How dull, and how infenfible a beast
Is man, who yet would lord it o'er the reft!
Philofophers and poets vainly ftrove
In every age the lumpish mass to move :
But those were pedants, when compar'd with thefe,
Who know not only to inftruct, but please.
Poets alone found the delightful way,
Mysterious morals gently to convey

In charming numbers; fo that as men grew
Pleas'd with their poems, they grew wifer too.
Satire has always fhone among the rest,
And is the boldest way, if not the beft,
To tell men freely of their fouleft faults;

To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts.
In fatire too the wife took different ways,
To each deferving its peculiar praise.
Some did all folly with just sharpness blame,
Whilft others laugh'd, and fcorn'd them into
fhame.

But of these two, the laft fucceeded beft,
As men aim righteft when they fhoot in jest.
Yet, if we may prefume to blame our guides,
And cenfure those who cenfure all befides,
In other things they juftly are preferr'd :
In this alone methinks the ancients err'd;
Against the groffeft follies they declaim;
Hard they purfue, but hunt ignoble game.
Nothing is easier than fuch blots to hit,
And 'tis the talent of each vulgar wit:

Befides 'tis labour loft; for who would preach
Morals to Armstrong, or dull Aftun teach?
'Tis being devout at play, wife at a ball,
Or bringing wit and friendship to Whitehall.
But with fharp eyes thofe nicer faults to find,
Which lie obfcurely in the wifeft mind;
That little fpeck which all the reft does spoil,
To wash off that would be a noble toil';
Beyond the loofe-writ libels of this age,
Or the forc'd fcenes of our declining flage;
Above all cenfure too, each little wit
Will be fo glad to fee the greater hit;
Who judging better, though concern'd the most,
Of fuch correction will have cause to boast.
In fuch a fatire all would feek a fhare,
And every fool will fancy he is there.
Old ftory-tellers too muft pine and die,
To fee their antiquated wit laid by;
Like her, who mifs'd her name in a lampoon,
And griev'd to find herself decay'd so foon.
No common coxcomb must be mention'd here:
Not the dull train of dancing fparks appear;
Nor fluttering officers who never fight;
Of fuch a wretched rabble who would write?
Much lefs half wits : that's more against our rules;
For they are fops, the other are but fools.
Who would not be as filly as Dunbar?
As dull as Monmouth, rather than Sir Carr?

The canning courtier fhould be flighted too,
Who with dull knavery makes fo much ado;
Till the fhrewd fool, by thriving too too fast,
Like Efop's fox becomes a prey at last.
Nor fhall the royal miftreffes be nam'd,
Too ugly, or too eafy, to be blam'd;

With whom each rhyming fool keeps fuch a pother,
They are as common that way as the other:
Yet fauntering Charles, between his beaftly
brace,

Meets with diffembling still in either place,
Affected humour, or a painted face.
In loyal libels we have often told him,
How one has jilted him, the other fold him :
How that affects to laugh, how this to weep;
But who can rail fo long as he can fleep?
Was ever prince by two at once misled,
Falfe, foolish, old, ill-natur'd, and ill-bred ?
Early and Aylesbury, with all that race
Of bufy blockheads, fhall have here no place;
At counfel fet as foils on Dorfet's score,
To make that great falfe jewel fhine the more;
Who all that while was thought exceeding wife,
Only for taking pains and telling lies.

But there's no meddling with fuch nauseous men;
Their very names have tir'd my lazy pen:
'Tis time to quit my company, and choose
Some fitter fubject for a fharper mufe.

First, let's behold the merriest man alive
Against his carelefs genius vainly frive;
Quit his dear eafe, fome deep defign to lay,
'Gainst a fet time, and then forget the day:
Yet he will laugh at his best friends, and be
Jat as good company as Nokes and Lee.
But when he aims at reafon or at rule,
He turns himself the best to ridicule,
Let him at bufinefs ne'er fo earnest fit,

Though fatire nicely writ no humour stings But those who merit praise in other things; Yet we must needs this one exception make, And break our rules for folly Tropos fake; Who was too much defpis'd to be accus'd, And therefore fcarce deferves to be abus'd; Rais'd only by his mercenary torgue, For railing fmoothly, and for reafoning wrong. As boys on holy-days let loofe to play, Lay waggish traps for girls that pafs that way; Then fhout to fee in dirt and deep distress Some Lilly cit in her flower'd foolish drefs; So have I mighty fatisfaction found,

