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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

your pains.
One likes the pheasant's wing, and one the leg; Much do I suffer, much, to keep in peace
The vulgar boil, the learned roast an egg. This jealous, walp:1h, wrong-licad, rhyming race;
Hard talk ! to hit the palate of such guests, And much mutt Harter, if the whim ihould bite,
When Oldfield loves what Dartineuf dereits. To court applausc, by printing what I write :

But grant I may relapse, for want of grace, But let the fit pass o'er, I'm wife cnough
Again to rhyme, can London be the place? To stop my ears to cheis confounded stuff.



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In vain, bad rhymers all mankind reje&t;
They treat themfelves with moft profound reip.&t;
'Tis to fmail purpose that you hold your tongue;
Each prais'd within is happy all day long:
But how feverely with themselves proceed
The men who write fuch verfe as we can read!
Their own ftrict judges, not a word they fpare
That wants or force, or light, or weight, or care.
Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place,
Nay tho' at court (perhaps) it may find grace:
Such they'll degrade; and fometimes, in its ftead,
In downright charity revive the dead;
Mark where a bold expreffive phrase appears,
Bright thro' the rubbith of fome hundred years;
Command old words that long have flept, to
Words that wife Bacon or brave Rawleigh
Or bid the new be English, ages hence,
(For Ufe will father what's begot by Senfe)
Pour the full tide of eloquence along,
Serenely pure, and yet divinely ftrong,
Rich with the treafures of each foreign tongue;
Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth retine,
But fhew no mercy to an empty line:
Then polith all, with fo much life and ease,
You think 'tis Nature, and a knack to pleafe!
"But cafe in writing flows from art, not chance;
"As thofe move cafieft who have learn'd to


If fuch the plague and pains to write by rule,
Better (fay I) be pleas'd, and play the fool;
Call, if you will, bad rhyming a difcafe
It gives men happinefs, or leaves them cafe.
There liv'd in primo Georgii (they record)
A worthy member, no finall fool, a Lord;
Who, tho' the Houfe was up, delighted fat,
Heard, noted, anfwer'd, as in full debate!
In all but this, a man of fober life,
Fond of his friend, and civil to his wife;
Not quite a madman, tho' a pafty fell;
And much too wife to walk into a well.
Him, the damn'd doctors and his friends immur'd,
They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd; in short,
they cur'd:

Whercat the gentleman began to ftare [care!
My friends! he cry'd, p—x take you for your
That from a patriot of diftinguish'd note,
Have bled and purg'd me to a fimple vote.
Well,on the whole, plain profe muft be my fate:
Wifdom, curfe on it, will come foon or late.
There is a time when poets will grow dull :"
I'll e'en leave verfes to the boys at fchool:
To rules of poetry no more confia'd,

I'll learn to fimooth and harmonize my mind;
Teach ev'ry thought within its bounds to roll,
And keep the equal measure of the foul.

Soon as I enter at my country door,
My sind refumes the thread it dropt before; ?
Thoughts which at Hyde-park Corner I forgot,
Mect, and rejoin me in the penfive grot;
There, all alone, and compliments apart,
I ask these fober questions of my heart: [crave,
If, when the more you drink, the more you
You tell the Doctor? When the more you have,

The more you want, why not with equal tafe
Confefs as well your folly as difeafe?
The heart refolves this matter in a trice;
"Men only feel the fmart, but not the vice."

When golden angels cease to cure the Evil,
You give all royal witchcraft to the Devil;
When fervile chaplains cry, that birth and place
Enduc a peer with honour, truth, and grace,
Look in that breaft (moft dirty D-l be fair)
Say, can you find out one such lodger there?
Yet ftill, not heeding what your heart can teach,
You go to church to hear these flatt'rers preach,
Indeed, could wealth bestow or wit or merit,
A grain of courage, or a fpark of spirit,
The wifeft man might blush, I must agree,
If D*** lov'd fixpence more than he.

If there be truth in law, and ufe can give
A property, that's your's on which you live.
Delightful Abs-court, if its fields afford
Their fruits to you, confeffes you its lord,
All Worldly's hens, nay partridge, fold to town,
His ven'ion too, a guinea makes your own:
He bought at thousands what, with better wit,
You purchafe as you want, and bit by bit;
Now, or long fince, what diff'rence will be found
You pay a penny, and he paid a pound.

