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And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
“ To laugh at Fools who put their trust in Peter.” 10

But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice ;
Bubo observes, he lash'd no sort of Vice :
Horace would say, Sir Billy serv'd the Crown,
Blunt could do Business, Higgins knew the Town;
In Sappho touch the Failings of the Sex,

In reverend Bishops note some small Neglects,
And own the Spaniard did a waggifh thing,
Who cropt our Ears, and sent them to the King.
His fly, polite, infinuating style
Could please at Court, and make AUGUSTUS smile:
An artful Manager, that crept between
His Friend and Shame, and was a kind of Screen.
But 'faith your very Friends will foon be fore
Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more
And where's the Glory? 'twill be only thought 25
The Great man never offer'd you a groat.
Go fee Sir ROBERT

P. See Sir Robert !--hum And never laugh—for all my life to come?' Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchang’d for Power; 30 Seen him, uncumber'd with a Venal tribe, Smile without Art, and win without a Bribe. Would he oblige me! let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind. Come, comé, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt ; The only difference is, I dare laugh out.

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F. Why yes : with Scripture still you may be free; A Horse-laugh, if you please, at Honesty ; A Joke on JEKYLL, or some odd Old Whig, Who never chang'd his Principle, or Wig; A Patriot is a Fool in every age, Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage : These nothing hurts; they keep their Fashion still, And wear their strange old Virtue, as they will. If any ask you,

" Who's the Man, fo near 45
“ His Prince, that writes in Verse, and has his ear?"
Why anfwer LYTTELTON, and I'll engage
The worthy Youth shall ne'er be in a rage :
But were his Verses vile, his Whisper bafe :
You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's case.
Sejanus, Wolfey, hurt not honest Fleury,
But well may put some Statesmen in a fury.
Laugh then at any, but at Fools or Foes;



mend not those.
Laugh at your Friends, and, if your Friends are fore, 55
So much the better, you may laugh the more.
To Vice and Folly to confine the jest,
Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest ;
Did not the Sneer of more impartial men
At Sense and Virtue balance all again.

60 Judicious Wits spread wide the Ridicule, And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.

P. Dear Sir, forgive the Prejudice of Youth :
Adieu Distinction, Satire, Warmth, and Truth!
Come, harmless Characters that no one hit;
Come, Henley's Oratory, Osborn's Wit!
U 2


These you


The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The Flowers of Bubo, and the Flow of Young !
The gracious Dew of Pulpit Eloquence,
And all the well-whipt Cream of Courtly Sense,

That first was H-vy's, F-'s next, and then,
The S-te's, and then H-vy's once agen.
O come, that easy Ciceronian style,
So Latin, yet so English all the while,
As, though the Pride of Middleton and Bland, 75
All Boys may read, and Girls may understand !
Then might I fing, without the least offence,
And all I sung should be the Nation's Sense;
Or teach the Melancholy Muse to mourn,
Hang the sad Verfe on CAROLINA's Urn,

And hail her paffage to the Realms of Rest,
All parts perform'd, and all her Children bleft!
So-Satire is no more I feel it die
No Gazetteer more innocent than I-
And let, a God's name, every Fool and Knave
Be grac'd through Life, and flatter'd in his Grave.

F. Why so? if Satire knows its Time and Place,
You still may lash the greatest-in Disgrace:
For Merit will by turns forsake them all;

you know when ? exactly when they fall.
But let all Satire in all Changes spare
Immortal S-k, and grave De-re.
Silent and soft, as Saints remov'd to Heaven,
All Ties diffolv’d, and every sin forgiven,
These may fome gentle ministerial Wing

95 Keceive, and place for ever near a King !




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There, where no Passion, Pride, or Shame transport,
Lullid with the fweet Nepenthe of a Court,
There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's disgrace
Once break their rest, or stir them from their Place:
But past the Sense of human Miseries,
All Tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes ;
No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,
Save when they lose a Question, or a Job.

P. Good Heaven forbid, that I should blast their glory,
Who know how like Whig Ministers to Tory,
And when three Sovereigns dy'd, could scarce be vext,
Considering what a gracious Prince was next.
Have I, in silent wonder, seen such things
As Pride in Slaves, and Avarice in Kings;
And at a Peer, or Peeress, shall I fret,
Who starves a Sister, or forfwears a Debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast i
But shall the dignity of Vice be lost?
Ye Gods ! shall Cibber's Son, without rebuke, 115
Swear like a Lord, or Rich outwhore a Duke?
A Favourite's Porter with his Master vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie ?
Shall Ward draw Contracts with a Statesman's skill?
Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a Will?
Is it for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things)
To pay their Debts, or keep their Faith, like Kings ?







VARIATION. Ver. 112. in some editions,

Who starves a Mother

If Blount dispatch'd himself, he play'd the man,
And so may'st thou, illutrious Passeran !
But shall a Printer, weary of his life,

Learn, from their Books, to hang himself and Wife?
This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear;
Vice thus abus'd, demands a Nation's care ;
This calls the Church to deprecate our Sin,
And hurls the Thunder of the Laws on Gin.

130 Let modeft Foster, if he will, excell Ten Metropolitans in preaching well; A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's Wife, Outdo Landaffe in Doctrinę, – yea in Life': Let humble Allen, with an aukward Shame, 135 Do good by stealth, and blush to find it Fame, Virtue

may choose the high or low Degree, 'Tis just alike to Virtue, and to me; Dwell in a Monk, or light upon a King, She's still the same belov’d, contented thing. 140 Vice is undone, if she forgets her Birth, And stoops from Angels to the dregs of Earth : But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a Whore; Let Greatness own her, and she's mean no more, Her Birth, her Beauty, Crowds and Courts confess, Chaste Matrons praise her, and grave Bishops bless; In golden Chains the willing World she draws, And hers the Gospel is, and hers the Laws, Mounts the Tribunal, lifts her fcarlet head, And fees pale Virtue carted in her stead.

150 Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal Car, Old England's Genius, rough with many a Scar,


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