An EPISTLE to Mr. SPENCE,
When Tutor to Lord MIDDLESEX.
In imitation of HORACE, Book I. Epift. 18.
By the late Mr. CHRISTOPHER PITT.
PENCE, with a friend you pass the hours away
pointed jokes, yet innocently gay:
You ever differ'd from a flatterer more,
Than a chaft lady from a flaunting whore.
'Tis true you rallied every fault you found,
But gently tickled, while you cur'd the wound:
Unlike the paultry poets of the town,
Rogues who expose themselves for half a crown;
And still impofe on ev'ry foul they meet
Rudenefs for fenfe, and ribaldry for wit:
Who, tho' half-ftarv'd, in fpite of time and place,
Repeat their rhymes, tho' dinner stays for
And as their poverty their dresses fit,
They think of course a floven is a wit:
But fenfe (a truth these coxcombs ne'er suspect,)
Lies juft 'twixt affectation and neglect.
One step still lower, if you can, defcend,
To the mean wretch, the great man's humble friend;
That moving fhade, that pendant at his ear,
That two-legged dog, ftill pawing on the peer.
Studying his looks, and watching at the board,
He gapes to catch the droppings of my lord;
And tickled to the foul at ev'ry joke,
Like a prefs'd watch, repeats what t'other spoke :
Echo to nonfenfe! fuch a scene to hear!
'Tis juft like Punch and his interpreter.
On trifles fome are earnestly abfurd,
You'll think the world depends on ev'ry word.
What, is not ev'ry mortal free to speak?
I'll give my reasons, tho' I break my neck-
And what's the question?-if it shines or rains,
Whether 'tis twelve or fifteen miles to Staines.
The wretch reduc'd to rags by ev'ry vice,
Pride, projects, races, miftreffes and dice,
The rich rogue fhuns, tho' full as bad as he,
And knows a quarrel is good husbandry.
'Tis ftrange, cries Peter, you are out of pelf,
I'm fure I thought you wiser than myself;
Yet gives him nothing-but advice too late,
Retrench, or rather mortgage your estate,
I can advance the fum,-'tis best for both,-
But henceforth cut your coat to match your
A minister, in mere revenge and sport,
Shall give his foe a paultry place at court.
The dupe for ev'ry royal birth-day buys
New horfes, coaches, cloaths and liveries;
Plies at the levee, and distinguish'd there
Lives on the royal whisper for a year;
His wenches fhine in Bruffells and brocade ;
And now the wretch, ridiculously mad,
Draws on his banker, mortgages and fails,
Then to the country runs away from jails:
There ruin'd by the court he fells a vote
To the next burgefs, as of old he bought;
Rubs down the steeds which once his chariot bore,
Or fweeps the town, which once he ferv'd before.
BUT, by this roving meteor led, I tend
Beyond my theme, forgetful of my friend.
Then take advice; I preach not out of time,
When good lord Middlesex is bent on rhyme.
Their humour check'd, or inclination croft,
Sometimes the friendship of the great is loft.
Unless call'd out to wench, be fure comply,
Hunt when he hunts, and lay the fathers by:
For your reward you gain his love, and dine
On the best ven'fon and the best French wine,
Nor to lord ****** make the obfervation,
How the twelve peers have answer'd their creation,
Nor in your wine or wrath betray your trust,
Be filent ftill, and obftinately just :
Explore no fecrets, draw no characters,
For Echo will repeat, and walls have ears:
Nor let a bufy fool a fecret know,
A fecret gripes him till he lets it go:
Words are like bullets, and we wish in vain,
When once discharg'd, to call them back again.
Defend, dear SPENCE, the honeft and the civil,
But to cry up a rafcal-that's the devil.
Who guards a good man's character, 'tis known,
At the fame time protects and guards his own.
For as with houfes 'tis with people's names,
A fhed may fet a palace all on flames;
The fire neglected on the cottage preys,
But mounts at last into a general blaze.
'Tis a fine thing, fome think, a lord to know; I wish his tradefmen could but think fo too.
He gives his word then all your hopes are gone:
He gives his honour-then you're quite undone.
His and fome women's love the fame are found,
You rafhly board a fireship and are drown'd.
Moft folks fo partial to themselves are grown,
They hate a temper diff'ring from their own.
The grave abhor the gay, the gay the fad,
And formalifts pronounce the witty mad:
The fot, who drinks fix bottles in a place,
Swears at the flinchers who refuse their glass.
Would you not pafs for an ill-natur'd man,
Comply with ev'ry humour that you can.
X x 2
POPE will inftruct you how to pass away
Your time like him, and never lose a day;
From hopes or fears your quiet to defend,
To all mankind as to yourself a friend,
And facred from the world, retir'd, unknown,
To lead a life with morals like his own.
WHEN to delicious Pimperne I retire,
What greater blifs, my SPENCE, can I defire?
Contented there my eafy hours I spend
With maps, globes, books, my bottle and a friend.
There can I live upon my income still,
E'en though the house should pass the quakers bill:
Yet to my share should some good prebend fall,
I think myself of fize to fill a ftall.
For life or wealth let heav'n my lot affign,
A firm and even foul fhall ftill be mine.
On taking a BATCHELOR'S DEGREE.
In allufion to HORACE, Book iii. Ode 30.
Exegi monumentum ære perennius, &c.
"TIS done:I tow'r to that degree,
And catch fuch heav'nly fire,
That HORACE nee'r could rant like me,
Nor is (a) King's-chapel higher.
My name in fure recording page
(b) Shall time itself o'erpow'r,
If no rudè mice with envious rage
The buttery books devour.
(a) Regali fitu pyramidum altius
(b) Quod non innumerabilis
Annorum feries, &c.
A title too, with added grace,
My name shall now attend,
(c) Till to the church with filent pace
A nymph and prieft afcend.
Ev'n in the fchools I now rejoice,
Where late I fhook with fear,
Nor heed the (d) Moderator's voice
Loud thund'ring in my ear.
Then with (e) Eolian flute I blow
A foft Italian lay,
Or where (f) Cam's fcanty waters flow,
Releas'd from lectures, ftray.
Meanwhile, friend† BANKS, my merits claim
Their juft reward from you,
For HORACE bids us (g) challenge fame,
When once that fame's our due.
Inveft me with a graduate's gown,
Midft fhouts of all beholders,
(b) My head with ample square-cap crown,
And deck with hood my fhoulders.
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