Heathcote himself, and fuch large-acr❜d men,
Lords of fat E'fham, or of Lincoln-fen,
Buy ev'ry stick of wood that lends them heat;
Buy ev'ry pullet they afford to eat.

Yet thefe are wights, who fondly call their own
Half that the Dev'l o'erlooks from Lincoln towE.
The laws of God, as well as of the land,
Abhor a perpetuity should stand:
Eftates have wings, and hang in fortune's pow'r,
Loofe on the point of ev'ry wav'ring hour;
Ready by force, or of your own accord,
By fale, at leaft by death, to change their lord.
Man? and for ever? wretch! what would')
thou have?

Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave.
All vaft poffeflions (juft the fame the cafe
Whether you call them Villa, Park, or Chace)
Alas, my Bathurft! what will they avail?
Join Cotfood hills to Saperton's fair dale;
Let rifing granaries and temples here,
There mingled farms and pyramids appear;
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak,
Enclofe whole downs in walls, 'tis all a joke !
Inexorable Death fhall level all,

And trees, and ftones, and farms, and farmer fall.
Gold, filver, iv'ry, vafes fculptur'd high,
Paint, marble, gems, and robes of Perfian dye,
There are who have not-and thank Heav'nthet


Who, if they have not, think not worth ther
Talk what you will of tafte, my friend, you
Two of a face as foon as of a mind. [fid
Why, of two brothers, rich and reftlefs, one
Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from fun to

The other flights, for women, fports, and wines.
All Townhend's turnips, and all Grofvenor's


Why one, like Bu—, with pay and scorn content, Decay of parts, alas ! we all must feel
Bows and votes on, in Court and Parliament; Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal?
One, driv'n by strong benevolence of foul, 'Tis all from Horace ; Horace, long before yc,
Shall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole: Said, " Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs a
Is known alone to that Dircēting Pow'r

Who forms the genius in the natal hour ; And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
That God of Nature, who, within us still * To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter,'
Inclines our action, not constrains our will; But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice;
Various of temper, as of face or frame,

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!

If any

The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The flow'rs of Bubo, and the flow of Y—g!
The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence,
And all the well-whipt cream of courtly fenfe;
The first was H—vy's, F—'s next, and then
The S-te's, and then H-vy's once again.
O come, that cafy, Ciceronian style,
So Latin, yet fo English all the while,
As, tho' the pride of Middleton and Bland,
All boys may read, and girls may underftand!
Then might I fing, without the feat offence;
And all I fung fhould be the nation's fenfe!
Or teach the melancholy Mule to mourn,
Hang the fad verfe on Carolina's urn,
And hail her paffage to the realms of reft,
All parts perform'd, and all her children blest !
So Satire is no more-I feel it die-
No Gazetteer more innocent than I-
And let, a God's name, ev'ry foul and knave
Be grac'd thro' life, and flatter'd in his grave.
F. Why fo? If Satire kitows its time and place,
You ftill may lath the greateft-in difgrace:
For merit will by turns forfake them all;
Would you know when? Exactly when they fall.
But let all fatire in all changes fpare
Inmortal S-k, and grave D-re.
Silent and foft as faints remov'd to heav'n,
All tyes diffolv'd, and ev'ry fin forgiv'n,
Thefe may fome gentle minifterial wing
Receive, and place for ever near a king!
There, where no paffion, pride, or fhame,
Lull'd with the fweet Nepenthe of a court; [port,
There, where no father's, brother's, friend's

This calls the church to deprecate our fin,
And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin.
Let modeft Fofter, if he will, excel
Ten metropolitans in preaching well;
A fimple quaker, or a quaker's wife,
Outdo Landaffe in doctrine-yea in life:
Let humble Allen, with an awkward fhame,
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Virtue may chufe the high or low degree;
'Tis juft alike to virtue, and to me;
Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,
She's ftill the fame belov'd contented thing.
Vice is undone if the forgets her birth,
And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth:
But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a whore;
Let Greatnefs own her, and the's mean no more:
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confefs,
Chafte matrons praife her, and grave bishops blets;
In golden chains the willing world the draws,
And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws;
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,
And fees pale Virtue carted in her stead.
Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
Old England's genius, rough with many a fear,
Dragg'd in the duft! his arms hang idly round,
His flag, inverted, trails along the ground!
Our youth, all liv'ry'd o'er with foreign gold,
Before her dance: behind her crawl the old I
Sce thronging millions to the Pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or fon!
tranf-Hear her black trumpet thro' the land proclaim,
That Not to be corrupted is the fhame!
In foldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow'r,
'Tis av'rice all, ambition is no more!
See, all our nobles begging to be flaves
See, all our fools aspiring 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 times that 'fcape, or triumph o'er the law:
While truth, worth, wifdom, daily they decry→
Nothing is facred now but villany!'

