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Who sent the thief that stole the cash, away, Who there liis Mufe, or self, or soul attends, And punish'd him that put it in his way. In crowds, and courts, law, bus'ness, feasts, and
Consider then, and judge me in this light ; My countel feads to execute a deed : [friends ? I told you when I went, I could not write; A Poet begs ine I will hear himn read: You said the same ; and are you discontent In Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there With laws to which you gave your own affent? Ar ten for certain, Sir, in Bloomsbury-iquare Nay worse, to ask for verle at such a tine ! Before the Lords, at twelve, my caus comes on D'ye think me good for nothing but to rhyme ? There's a Rchearlal, Sir, cxact at omia
Ín Anna's wars, a soldier, psor and old, Oh, but a wit can study in the streets, Had dearly earn’d a little purse of gold :
"And raise his mind above the mob he meets.' Tir'd with a tedious march, one luckless night, Not quite so well, however, as one ought; He slept, poor dog! and lost it to a doit. A hackney-coach may chance to ipol a thought; This put the man in such a desp'rate mind, And then a nodding beam, or pis of icad, Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd, God knows, may hurt the very ableii head. Against the foc, himielf, and all mankind, Have you not seen, at Guildhall's narrow pass, He leap'd the trenches, Ical'd the casile-wall, Two aldermen dispute it with an ass ? Tore down a standard, took the fort and all. And peers give way, exalted as they are, • Prodigious well!' his great commander cry'd; Ev'n to their own S-ry--nce in a car? Gave him much praise, and some reward befide. Go, lofty Poct! and in such a crowd, Next plcas'd his Excellence a town to batter : Sing thy fonorous verse – but not aloud. (Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter) Alas! to grottos and to groves we run; •Go on, my friend ( he cry'd); see yonder walls! To case and silence ev'ry Mule's íon : • Advance and conquer ! go where glory calls ! Black more himielt, for any giand effort, • More honors, more rewards, attend the brave.' Would drink and doze atTooting orEarl's Court. Don't you remember what reply he gave ? How thall I rhymnc in this eternal roar ? [before? •D'ye think inc, noble Genral, such a fot? How match the bards whom none c'er match'd · Let him take caftics who has ne'er a groat.' The inan who, stretch'd in Ilis' calm retreat, Bred up at home, full early I begun
To bocks and ftudy gives sev'n years complete, To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' son. See ! ftrow'd with Icarncd dust, his nightcap on, Beldes, my father taught me from a lad, He walks, an object now bencath the fun! The better art to know, the good from bad: The boss flock round him, and the people (And little fure imported to remove,
fare: To hunt for truth in Maudlin's learned grove.) So stiff, to mute! some statue you
would swear, But knottier points we know not half so well, Stept froin its pedestal to take the air ! Depriv'd us foon of our patcrnal cell ;
And here, while town, and court, and city roars And certain laws, by fuff'rers thought unjust, With inobs, and duns, and soldiers, at their doors, Deny'd all posts of pofit or of trust:
Shall I, in London aĉt this idle part) Hopes after hopes of pious Papists fail'd, Composing fongs, for fools to get by heart! While mighty William's thund'ring arm pre- The Temple late two brother Serjcants saw, For Right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd; [vail'd. Who deem'd each other Oracles of Law; He stuck to poverty with peace of mind; With equal talents, these congeniai fouls, And me the Mules help to undergo it; One lulld th’Exchcquer, and one stunn'd the Convict a Papist he, and I a Poct.
Each had a gravity would make you split, (Rolls; But (thanks to Homer) since I live and thrive, And shook his head at Murray, as a wit. Indebred to no prince or peer alive,
'Twas, “ Sir, your law”. and . Sir, your eloSure I should want the carc of ten Monrocs,
[fonte.' If I would scribble rather than reposc.
