With royal favourites in flattery vie, And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

He fpies me out; I whisper, Gracious God!
What fin of mine could merit fuch a rod?
That all the fhot of dulnefs now must be
From this thy blunderbuss discharg'd on me!
Permit (he cries) no stranger to your fame
To crave your fentiment, if 's your name.
What fpeech efteem you most? "The king's,"
faid I.

But the beft words?-O Sir, the dictionary."
You mifs my aim! I mean the most acute
And perfect fpeaker?" Onflow, past dispute."
But, Sir, of writers?" Swift, for closer style,
"But Hoadly for a period of a mile."

Why yes, 'tis granted, thefe indeed may pass:
Good common linguifts, and fo Panurge was;
Nay troth th' apoftles (though perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of tongues enough:
Yet these were all poor gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas travel made them what they were.
Thus, others talents having nicely shown,
He came by fure tranfition to his own:
Till I cry'd out, You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half so good,
I make no question but the tower had stood.
"Obliging Sir! for courts you fure were made:
"Why then for ever bury'd in the shade ?
"Spirits like you, should fee and should be seen,
"The king would fmile on you-at leaft the
"queen."

Ah, gentle Sir! you courtiers fo cajole us-
But Tully has it, "Nunquam minus folus."
And as for courts, forgive me, if I fay

No leffons now are taught the Spartan way;
Though in his pictures luft be full difplay'd,
Few are the converts Aretine has made;
And though the court fhow vice exceeding clear,
None fhould, by my advice, learn virtue there.

At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes, Squeaks like a high-stretch'd luteftring, and replies: "Oh, 'tis the sweeteft of all earthly things "To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings!" Then, happy man who fhows the tombs! faid I, He dwells amidst the royal family; He every day from king to king can walk, Of all Harries, all our Edwards talk; And get, by fpeaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living, ease and bread. "Lord, Sir, a mere mechanic! frangely low, "And coarse of phrase,--your English all are fo. "How elegant your Frenchman!" Mine, d'ye mean?

I have but one; I hope the fellow's clean,
"Oh Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die,
"Your only wearing is your paduasoy.”
Not, Sir, my only, I have better ftill,
And this you fee is but my difhabille-
Wild to get loofe, his patience I provoke,
Miftake, confound, object at all he spoke.
But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch most hurts when anger'd to a fore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis ftill the curfe,
You only make the matter worfe and worse.

He paft it o'er; affects an easy smile
At all my peevithness, and turns his ftyle.
He afks, "What news?" I tell him of new play,
New eunuchs, harlequins, and operas.
He hears, and as a fill with fimples in it,
Between each drop it gives, stays half a minute,
Loth to enrich me with too quick replies,
By little, and by little, drops his lies. (shows,
Mere household trash: of birthnights, balls, and
More than ten Hollinfheds, or Halls, or Stows.
When the queen frown'd, or smil'd, he knows; and
what

A subtle minister may make of that:
Who fins with whom : who got his pension rug,
Or quicken'd a reversion by a drug

Whofe place is quarter'd out, three parts in four,
And whether to a bishop, or a whore :
Who, having loft his credit, pawn'd his rent,
Is therefore fit to have a government :
Who, in the fecret, deals in ftocks fecure,
And cheats th' unknowing widow and the poor :
Who makes a trust of charity a job,
And gets an act of parliament to rob:
Why turnpikes rife, and now no cit nor clown
Can gratis fee the country, or the town:
Shortly no lad fhall chuck, or lady vole,
But fome excifing courtier will have toll.
He tells what ftrumpet places fells for life,
What 'fquire his lands, what citizen his wife :
At laft (which proves him wiser still than all)
What lady's face is not a whited wall.

