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"Tis mine to wash a few light stains, but theirs
To deluge fin, and drown a Court in tears.
Howe'er what's now Apocrypha, my Wit,
In time to come, may país for Holy Writ.

Of my work leffen, yet fome wife men fhall, I hope, esteem my Writs Canonical.

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FR. NOT twice a twelve month you apppear in Print, And when it comes, the Court fee nothing in't. You grow correct, that once with Rapture writ, And are, befides, too moral for a Wit.

Decay of parts, alas! we all must feel

Why now, this moment, don't I fee you fteal?
"Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye
Said, "Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs a Tory;"
And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
"To laugh at Fools who put their truft in Peter."
But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice;

Bubo obferves, he lath'd no fort of Vice:
Horace would fay, Sir Billy ferv'd the Crown,
Blunt could do Busness, H-ggins knew the Town;
In Sappho touch the Failings of the Sex,
In rev'rend bilhops note fome fmall Neglects,

And own the Spaniard did a waggish thing,
Who cropt our Ears, and fent them to the King.
His fly, polite, infinuating style

Could please at Court, and make AUGUSTUS smile:
An artful Manager, that crept between

His Friend and Shame, and was a kind of Screen.
But 'faith your very friends will foon be fore;
Patriots there are, who wish you'd jeft no more---
And where's the Glory! 'twill be only thought
The Great man never offer'd you a groat.
Go fee Sir ROBERT

P. See Sir ROBERT !-hum-
And never laugh-for all my life to come?
Seen him I have, but in his happier hour
Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchang'd for Power;
Seen him, uncumber'd with the venal tribe,
Smile without Art, and win without a Bribe.
Would he oblige me? let me only find,
He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt;
The only diff'rence is, I dare laugh out.

F. Why yes: with Scripture ftill you may be free; A Horfe-laugh, if you please, at Honefty;

A Joke on JEKYL, or fome odd Old Whig
Who never chang'd his Principle, or Wig:
A Patriot is a Fool in every age,

Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage:
These nothing hurts; they keep their Fashion ftill,
And wear their strange old Virtue, as they will.
If any ask you, "Who's the Man, fo near

"His Prince, that writes in Verfe, and has his car?"

1

Why answer, LYTTELTON, and I'll engage
The worthy youth shall ne'er be in a rage:
But were his Verses vile, his Whisper base,
You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's cafe.
Sejanus, Wolfey, hurt not honest FLEURY,
But well may put some Statesman in a fury.

Laugh then at any, but at Fools or Foes;
These you but anger, and you mend not those.
Laugh at your Friends, and if your Friends are fore,
So much the better, you may laugh the more.
To vice and Folly to confine the jest,

Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest;
Did not the Sneer of more impartial men
At Senfe and Virtue, balance all agen.
Judicious Wits spread wide the Ridicule,
And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.

P. Dear Sir, forgive the prejudice of Youth:
Adieu Distinction, Satire, Warmth, and Truth!
Come, harmless Characters that no one hit;
Come, Henley's Oratory, Ofborn's Wit!
The Honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The Flow'rs of Bubo, and the Flow of Y--ng!
The gracious Dew of Pulpit Eloquence,
And all the well-whipt cream of Courtly Sense,
That first was H-vy's, F-'s next, and then
The S-te's, and then H--vy's once agen.
O come, that eafy, Ciceronian style,
So Latin, yet so English all the while,
As, tho' the Pride of Middleton and Bland,
All Boys may read, and Girls may understand!
VOL. III.
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