor fmile, and smooth the bed of Death,
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep a while one parent from the sky!
On cares like thefe if length of days attend,
May heav'n, to blefs thofe days, preferve my friend,
Preferve him focial, chearful, and ferene,
And just as rich as when he ferv'd a QUEEN.
A. Whether that bleffing be deny'd or giv'n,
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.

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