As one of Woodward's patients, fick, and fore,
I puke, I nauseate,-yet he thrufts in more:
Trims Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part,
And talks gazettes and postboys o'er by heart.
Like a big wife at fight of lothfome meat
Ready to caft; I yawn, I figh, and sweat.
Then as a licens'd fpy, whom nothing can
Silence or hurt, he libels every man;
Swears every place entail'd for years to come,
In fure fucceffion to the day of doom:
He names the price for every office paid,
And fays our wars thrive ill, because delay'd;
Nay hints, 'tis by connivance of the court,
That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a port.
Not more amazement feiz'd on Circe's guests,
To fee themselves fall headlong into beafts,
Than mine to find a subject stay'd and wife
Already half turn'd traitor by furprise.
I felt th' infection flide from him to me;
As in the pox, fome give it to get free;
And quick to fwallow me, methought I faw
Qne of our giant ftatues ope its jaw.

In that nice moment, as another Lye Stood juft a-tilt, the minifter came by. To him he flies, and bows, and bows again, Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train. Not Fannius' self more impudently near, When half his nofe is in his prince's ear. I quak'd at heart; and, ftill afraid to fee All the court fill'd with ftranger things than he, Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail, And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.

Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence To wholesome folitude, the murfe of fenfe

Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,
And the free foul looks down to pity kings!
There fober thought purfu'd th' amusing theme,
Till fancy colour'd it, and form'd a dream.
A vifion hermits can to hell transport,

And forc'd ev'r me to see the damn'd at court.
Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state,
Beheld fuch scenes of envy, fin, and hate.
Bafe fear becomes the guilty, not the free;
Suits tyrants, plunderers, but fuits not me:
Shall 1, the terror of this finful town,
Care, if a livery'd lord or fmile or frown?
Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
Tremble before a noble ferving man?
O my fair mistress, Truth! shall I quit thee
For huffing, braggart, puft nobility?
Thou, who fince yesterday haft roll'd o'er all
The bufy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Haft thou, oh fun! beheld an emptier fort,
Than fuch as fwell this bladder of a court?
Now pox on those who show a court in wax!
It ought to bring all courtiers on their backs;
Such painted puppets fuch a varnish'd race
Of hollow gewgaws, only drefs and face!
Such waxen nofes, ftately ftaring things-
No wonder fome folks bow, and think them kings.
See! where the British youth, engag'd no

more,

At Fig's at White's, with felons, or a whore,
Pay their last duty to the court, and come
All fresh and fragrant, to the drawing-room;
In hues as gay, and odours as divine,
As the fair fields they fold to look fo fine.
“That's velvet for a king!" the flatterer fwears;
'Tis true, for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's.
Our court may juftiy to our stage give rules,
That helps it both to fool's-coats and to fools.
And why not players ftrut in courtiers clothes?
For thefe are actors too, as well as thofe :
Wants reach all states: they beg but better dreft,
And all is fplendid poverty at best.

Painted for fight, and effenc'd for the fmell,
Like frigates fraught with spice and cochineal,
Sail in the ladies: how each pirate eyes
So weak a veffel, and fo rich a prize!
Top-gallant he, and the in all her trim,
He boarding her, the ftriking fail to him:
"Dear Countess you have charms all hearts to
"hit!"

And Sweet Sir Fopling you have fo much "wit."

Such wits and beauties are not prais'd for nought, For both the beauty and the wit are bought.

'Twould burst even Heraclitus with the spleen,
To fee those antics, Fopling and Courtin:
The prefence feems, with things fo richly odd,
The mofque of Mahound, or fome queer Pa-god.
See them furvey their limbs by Durer's rules,
Of all beau-kind the beft proportion'd fools?
Adjust their clothes, and to confeffion draw
Thofe venial fins, an atom, or a straw:
But oh! what terrors must distract the soul
Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole :
Or fhould one pound of powder lefs bespread
Thofe monkey tails that wag behind their head!
Thus finish'd, and corrected to a hair,

They march, to prate their hour before the fair.
So first to preach a white-glov'd chaplain goes,
With band of lily, and with cheek of rofe,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim,
Neatness itself impertinent in him.

Let but the ladies fmile, and they are bleft: Prodigious! how the things protest, protest! Peace, fools, or Gonfon will for Papists feize you, If once he catch you at your Jefu! Jefu!

Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Juft as one beauty mortifies another.