To fee his tinfel reafon on the ground:

To fee the florid fool defpis'd, and know it,
By fome who fca: ce have words enough to fhew

it :

That fhadow of a jeft fhall be enjoy'd,

Though he left all mankind to be destroy'd,
Bo cat transform'd fat gravely and demure,

Till moule appear'd, and thought himself fecure;
Eat foon the lady had him in her eye,
And from her friend did just as oddly fly.
Reaching above our nature does no good;
We must fall back to our old flesh and blood;
As by our little Machiavel we find
That nimbleft creature of the bufy kind,
His limbs are crippled, and his body shakes;
Yet his hard mind, which all this butle makes,
No pity of its poor companion takes.
What gravity can hold from laughing out,
To fee him drag his feeble legs about,
like hounds il-coupled? Jowler lugs him ftill
Through hedges, ditches, and through all that's
Iwere crime in any man but him alone
To use a body fo, though 'tis one's own:
Yet this falfe comfort never gives him o'er;
That whilst he creeps his vigorous thoughts can
foar:

Alas! that fearing, to thofe few that know,
1s but a bufy groveling here below.

Fa men in rapture thirk they mount the fky, Whilft on the ground th' intranced wretches lie: be modern fops have fancy'd they would fly. VOL. VL

The finner, nay fometimes the wittieft speaker :
But 'tis prodigious fo much eloquence
Should be acquired by fuch little fenfe;
For words and wit did anciently agree,
And Tully was no fool, though this man be:
At bar abusive, on the bench unable,
Knave on the woollack, fop at council-table.
Thefe are the grievances of fuch fools as would
Be rather wife than honeft, great than good.

Some other kind of wits must be made known,
Whofe harmless errors hurt themselves alone;
Excefs of luxury they think can please,
And lazine's call loving of their cafe :
To live diffolv'd in pleafores ftill they feign,
Though their whole life's but intermitting pain.
So much of furfeits, head-achs, claps, are feen,
We fearce perceive the little time between :
Well-meaning men who make this grofs miflake,
And pleature lofe only for pleafure's fake;
Each pleature has its price, and when we pay
Too much of pain, we fquander life away.

Thus Dorfet, purring like a thoughtful cat, Marry'd, but wifer pufs ne'er thought of that: And firft he worried her with railing rhyme, Like Pembroke's matlives at his kindeft time; Then for one night fold all his flavish life, A teeming widow, but a barren wife; C

Swell'd by contact of fuch a fulfom toad,
He lugg'd about the matrimonial load;
'Till fortune, blindly kind as well as he,
Has ill reftor'd him to his liberty;
Which he would ufe in his old feaking way,
Drinking all night, and dozing all the day;
Dull as Ned Howard, whom his brifker times
Had fam'd for dullnefs in malicious rhymes.

Mulgrave had much ado to scape the fnare,
Though learn'd in all those arts that cheat the
For after all his vulgar marriage mocks. [fair:
With beauty dazzled, Numps was in the ftocks;
Deinded parents dry'd their weeping eyes,
To fee him catch his tartar for his prize:
Th' impatient town waited the wifhed-for change,
And cuckolds fmil'd in hopes of sweet revenge;
Till Petworth plot made us with forrow fee,
As his eftate, his perfon too was free:

Him no foft thoughts, no gratitude could move;
To gold he fled from beauty and from love;
Yet failing there, he keeps his freedom ftill,
Forc'd to live happily againft bis will:
"Tit not his fault, if too much wealth and power
Break not his boasted quiet every hour.

And little Sid. for fimile renown'd,
Pleasure has always fought but never found:
Though all his thoughts on wine and women fall,
His are fo bad, fure he ne'er thinks at all.
The flesh he lives upon is rank and ftrong,
His meat and miftreffes are kept too long.
But fure we all mistake this pious man,
Who mortifies his perfon all he can :
What we uncharitably take for fin,
Are only rules of this odd capuchin ;
For never hermit under grave pretence,
Has liv'd more contrary to common fenfe;
And 'tis a miracle we may suppose,
No naftiness offends his fkillful nofe:
Which from all ftink can with peculiar art
Extract perfume and effence from a f―t:
Expecting fupper is his great delight;
He toils all day but to be drunk at night:
Then o'er his cups this night-bird chirping fits,
Till he takes Hewit and Jack Hall for wits.

