ST. JOHN, whofe love indulg'd my labours past,
Matures my prefent, and fhall bound my laft!
Why will you break the Sabbath of my days?
Now fick alike of envy and of praise.

Public too long ah let me hide my age!
See modeft Cibber now has left the stage:
Our gen'rals now, retir'd to their eftates,
Hang their old trophies o'er the garden gates,
In life's cool ev'ning fatiate of applause,

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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.
The rhymes and rattles of the man or boy;
What right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care-for this is all

To lay this harvest up, and hoard with hafte,
What ev'ry day will want, and most, the last.
But afk not, to what doctors I apply?

Sworn to no master, of no fect am I :

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As drives the ftorm, at any door I knock :

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And houfe with Montagne now, or now with Locke,
Sometimes a patriot, active in debate,

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:
Sometimes with Ariftippus, or St. Paul,
Indulge my candor, and grow all to all.
Back to my native moderation flide,

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And win my way by yielding to the tide.

Long, as to him who works for debt, the day,

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Long as the night to her whose love's away,
Long as the year's dull circle seems to run,
When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one;
So flow th' unprofitable moments roll,
That lock up all the functions of my foul;
That keep me from myself; and still delay
Life's inftant business to a future day :
That task, which as we follow, or despise,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise :
Which done, the pooreft can no wants endure;

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And which not done, the richeft must be poor.
Late as it is, I put myself to school,

And feel fome comfort, not to be a fool.
Weak tho' I am of limb, and short of fight,
Far from a lynx, and not a giant quite;
I'll do what Mead and Chefelden advise,
To keep thefe limbs, and to preserve these eyes.
Not to go back, is fomewhat to advance,
And men must walk at leaft before they dance.

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:

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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.

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Slave to a wife, or vaffal to a punk,

A Switz, a High-Dutch, or a Low-Dutch bear;
All that we ask is but a patient ear.

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:

'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor
And the firft wifdom, to be fool no more.
But to the world no bugbear is fo great,
As want of figure, and a small eftate.
To either India fee the merchant fly,
Scar'd at the spectre of pale poverty!

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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,

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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.'

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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.
Barnard in fpirit, fenfe, and truth abounds;

"Pray then, what wants he?" fourfcore thoufand

pounds;

A penfion, or fuch harness for a flave

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As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have.
Barnard, thou art a cit, with all thy worth;
But Bug and D*1, their Honours, and so forth.

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*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;
Compar'd to this a minifter's an afs.

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And fay, to which shall our applause belong,
This new court-jargon, or the good old fong?
The modern language of corrupted peers,
Or what was spoke at CRESSY or POITIERS?
Who counfels beft? who whispers, "Be but great,
"With praise or infamy leave that to fate;
"Get place and wealth, if poffible, with grace;
"If not, by any means, get wealth and place."
For what? to have a box where eunuchs fing,
And foremost in the circle eye a king.

Or he, who bids thee face with steady view
Proud Fortune, and look shallow Greatness thro':
And, while he bids thee, fets th' example too?
If fuch a doctrine in St. James's air,

Shou'd chance to make the well-dress'd rabble ftare;
In honeft S*z take scandal at a spark,

That lefs admires the Palace than the Park:

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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:
Can they direct what measures to pursue,

Alike in nothing but one luft of gold,

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Who know themfelves fo little what to do?

Juft half the land would buy, and half be fold:

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Their country's wealth our mightier mifers drain,
Or cross, to plunder provinces, the main;

The

The reft, fome farm the poor-box, fome the pews;
Some keep affemblies, and would keep the ftews;
Some with fat bucks on childless dotards fawn;
Some win rich widows by their chine and brawn;
While with the filent growth of ten per cent,
In dirt and darkness, hundreds ftink content.

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Of all these ways, if each pursues his own,
Satire, be kind, and let the wretch alone :
But fhew me one who has it in his pow'r
To act confiftent with himself an hour,

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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.
Now let some whimfy, or that dev'l within

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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,
For matrimonial folace dies a martyr.

Did ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch,
Transform themselves fo ftrangely as the rich ?
Well, but the poor-The poor have the fame itch;
They change their weekly barber, weekly news,
Prefer a new japanner, to their fhoes,
Discharge their garrets, move their beds, and run
(They know not whither) in a chaise and one ;
They hire their fculler, and when once aboard,
Grow fick, and damn the climate-like a lord.

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You laugh, half beau, half floven if I ftand,
My wig all powder, and all fnuff my band;
You laugh, if coat and breeches ftrangely vary,
White gloves, and linen worthy lady Mary!