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Alas! the small difcredit of a bribe

Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.
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! ftop!

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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 ears §.


F. What always Peter? Peter thinks you mad,
You make men defp'rate, if they once are bad;
Elfe might he take to virtue fome years hence-
P. As S-k, if he lives, will love the PRINCE.
F. Strange fpleen to S―k!

P. Do I wrong the
God knows, I praise the courtier where I can.
When I confefs, there is who feels for fame,
And melts to goodness, need ISCAR'BROW† name? 65
Pleas'd let me own, in Efher's peaceful grove
(Where Kent and Nature vye for PELHAM's love)
The scene, the mafter, opening to my view,
I fit and dream I fee my CRAGGs anew!




* He is serious on the foregoing fubjects of fatire; but ironical here, and only alludes to the common practices of minifters, in laying their own mifcarriages on their masters.

§ Peter had, the year before this, narrrowly escaped the pillory, for forgery; and got off with a fevere rebuke only from the bench.

+ Earl of and knight of the Garter, whofe perfonal attachments to the king appeared from his steady adherence to the royal intereft, after his refignation of his great employment of master of the horfe; and whofe known honour and virtue made him efteemed by all parties.

The house and gardens of Efher in Surry, belonging to the honourable Mr. Pelham, brother to the duke of Newcastle. The author could not have given a more amiable idea of his character than in comparing him to Mr. Craggs.


Ev'n in a bishop I can fpy defert;
Secker is decent, Rundel has a heart,
Manners with candour are to Benson giv'n,
To Berkley, every virtue under Heav'n.

But does the court a worthy man remove?
That inftant, I declare, he has my love:
I fhun his zenith, court his mild decline;



Thus SOMMERS once, and HALIFAX §, were mine.
Oft, in the clear, ftill mirrour of retreat,
Iftudy'd SHREWSBURY †, the wise and great;
CARLETON'S calm fenfe, and STANHOPE'S || noble




Compar'd, and knew their gen'rous end the fame :
How pleafing ATTERBURY's fofter hour!
How shine the foul, unconquer'd in the Tow'r!
While Roman fpirit charms, and Attic wit:
ARGYLL, the ftate's whole thunder born to wield,
And shake alike the fenate and the field :
Or WYNDHAM **, juft to freedom and the throne,
The mafter of our paffions, and his own.


John lord Sommers died in 1716. He had been lord keeper in the reign of William III. who took from him the feals in 1700. The author had the honour of knowing him in 1706. A faithful. able, and incorrupt mipifter; who, to the qualities of a confummate statesman, added thofe of a man of learning and politeness.

§ A peer, no lefs diftinguished by his love of letters than his abilities in Parliament. He was difgraced in 1710, on the change of queen Ann's ministry.

† Charles Talbot, duke of Shrewsbury, had been fecretary of fate, ambaffador in France, lord lieutenant of Ireland, lord Chamberlain, and lord Treasurer. He feveral times quitted his employments, and was often recalled. He died in 1718.

Hen. Boyle, lord Carleton, (nephew of the famous Robert Boyle) whọ was fecretary of state under William III. and prefident of the council under queen Anne.

James earl Stanhope. A nobleman of equal courage, fpirit, and learning. General in Spain, and fecretary of state.

** Sir William Wyndham, chancellor of the Exchequer under queen Anne, made early a confiderable figure; but fince a much greater both by his ability and eloquence, joined with the utmost judgment and temper.


Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain, 90
Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with their train;
And if yet higher the proud lift should 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 praise :
Point the to Prieft or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's beaver caft a glory.
Inever (to my forrow I declare)

Din'd with the MAN of Ross, or my LORD MAY'R.
Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not grave)
Have ftill a fecret biafs to a knave:
To find an honeft man I beat about,


And love him, court him, praife him, in or out.
F. Then why so few commend?



P. Not fo fierce; Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse, 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 fhe weeps, for him fhe 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 greateft of these 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 RICHELIEU wanted, Louis fcarce could gain, And what young AMMON wifh'd, but wish'd in vain. No pow'r the Muse's friendship can command ; No pow'r, when Virtue claims it, can withstand: To Cato, Virgil paid one honest line; O let my country's friends illumine mine!





What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's no fin, 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. VOL. II.


125 F. They

F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow?
P. I only call those knäves who are so now.
Is that too little? Come then, I'll comply-
Spirit of Arnall*! aid me while I lie.
COBHAM's a coward, POLWARTH § is a flave,
And LYTTLETON a dark, defigning knave,
ST. JOHN has ever been a wealthy fool~~
But let me add, Sir ROBERT's mighty dull,
Has never made a friend in private life,
And was, befides, a tyrant to his wife.

But pray when others praife him, do I blame?
Call Verres, Wolfey, any ódious name?
Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine,
Oh all accomplish'd ST. JOHN ! deck thy fhrine?
What? fhall each spur-gall'd hackney of the day, 140
When Paxton gives him double pots and pay,
Or each new-penfion'd fycophant, pretend
To break my windows if I treat a friend;
Then wifely plead, to me they meant no hurt,
But 'twas my gueft at whom they threw the dirt?
Sure, if I fpare the minifter, no rules
Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid
His faws are toothless, and his hatchets lead.




It anger'd TURENNE, once upon a day,
To fee a footman kick'd, that took his pay:
But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave,
Knew one a man of honour, one a knave;
The prudent gen'ral turn'd it to a jest,


And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the reft:
Which not at present having time to do-

F. Hold, Sir! for God's fake, where's th? affront to you?


* Look for him in his place. Dunc. B. ii. ver. 315.

The Hon. Hugh Hume, fon of Alexander earl of Marchmont, grand. fon of Patrick earl of Marchmont, and distinguished, like them, in the cause of liberty.


Against your worship when had S-k writ?
Or P-ge pour'd forth the torrent of his wit?
Or grant the bard whofe diftich all commend
[In pow'r a fervant, out of pow'r a friend]
To W-le guilty of fome venial fin;
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?

The priest whofe flattery bedropt the crown,
How hurt he you? he only ftain'd the gown.
And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,
Whose speech you took, and gave it to a friend?
P. Faith, it imports not much from whom it came
Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame,
Since the whole house did afterwards the fame.
Let courtly wits to wits afford fupply,
As hog to hog in huts of Weftphaly;
If one, thro' Nature's bounty, or his lord's,
Has what the frugal, dirty foil affords,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin,
As pure a mefs almoft as it came in ;
The bleffed benefit, not there confin'd,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind:
From tail to mouth, they feed and they caroufe;
The laft full fairly gives it to the House.

F. This filthy fimile, this beaftly line
Quite turns my ftomach-

A verfe taken out of a poem to Sir R. W.

See the Epistle to lord Bathurst


P 2






P. So does flatt'ry mine;
And all your courtly Civet-cats can vent,
Perfume to you, to me is excrement.
But hear me further-Japhet, 'tis agreed,
Writ not, and Chartres § fcarce could write or read,
In all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite;
But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write:
And muft no egg in Japhet's face be thrown,
Because the deed he forg'd was not my own?




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