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I only wear it in a land of Hectors,
Thieves, Supercargoes, Sharpers, and Directors,
Slander or Poifon dread from Delia's rage,
Then, learned Sir! (to cut the matter short) Whate'er my fate, or well or ill at Court, Whether Old age, with faint but chearful ray, Attends to gild the Ev'ning of my day, Or Death's black wing already be display'd, 95 To wrap me in the universal shade;
Whether the darken'd room to muse invite,
Or whiten❜d wall provoke the skew'r to write ;
In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint,
P. What? arm'd for Virtue when I point the pen, Brand the bold front of fhameless guilty men; Dash the proud Gamester in his gilded car ; Bare the mean Heart that lurks beneath a Star; Can there be wanting, to defend Her cause, Lights of the Church, or Guardians of the Laws ? Could penfion'd Boileau lash in honest strain Flatt'rers and Bigots ev'n in Louis' reign? Could Laureate Dryden Pimp and Fry'r engage, Yet neither Charles nor James be in a rage? And I not strip the gilding off a Knave, 115 Unplac'd, unpenfion'd, no man's heir, or flave? I will, or perish in the gen'rous caufe; Hear this, and tremble! you, who 'fcape the Laws. Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave Shall walk the world, in credit, to his grave. 120 TO VIRTUE ONLY and HER FRIENDS A FRIEND, The World befide may murmur, or commend. Know, all the diftant din that world can keep Rolls o'er my Grotto, and but fooths my fleep. There, my retreat the best Companions grace, Chiefs out of war, and Statesmen out of place. There ST. JOHN mingles with my friendly bow! The Feast of Reason, and the Flow of Soul:
And HE, whofe lightning pierc'd th'Iberian Lines,
Envy must own, I live among the Great,
Earl of Peterborough.
TO A PLAY FOR MR. DENNIS'S BENEFIT,
IN 1733, WHEN HE WAS OLD, BLIND,
AND IN GREAT DISTRESS, A LIT
TLE BEFORE HIS DEATH.
BY THE SAME.
s when that Hero, who in each Campaign, Had brav'd the Goth, and many a Vandal slain, Lay Fortune-ftruck, a spectacle of Woe! Wept by each Friend, forgiv'n by every Foe; Was there a gen'rous, a reflecting mind, But pitied BELISARIUS old and blind? Was there a Chief but melted at the Sight? A common Soldier, but who clubb'd his Mite ? Such, fuch emotions should in Britons rise, When prefs'd by want and weakness DENNIS lies; Dennis, who long had warr'd with modern Huns, Their Quibbles routed, and defy'd their Puns; A defp'rate Bulwark, sturdy, firm, and fierce Against the Gothic fons of frozen verse : How chang'd from him who made the boxes groan, And shook the stage with thunders all his own!
Stood up to dash each vain Pretender's hope, Maul the French Tyrant, or pull down the Pope! If there's a Briton then, true bred and born, Who holds Dragoons and wooden fhoes in scorn; If there's a Critic of diftinguish'd rage;
If there's a Senior, who contemns this age;
Let him to-night his just affiftance lend,
BY THE SAME.
ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.
STATESMAN, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear!
Prais'd, wept, and honour'd by the Muse he lov❜d.