Till, grown more frugal in his riper days,
He paid some bards with port, and some with praise,
To fome a dry rehearsal was assign'd,
And others (harder still) he paid in kind.
Dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh,
Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye :
But still the Great have kindness in referve,
He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve.
May some choice patron bless each grey goofe
May every Bavius have his Bufo still.!
So when a Statesman wants a day's defence,
Or Envy holds a whole week's war with Senfe,
Or fimple pride for flattery makes demands,
May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands!
Blest be the Great! for those they take away,
And those they left me; for they left me Gay :
Left me to fee neglected Genius bloom,
Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb:
Of all thy blameless life the sole return
My Verse, and Queensberry weeping o'er thy urn! 260 Oh let me live my own, and die so too!
(To live and die is all I have to do:)
Maintain a Poet's dignity and eafe,
And fee what friends, and read what books I please:
Above a Patron, though I condescend
Sometimes to call a Minifter my friend.
I was not born for Courts or great affairs:
I pay my debts, believe, and say my prayers;
Can fleep without a Poem in my head,
Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead.
Why am I ask'd what next shall fee the light ?
Heavens! was I born for nothing but to write?
Has Life no joys for me? or (to be grave)
Have I no friend to serve, no foul to fave?
"I found him close with Swift-Indeed? no doubt
" (Cries prating Balbus) something will come out."
'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will.
"No, such a Genius never can lie still;"
And then for mine obligingly mistakes
The first Lampoon Sir Will or Bubo makes.
Poor guiltless I! and can I chuse but smile,
When every Coxcomb knows me by my Style ?
After ver. 270. in the MS.
Friendships from youth I fought, and seek them still: Fame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it will. The world I knew, but made it not my school,
And in a course of flattery liv'd no fool.
After ver. 282. in the MS.
P. What if I fing Augustus, great and good?
A. You did so lately, was it understood ?
Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound,
As rumbling Dennis or a Norfolk hound;
With George and Frederic roughen every verse,
Then smooth up all, and Caroline rehearse.
P. No-the high task to lift up Kings to Gods,
Leave to Court fermons, and to birth-day Odes.
On themes like these, superior far to thine,
Let laurel'd Cibber and great Arnal shine.
Curst be the verse, how well foe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe,
Give Virtue scandal, Innocence a fear,
Or from the soft-ey'd Virgin steal a Tear!
But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
Infults fall'n Worth, or Beauty in distress,
Who loves a Lie, lame Slander helps about,
Who writes a Libel, or who copies out:
That Fop, whose pride affects a patron's name,
Yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame :
Who can your merit selfishly approve,
And show the sense of it without the love;
Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend;
Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say,
And, if he lie not, must at least betray:
Who to the Dean and filver bell can fwear,
And fees at Cannons what was never there;
Who reads, but with a lust to misapply,
Make Satire a Lampoon, and Fiction Lie.
A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,
But all fuch babbling blockheads in his stead.
Let Sporus tremble-A. What? that thing of filk, Sporus, that mere white curd of Afs's milk? Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel ?
Why write at all?-A. Yes, filence if you keep,
The Town, the Court, the Wits, the Dunces weep.
P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings; 310
Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys :
So well-bred spaniels civilly delight
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite.
Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run diapling all the way.
Whether in florid impotence he speaks,
And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks;
Or at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,
Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad,
In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies,
Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blafphemies.
His wit all fee-saw, between that and this,
Now high, low, now now
And he himself one vile Antithesis.
Amphibious thing! that, acting either part,
The trifling head! or the corrupted heart,
Fop at the toilet, flatterer at the board,
Now trips a Lady, and now struts a Lord.
Eve's tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest,
A Cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.
Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust,
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Not Fortune's worshiper, nor Fashion's fool,
Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor servile; be one Poet's Praif,
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways:
That Flattery, even to Kings, he held a shame,
And thought a Lie in verse or profe the fame,
That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his fong:
That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end,
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half-approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had,
The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;
The diftant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv'd, the lie so oft o'erthrown,
Th' imputed trash, and dulness not his own;
The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape,
The libel'd perfon, and the pictur'd shape;
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, fpread,
A friend in exile, or a father dead;
The whisper, that, to greatness still too near,
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his Sovereign's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past:
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last!
A. But why infult the poor, affront the great?
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in every state :
Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail,
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail,
A hireling scribler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire;
If on a Pillory, or near a Throne,
He gain his Prince's ear, or lofe his own.
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