“Yours, Cowper's manner,” and yours, Talbot's Years following years, steal something ev'ry Thus we dilpotc of all poctic merit, At last they steal us from ourselves away ; [day: Yours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's spirit. In one our frolics, one amusement end,
CallTibbalu Shakcipcar,and he'll iwearthe Nine, . In one a mistress drops, in one a friend :
Dear Cibber, never match'di one Ode of thine i This subtle thief of life, this paltry Time, Lord! how we Atrue thro' Merlin's Cave, to lee What will it leave me, if it snatch my rhyme ? No Peets there, but Secphen, you, and mc! If ev'ry wheel of that unweary'd mill, Walk with refreet behind, while we at ease That turn'd ten thousand verfés, nowitand still? Weave laurel Crowns, and take what names we
But after all, what would you have ine do ? • My dear Tibullus !' ifthat will not do, (plcalea When out of riventy I can please not two; • Let me be Horace, and be Ovid rou: When this Heroics only deigns to praise, Or, l’m content, allow me Dryden's straias; Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays ? * And you ihall rise up Olliay for
But grant I may relapse, for want of grace, But let the fit pass o'er, I'm wife cnough
In vain, bad rhymers all mankind reje&t;
If fuch the plague and pains to write by rule,
Whercat the gentleman began to ftare [care!
I'll learn to fimooth and harmonize my mind;
Soon as I enter at my country door,
The more you want, why not with equal tafe
When golden angels cease to cure the Evil,
If there be truth in law, and ufe can give
Heathcote himself, and fuch large-acr❜d men,
Yet thefe are wights, who fondly call their own
Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave.
And trees, and ftones, and farms, and farmer fall.
Who, if they have not, think not worth ther
The other flights, for women, fports, and wines.
Why one, like Bu—, with pay and scorn content, Decay of parts, alas ! we all must feel
Bubo observes, he lath'd no sort of Vice. Each individual: His great end the saine. Horace would say, Sir Billy seru'il the Crown, Yes, Sir, how small Toever be my heap,
Blunt could do bus'nefs, H-ggins knew the town; A part I will enjoy as well as keep.
In Sappho touch the failings of the lux, My heir
may figh, and think it want of grace In revèrend Bishops note tome small negleets, A man so poor would live without a place: And own the Spaniard did a waggish thing, But sure no statute in his favour says,
Who cropt our ears, and sent them to the King. How free or frugal I shall pass my days;
His fly, polite, infinuating style, I, who at sometimes spend, at others spare, Could please at court, and make Augustus smile: Divided between carelessness and care.
An artful manager, that crept between 'Tis one thing madly to disperse my store ; His friend and thame, and was a kind of (creen. Another, not to heed to treasure more ; But 'faith, your very friends will soon be fore; Glad, like a boy, to Inatch the first good day, Patriots there are who wish you'd jest no more And pleas'd, if fordid want be far away.
And where's the glory? 'Twill be only thouglas That is't to me (a passenger God wot)
The great man never offer'd you a groat. Whether my vessel be first rate or not?
Go fce Sir RobertThe Mip itself may make a better figure ;
P. See Sir Robertium But I that sail ain neither lets nor bigger; And never laugh--for all my life to come? I neither strut with ev'ry favoring breath,
Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Nor strive with all the tempeft in my teeth ; Of focial pleature, ill exchang’d for pow'r; In pow'r, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd Seen him, uncumber'd with a venal cribe, Echind the foremost, and before the last.
Sinile without art, and win without a bribe. “ But why all this of av'rice, I have none." Would he oblige me? Let me only find, I with you joy, Sir, of a tyrant gone ;
He does not think me what he thinks mankind. But docs no other lord it at this hour,
Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt; As wild and mad? the avarice of pow'r ?
The only diff'rence is -- I dare laugh out. Does neither rage inflamc, nor fear appal? F. Why yes, with Scripture Hill you may be free; Not the black fear of death that faddens all ? A horse-laugh, if you plealc, at Honojlv; With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne, A joke on JEKYL, or some odd Old Whig, Dclpile the known, not tremble at th’unknown? Who never chang'd his principle or wig; Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire, A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age, In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire ? Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the stage; Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind, Thele nothing hurts; they keep their fathion And count each birth-day with a grateful mind?
ftili, Has life no fourness, drawn so near its end? And wear their strange old virtue as they will. Can'st thou endure a foe, forgive a friend?