Once break their reft, or ftir them from their place:
But paft the fenfe of human miferies,
All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;
No check is known to blufh, no heart to throb,
Save when they lofe a queftion, or a job.

P. Good Heav'n forbid, that I fhould blast
their glory,

Who know how like Whig Minifters to Tory,
And when three fov'reigns dy'd, could fcarce be

Confid'ring what a gracious Prince was next.
Have I, in filent wonder, feen fuch things
As pride in flaves, and avarice in kings,
And at a peer, or peerefs, fhall I fret,
Who ftarves a fifter, or forfwears a debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boaft;
But fhall the dignity of Vice be loft?
Ye Gods! fhall Cibber's fon, without rebuke,
Swear like a lord, or Rich outwhore a duke?
A fav'rite's porter with his mafter vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Shall Ward draw contracts with a ftatefman's
Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a will? [kill:
Is it for Bond, or Peter (paltry things) [kings?
To pay their debts, or keep their faith, like
If Blount difpatch'd himself, he play'd the man;
And fo may'ft thou, illuftrious Pafferan!
But fhall a printer, weary of his life,
Learn from their books to hang himself and wife?
This, this, my friend, I cannot, mufi not bear;
Vice thus abus'd demands a nation's care;


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F. 'Tis all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will fay.
P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow 'faith it
And for that very caufe, I print to-day. [may;
How should I fret to mangle ev'ry line,
In rev'rence to the fins of Thirty-Nine!
Vice with fuch giant ftrides comes on amain;
Invention ftrives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it c'er fo ftrong,
Some rifing genius fins up to my fong.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lath;
Ev'n Guthry faves half Newgate by a dash.
Spare then the perfon, and expofe the vice.

P. How, Sir! not damn the sharper, but the


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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;
Ev'n Peter trembles only for his cars.

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?
God knows, I praife a courtier where I can.
When I confels, there is who feels for fame,
And melts to goodnefs, need I Scarb'ro' name?
Pleas'd let me own in Ether's peaceful grove
(Where Kent and Nature vie for Pelham's love)
The fcene, the mafter op'ning to my view,
I fit and dream I fee my Craggs anew!

Ev'n in a bifhop I can spy defert;'
Secker is decent, Rundel has a heart :
Manners with candour are to Benton given;
To Berkley, ev'ry virtue under heav'n.

But does the court a worthy man remove?
That inftant, I declare, he has my love:

I hun his zenith, court his mild decline;
Thus Somers once, and Halifax were mine.
Oft, in the clear, ftill mirrour of retreat,
I ftudy'd Shrewsbury, the wife and great :
Carleton's calm fenfe, and Stanhope's noble flame,
Compar'd,and knew their gen'rous end the fame:
How pleafing Atterbury's fofter hour!
How fhin'd the foul, unconquer'd in the Tow'r l
How can I Pult'ney, Chesterfield forget,
While Roman fpirit charms, and Attic wit:
Argyle, the State's whole thunder born to wield,
And thake alike the fenate and the field:
Or Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne,
The matter of our paffions, and his own.
Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain,
Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with
their train;

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 the fhines, I praife;
Point the 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 Rofs, or my Lord May'r.
Some, in their choice of friends (nay look not
Have ftill a fecret bias to a knave: [grave)
To find an honeft man I beat about,
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
F. Then why fo few commended-
P. Not fo fierce;
you the virtue, and I'll find the verfe.
But random praise-the task can ne'er be done :
Each mother asks it for her booby fon.
Each widow afks it for the best of men ;
For him the weeps, for him the weds agen.
Praife cannot ftoop, like fatire, to the ground:
The number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for half the greatest of thefe days,
To 'fcape my cenfure, not expect my praise.
Are they not rich? what more can they pretend?
Dare they to hope a poet for their friend?
What Richlieu wanted, Louis scarce could gain;
And what young Ammon wifh'd, but with'd in

I think

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.

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