Rochester I defpife for want of wit, Though thought to have a tail and cloven feet; For while he mifchief means to all mankind, Himfelf alone the ill effects does find: And fo like witches juftly fuffers fhame, Whofe harmless malice is fo much the fame.

Falfe are his words, affected is his wit;
So often he does aim, fo feldom hit;
To every face he cringes while he speaks,
But when the back is turn'd the head he breaks:
Mean in each action, lewd in every limb,
Manners themfelves are mifchievous in him:
A proof that chance alone makes every creature,
A very Killigrew without good-nature.
For what a Beffus has he always liv'd,
And his own kickings notably contriv'd?
For, there's the foily that's till mixt with fear,
Cowards more blows than any hero bear;
Of fighting fparks fome may their pleasures fay,
But 'tis a bolder thing to run away:
The world may well forgive him all his ill,
For every fault does prove his penance ftill:
Falfely he falls into fome dangerous noofe,
And then as meanly labours to get loofe;
A life fo infamous is better quitting,
Spent in bale injury and low fubmitting.
I'd like to have left out his poetry;
Forgot by all almost as well as me.
Sometimes he has fome humour, never wit,
And if it rarely, very rarely, hit,
'Tis under fo much nafty rubbish laid,
To find it out 's the cinderwoman's trade;
Who for the wretched remnants of a fire,
Muft toil all day in afhes and in mire.
So lewdly dull his idle works appear,
The wretched texts deferve no comments here:
Where one poor thought fometimes, left all alone
For a whole page of dullness must atone.

How vain a thing is man, and how unwife:
Ev'n he, who would himfe'f the most despise!
I, who fo wife and humble feem to be,
Now my own vanity and pride can't see.
While the world's nonfenfe is fo fharply fhewn,
We pull down others but to raise our own;
That we may angels feem, we paint them elves,
And are but fatires to fet up ourselves.
I, who have all this while been finding fault,
Ev'n with my master, who first fatire taught;
And did by that defcribe the task fo hard,
It feems ftupenduous and above reward;
Now labour with unequal force to climb
That lofty hill, unreach'd by former time:
'Tis jufl that I fhould to the bottom fall,
Learn to write well, or not to write at all

my poem: fome will think it needs no excufe, and others will receive none. The defign, I am fure, is honeft; but he who draws his pen for ne party, must expect to make enemies of the ther. For wit and fool are confequents of Whig and Tory; and every man is a knave or an afs to the contrary fide. There is a treasury of merits in the fanatic church, as well as in the poph: and a pennyworth to be had of faintfhip, bonefty, and poetry, for the lewd, the factious, d the blockheads: but the longest chapter in Deuteronomy has not curfes enough for an AntiBromingham. My comfort is, their manifest pejudice to my caufe w render their judgment of leis authority against me. Yet if a poem has genins, it will force its own reception in the world. For there is a fweetnefs in good verfe, which tickles even while it hurts; and no man an be heartily angry with him who pleases him againt his will. The commendation of adverfaries is the greatest triumph of a writer, because never comes unless extorted. But I can be fa

the more moderate fort, I fhall be fure of an honeft party, and, in all probability, of the best judges; for the leaft concerned are commonly the least corrupt. And I confefs I have laid in for thofe, by rebating the fatire, where justice would allow it, from carrying too fharp an edge. They who can criticife fo weakly, as to imagine I have done my worft, may be convinced at their own coft that I can write feverely, with more cafe than I can gently. I have but laughed at fome men's follies, when I could have declaimed against their vices: and other men's virtues I have commended, as freely as I have taxed their crimes. And now, if you are a malicious reader, I expect you should return upon me that I affect to be thought more impartial than I am; but if men are not to be judged by their profeffions, God forgive you commonwealth's men for profeffing fo plaufibly for the government. You cannot be fo unconfcionable as to charge me for not fubfcribing my name; for that would reflect too grofsly upon your own party, who never dare, though they have the ad