ST. JOHN, whofe love indulg'd my labours past, Public too long ah let me hide my age! 5 10 Nor fond of bleeding, ev'n in BRUNSWICK's caufe. A voice there is, that whispers in my ear, ('Tis Reafon's voice, which fometimes one can hear) "Friend Pope! be prudent, let your Mufe take breath, "And never gallop Pegafus to death; "Left ftiff, and stately, void of fire or force, "You limp, like Blackmore on a lord-mayor's horfe." 15 *The fame of this heavy poet, however problematical elsewhere, was univerfally received in the city of London. His verfification is here exactly described: stiff, and not strong; stately and yet dull, like the fober and flow-paced animal generally employed to mount the lord-mayor and there. fore here humorously opposed to Pegasus. Farewell Farewell then verfe and love, and ev'ry toy. To lay this harvest up, and hoard with hafte, Sworn to no master, of no fect am I : 20 As drives the ftorm, at any door I knock : 25 And houfe with Montagne now, or now with Locke, Mix with the world, and battle for the ftate, Free as young Lyttleton, her cause pursue, Still true to virtue, and as warm as true: 30 And win my way by yielding to the tide. Long, as to him who works for debt, the day, 35 Long as the night to her whose love's away, 40 45 And which not done, the richeft must be poor. And feel fome comfort, not to be a fool. Say, Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bofom move With wretched av'rice, or as wretched love? Know, there are words, and fpells, which can controul Between the fits this fever of the foul: 55 Be furious, envious, flothful, mad, or drunk, Know, there are rhymes, which fresh and fresh apply'd Will cure the arrant'ft puppy of his pride. 60 Slave to a wife, or vaffal to a punk, A Switz, a High-Dutch, or a Low-Dutch bear; 65 : 'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor 70 See him, with pains of body, pangs of foul, Burn through the tropic, freeze beneath the pole? Wilt thou do nothing for a noble end, Nothing, to make philofophy thy friend? To ftop thy foolish views, thy long defires, 75 And ease thy heart of all that it admires ? Here Wisdom calls: "Seek virtue firft, be bold! "As gold to filver, virtue is to gold." There, London's voice, "Get money, money ftill! "And then let Virtue follow, if she will.' 80 This, this the faving doctrine, preach'd to all, From low St. James's up to high St. Paul! * From him whofe quills ftand quiver'd at his ear, To him who notches fticks at Westminster. "Pray then, what wants he?" fourfcore thoufand pounds; A penfion, or fuch harness for a flave 85 As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have. 90 *This is a doctrine in which both Whigs and Tories agree. VOL. II. F Yet 'Yet ev'ry child another fong will fing, ❝ Virtue, brave boys! 'tis virtue makes a king.” True, confcious honour is to feel no fin, He's arm'd without that's innocent within; Be this thy fcreen, and this thy wall of brass; 95 And fay, to which shall our applause belong, Or he, who bids thee face with steady view Shou'd chance to make the well-dress'd rabble ftare; That lefs admires the Palace than the Park: 100 105 } ΙΙΘ Faith I fhall give the answer Reynard gave: "I cannot like, dread Sir, your royal cave: "Because I fee, by all the tracks about, "Full many a beast goes in, but none come out." Adieu to virtue, if you're once a slave : Send her to court, you fend her to her grave. Well, if a king's a lion, at the least The people are a many-headed beast: Alike in nothing but one luft of gold, 120 Who know themfelves fo little what to do? Juft half the land would buy, and half be fold: 125 Their country's wealth our mightier mifers drain, The The reft, fome farm the poor-box, fome the pews; 130 Of all these ways, if each pursues his own, 135 Sir Job fail'd forth, the ev'ning bright and ftill, "No place on earth (he cry'd) like Greenwich hill !" Up ftarts a palace, lo, th' obedient base Slopes at its foot, the woods its fides embrace, The filver Thames reflects its marble face. 140 145 Which guides all those who know not what they mean, But give the knight (or give his lady) spleen; "Away, away! take all your fcaffolds down, "For fnug's the word: my dear! we'll live in town." At am'rous Flavio is the stocking thrown? That very night he longs to lie alone. The fool, whofe wife elopes fome thrice a quarter, Did ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch, 150 } 155 160 You laugh, half beau, half floven if I ftand, |