• Who's the man so near Has age but melted the rough parts away,
• His prince, that writes in verse, and has his ear?' As winter fruits grow mild ere they decay? Why anfwer, Lyttleton, and I'll engage Or will you think, my friend, your bus'ness done, The worthy youth shall ne'er be in a rage : When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one?
But were his verses vile, his whisper baté, Learn to live well, or fairly inake your willi, You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's case. You've play'd, and lov'd, and cat, and drank Sejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest Fleury; your fill:
But well may put lome ftatcíinen in a fury. Walk rober off; before a sprightlier age Laugh then at any, but at fools or foes; Comes tittring on, and shoves you from the stage: These you but anger, and you mend not those. Leave such a trifle with more grace and cafe, Laugh at your friends, and, if your friends are fore, Whom folly pleases, and whole follies please. So much the better, you may laugh the more.
To vice and folly to confine the jest, $ 18. Epilogues to the Sasires. In Two Dialogues. Sets half the world, God knows, against the reft,
Did not the fncer of more iinpartial men
At sense and virtue balance ail again.
Judicious wits sprcad wide the ridicule, F. NOT twice a twelvemonth you apscar in And charitably comfort kuave and fool. print;
P. Dear Sir, forgive the prejudice of youth: And when it comes, the court see nothing in't. Adicu distinction, fatire, warinth, and truth ! You grow correct, that once with rapture writ,
Come harmless characters that no one hit; And are besides too moral for a wit.
Come, Henly's oratory, Osborn's wit!
The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
This calls the church to deprecate our fin,
Once break their reft, or ftir them from their place:
P. Good Heav'n forbid, that I fhould blast
Who know how like Whig Minifters to Tory,
Confid'ring what a gracious Prince was next.
F. 'Tis all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will fay.
F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lath;
P. How, Sir! not damn the sharper, but the
Ye rev'rend atheifts. F. Scandal! name them, Who?
P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do. Who ftary'd a fifter, who forfwore a debt, I never nam'd; the town's enquiring yet. The pois'ning dame.-F. You mean-P. I don't. F. You do.
P. See, now I keep the fecret, and not you! The bribing ftatefman-F. Hold, too high you go. P. The brib'd elector-F. There you ftoop too low. [what; P. I fain would please you, if I knew with Tell me, which knave is lawful game, which not? Mutt great offenders, once eicap'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 'fquires? Suppose I cenfure-you know what I mean— To fave a bishop, may I name a dean?
F. A dean, fir? No; his fortune is not made; You hurt a man that's rifing in the trade.
P. If not the tradefman who set up to-day, Much lefs 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 pickpoket, 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 fricndlefs villain, than the great? Alas! the fmall difcredit of a bribe Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the fcribe. 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! Stop!
P. Muft fatire, 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;
F. What always Peter? Peter thinks you mad; No pow'r the Mufe's friendship can command; You make men defp'rate, if they once are bad: No pow'r, when Virtue claims it, can withftand: Elfe might he take to virtue fome years hence-To Cato, Virgil pay'd one honeft line; P. As S―k, if he lives, will love the Prince. O let my country's friends illumine mine! F. Strange spleen to S-k! -What are you thinking? F. Faith, the thought's no fin,
P. Do I wrong the man?
Ev'n in a bifhop I can spy defert;'
But does the court a worthy man remove?
I hun his zenith, court his mild decline;
And if yet higher the proud lift fhould end,
Yet think not friendship only prompts my lays;
your friends are out, and would be in. P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, The way they take is ftrangely round about. F. They too may be corrupted, you'll ahow P. I only call thofe knaves who are fo now. Is that too little? Come then, I'll complySpirit of Arnall! aid me while I lie. Cobham's a coward, Polwart is a flave, And Littleton a dark defigning knave; St. John has ever been a wealthy fool-But let me add, Sir Robert's mighty duli; Has never made a friend in private life, And was, befides, a tyrant to his wife.