But here's the captain that will plague them both,
Whofe air cries arm! whofe very looks an oath :
The captain's honest, Sirs, and that's enough,
Though his foul's bullet, and his body buff.
He fpits fore-right; his haughty cheft before,
Like battering rams, beats open every door:
And with a face as red, and as awry,
As Herod's hangdogs in old tapeftry,
Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curfe,
Has yet a strange ambition to look worse :
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,
Jefts like a licens'd fool, commands like law.
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it fo
As men from jails to execution go;
For hung with deadly fins I fee the wall,
And hin'd with giants deadlier than them all :
Each man an askapart, of strength to tofs
For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross.
Scar'd at the grizly forms, i fweat, I fly,
And shake all o'er, like difcover'd spy.

Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine: Charge them with Heaven's artillery, bold divine!

From fuch alone the great rebukes endure,
Whose fatire's facred, and whose rage secure :
'Tis mine to wash a few light ftains; but theirs
To deluge fin, and drown a court in tears.
Howe'er, what's now Apocrypha, my wit,
In time to come, may pass for holy writ.
Kij

And hail her paffage to the realms of rest,
All part's perform'd, and all her children bleft!
So-fatire 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.

91

F. Why fo? if fatire knows its time and place, You fill may lafh the greatest-in disgrace : For merit will by turns forfake them all; Would you know when? exactly when they fall. But let all fatire in all changes spare Immortal S-k, and grave Dere. Silent and foft, as faints remov'd to heaven, All ties diffolv'd, and every fin forgiven, These may fome gentle minifterial Wing Receive, and place for ever near a king! [port, There, where no paffion, pride, or fhame tranfLull'd with the fweet Nepenthe of a court; There, where no father's, brother's, friend's difgrace

ΙΟΣ

[place: Once break their reft, or ftir them from their Bat paft the fenfe of human miferies, All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes; No check is known to blush, no heart to throb, Save when they lose a question, or a job.

P. Good Heaven forbid, that I should blaft their glory,

Who know how like Whig Ministers to Tory, And when three fovereign's dy'd, could fcarce be vext,

Confidering what a gracious prince was next.
Have 1, in filent wonder feen fuch things
As pride in flaves, and avarice in kings;
And at a peer, or peerefs, fhall I fret,
Who ftarves a fifter, or forfwears a debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But fhall the dignity of vice be loft?

IIO

[skill?

120

Ye gods fhall Cibber's fon, without rebuke,
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 flatefmen's
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?
If Blount difpatch'd himself, he play d the man;
And so mayft thou, illustrious Passeran!
But fhall a printer, weary of his life, [wife?
Learn, from their books, to hang himself and
This, this, my friend, I cannot, muft not bear;
Vice thus abus'd, demands a nation's care:
This calls the church to deprecate our fin,
And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin.
Let modeft Fofter, if he will, excell
Ten metropolitans in preaching well;
A fimple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,
Outdo Landaffe in doctrine,-yea in life :
Let humble Allen, with an aukward fhame,
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame;
Virtue may choose the high or low degree,
'Tis juft alike to virtue, and to me;

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 112, in fome editions:

Who ftarves a mother

130

Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,

150

She's fill the fame belov'd, contented thing. 140
Vice is undone, if the forgets her birth,
And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth:
But 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore;
Let greatnefs own her, and she's mean no more,
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confefs,
Chafte matrons praise her,and grave bishops blefs;
In golden chains the willing world fhe draws,
And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws;
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,
And fees pale virtue carted in her stead.
Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
Dragg'd in the duft! his arms hang idly round,
His flag inverted trails along the ground!
Our youth, all livery'd o'er with foreign gold,
Before her dance: behind her, crawl the old!
See thronging millions to the pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or fon! [claim,
Hear her black trumpet through the land pro-
That Not to be corrupted is the flame.
• 160
In foldier, churchman, patriot, man in power,
'f'is avarice all, ambition is no more!
See, all our nobles begging to be flaves!
See, all our fools afpiring to be knaves!
The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore :
All, all look up, with reverential awe,
At crimes that 'fcape, or triumph o'er the law:
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry-
"Nothing is facred now but villany."
170

Yet may this verse (if fuch a verse remain)
Show there was one who held it in difdain.

DIALOGUE II.

Fr.'Tis all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will fay.
P. Not yet, my friend: to-morrow 'faith it may;
And for that very caufe I print to-day.
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the fins of thirty-nine!
Vice with fuch giant-ftrides comes on amain,

Invention ftrives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er to strong,
Some rifing genius fins up to my fong.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lafh; Even Guthry faves half Newgate by a dash. Spare then the perfon, and expofe the vice.

P. How, Sir! not damn the fharper, but the dice?

Come on then, fatire! general, unconfin'd,
Spread thy broad wing, and foufe on all the kind.
Ye ftatesmen, priefts, of one religion all!
Ye tradefmen, vile in army, court, or hall!
Ye reverend Atheists. F. Scandal! name them,
Who?

P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do. Who ftarv'd a fifter, who forefwore a debt,

20

I never nam'd; the town's inquiring yet,
The poifoning dame-F. You mean-P. I don't.

F. You do.

P. See, now I keep the fecret, and not you!

The bribing ftatefman-F. Hold, too high you go. P. The brib'd elector-F. There you stoop too low.

P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; Tell me, which knave is lawful game, which not? Muft great offenders, once efcap'd the crown, Like royal harts, be never more run down? Admit your law to fpare the knight requires, 30 As beafts of nature may we hunt the fquires? Suppose I cenfure-you know what I meanTo fave a bishop, may I name a dean?

FA dean, Sir? no; his fortune is not made, You hurt a man that's rifing in the trade.

P. If not the tradefman who set up to-day, Much lefs the 'prentice who to-morrow may. Down, down. proud fatire! though a realm be fpoil'd,

Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild;
Or, if a court or country's made a job,
Go drench a pickpocket, and join the mob.

But, Sir, I beg you, (for the love of vice!)
The matter's weighty, pray confider twice;
Have you lefs pity for the needy cheat,
The poor and friendlefs villain, than the great?
Alas! the fmall difcredit of a bribe

Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.
Then better fure it charity becomes

50

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!

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.

58

F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, You make men defperate, if they once are bad : Elfe might he take to virtue fome years henceP: As S-k, if he lives, will love the prince. F. Strange spleen to S-k!

P. Do I wrong the man ? God knows, I praife a courtier where I can. When I confefs, there is who feels for fame, And melts to goodness, need I Scarborow name? Pleas'd let me own, in Efher's peaceful grove (Where Kent and nature vie for Pelham's love) 'The scene, the mafter, opening to my view, I fit and dream I fee my craggs anew! Ev'n in a bishop I can spy desert : Secker is decent; Rundel has a heart; Manners with candour are to Benfon given; To Berkley, every virtue under heaven.

70

How can I Pultney, Chesterfield forget,
While Roman fpirit charms, and Attic wit:
Argyll, the state's whole thunder born to wield,
And shake alike the fenate and the field:
Or Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne,
The master of our paffions, and his own?
Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain,
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.

89

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 cast a glory. I never (to my forrow I declare)

Din'd with the Man of Rofs, or my Lord Mayor. Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not grave)

Have ftill a fecret bias to a knave:

100

To find an honest man, I beat about;
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
F. Then why so few commended?

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 son,
Each widow afks it for the best of men,
For him the weeps, for him the weds again.
Praife cannot stoop, like fatire, to the ground: 110
The number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for half the greatest 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'din vain.
No power the mufe's friendship can command;
No power, when virtue claims it, can withstand:
To Cato, Virgil paid one honest line;

120

O let my country's friend illumine mine! [no fin,
-What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's
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.
F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow?
P. I only call thofe knaves 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 Lyttelton a dark, defigning knave;
St. John has ever been a mighty fool-
But let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull,
Has never made a friend in private life,
And was, besides, a tyrant to his wife.

130