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With royal favourites in Aattery vie,
He past it o'er; affects an caly smile And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.
At all my peevishness, and turns his style. He spies me out; I whisper, Gracious God! He asks, “ What news ?" I tell him of new playo, What fin of mine could merit such a rod?
New eunuchs, harlequins, and operas. That all the shot of dulness now muit be
He hears, and as a ftill with simples in it, From this thy blunderbuss discharg'd on me ! Between each drop it gives, stays half a minute, Permit (he cries) no ftranger to your fame Loth to enrich me with too quick replies, To crave your sentiment, if 's your name. By little, and by little, drops his lies. (shows, What speech esteem you most? « The king's," Mere household crash: of birthnights, balls, and said I.
More than ten Hollinsheds, or Halls, or Stows. But the beft words !-- Sir, the dictionary." When the queen frown'd, or (mild, he knows; and You miss my aim ! I mean the most acute
what And perfect speaker ?" Onflow, paft dispute." A subtle minister may make of that: But, Sir, of writers ? “ Swift, for closer style, Who sins with whom : who got his penfion rug, “ But Hoadly for a period of a mile."
Or quicken'd a reversion by a drug : Why yes, 'tis granted, chefe indeed may pass : Whose place is quarter'd out, three parts in four, Good common linguists, and so Panurge was; And whether to a bishop, or a whore : Nay troth th’apoltles (though perhaps too rough) | Who, having lost his credit, pawn'd his rent, Had once a pretty gift of tongues enough : Is therefore fit to have a government : Yet these were all poor gentlemen! I dare Who, in the secret, deals in stocks secure, Affirm, 'twas travel made them what they were. And cheats th' unknowing widow and the poor :
Thus, others talents having nicely shown, Who makes a trust of charity a job, He came by fure transition to his own :
And gets an act of parliament to rob : Till I cry'd out, You prove yourself so able, Why turnpikes rise, and now no cit nor clown Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel; Can gratis see the country, or the town : For had they found a linguist half so good, Shortly no lad shall chuck, or lady vole, I make no question but the tower had stood. But some cxcising courtier will have toll.
“ Obliging Sir! for courts you sure were made: He tells what ftrumpet plates sells for life, " Why then for ever bury'd in the shade ? What 'squire his lands, what citizen his wife : “ Spirits like you, should see and should be seen, At last (which proves him wiser ftill than all) "The king would smile on you-cat least the What lady's face is not a whited wall. " queen.”
As one of Woodward's pacients, fick, and fore, Ah, gentie Sir! you courtiers so cajole us I puke, I nauseate,---yet he thrusts in more: But Tully has it, “ Nunquam minus folus." Trims Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part, And as for courts, forgive me, if I say
And talks gazettes and postboys o'er by heart. No lessons now are taught the Spartan way : Like a big wife at sight of lochsome mcac Though in his piąures lust be full display'd, Ready to calt, 1 yawn, 1 ligh, and (weal. Few are the converts Aretine has made;
Then as a licens:d (py, whom nothing can And though the court show vicc exceeding clear, Silence or hurt, he libels every man; None thould, by my advice, learn virtue there. Swears every place entail'd for years to come,
At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes, In sure succession to the day of doom : Squeaks like a high stretch'd luteftriug, andreplies: He names the price for every office paid, " Oh, 'tis the sweeteit of all earthly things And says our wars chrive ill, because delay'd; " To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings !" Nay hints, 'tis by connivance of the court, Then, happy man who shows the tombs ! said I, That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a port. He dwells amidit the royal family;
Not more amazement seiz'd on Circe's guests, He every day from king to king can walk, To see themselves fall headlong into beasts, Of all Harries, all our Edwards talk ;
Than mine to find a subje& ftay'd and wisc And get, by speaking truth of monarchs dead, Already half turn'd traitor by surprise. What few can of the living, case and bread. I felt th' infe&ion flide from him to me; " Lord, Sir, a mere mechanic! frangely low, As in the pox, some give it to get free; “ And coarse of phrase --your English all are so. And quick to swallow me, methought I Cave “ How elegant your Frenchman!" Mine, d'ye One of our giant ftatues ope its jaw. mean?
In that nice moment, as another Lye I have but one ; I hope the fellow's clean, Stood just a-uilt, the minister came by. " Oh! Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die,
To him he flies, and bows, and bows again, " Your only wearing is your paduasoy."
Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train. Not, Sir, my only, i have better still,
Not Fannius' self more impudently near, And this you see is but my difhabille
When half his nose is in his prince's ear. Wild to get lonfe, his patience I provoke, I quak'd at heart; and, fill afraid to see Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.
All the court fill'd with stranger things than he, But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more, Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail, And itch moft hurts when anger'd to a fore; And dreads more adions, hurries from a jail. So when you plague a fool, 'tis ftill the curse, Bear me, some God! oh quickly bear nte hence You only make the matter worse and worse. To whulelome folitude, the ausle of lense;
Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings, 'Twould burit even Heraclitus with the spleen,
See then survey their limbs by Durer's rules,
Or should one pound of powder less bespread Care, if a livery'd lord or smile or frown? Those monkey tails that wag behind their head! Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
Thus finish'd, and corrected to a hair, Tremble before a noble serving man!
They march, 10 prate their hour before the fair. O my fair mistress, Truch! shall I quit thee So first to preach a white-gk v'd chaplain goes, For huffing, braggart, puft nobility?
With band of lily, and with cheek of rose, Thou, who fince yesterday haft rollid o'er all Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim, The busy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Neatness itself impertinent in him. Haft thou, oh fun! beheld an emptier fort, Let but the ladies (mile, and they are bleft: Than such as swell this bladder of a court? Prodigious! how the things proteft, protest ! Now pox on those who show a court in wax! Peace, fools, or Gonson will for Papists seize you, It ought to bring all courtiers on their backs; If once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu! Such painted puppets' such a varnish'd race Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Of hollow gewgaws, only dress and face ! Just as one beauty mortifies another. Such waxen noses, stately staring things But here's the captain that will plague them both, No wonder some folks bow, and think them kings. Whose air cries arm! whose very looks an oath : Sce! where the Bririth youth, engag'd no The captain's honest, Sirs, and that's enough, more,
Though his soul's bullet, and his body buff. At Fig's at White's, with felons, or a whore, He spits fore-right ; his haughty chest before, Pay their last duty to the court, and come Like battering rams, beats open every door : All fresh and fragrant, to the drawing-room ;
And with a face as red, and as awry, In hues as gay, and odours as divine,
As Herod's hangdogs in old tapeftry, As the fair fields they fold to look so fine. Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse, « That's velvet for a king !" the flatterer swears; Has yet a strange ambition to look worse : 'Tis true, for ten days hence 'will be King Lear's. Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe, Our court may julliy to our stage give rules, Jelts like a licens'd fool, commands like law. That helps it both to fool's-coats and to fools. Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so And why not players frut in courtiers clothes? As men from jails to execution go; For these are adors too, as well as those : For hung with deadly fins I see the wall, Wants reach all states : they beg but better drest, and lın'd with giants deadlier than them all : And all is fplendid poverty at best
Each man an askapart, of strength to toss Painted for fight, and elleoc'd for the fmell, For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross. Like frigates fraught with spice and cochincal, Scar'd at the grizly forms, i swear, I fly, Sail in the ladies : how cach pirate eyes
And shake all o'er, like discover'd spy. So weak a vessel, and so rich a prize!
Courts are too much for wits so weak as mine: Top-gallant he, and the in all her trim,
Charge them with Heaven's artillery, bold diHe boarding her, she striking fail to him :
vine: * Dear Countess! you have charnas all hearts to From such alone the great rebukes endure, " hit !"
Whose fatire's sacred, and whose rage secure : And " Sweet Sir Fopling' you have fo much 'Tis mine to wash a few light sains; but theirs * wit."
To deluge sin, and drown a court in cears. Such wits and beauties are not prais’d for nought, Howe'er, what's now Apocrypha, my wit, For both the beauty and the wit are bough:. lo cime to come, may pass for holy writ.
EPILOGUE TO THE SATIRES.
IN TWO DIALOGUES.
WRITTEN IN 1738.
Would he oblige me! let me only find,
He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt; Fr. Not twice a twelvemonth you appear in print, The only difference is, I dare laugh out. And when it comes, the court see nothing in't. F. Why yes : with scripture itill you may be You grow correct, that once with rapture writ,
free; And are, besides, too moral for a wit,
A horse-laugh, if you please, at honesty; Decay of parts, alas! we all must feel
A joke on Jekyil, or fume odd old Whig, Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal ! Who never chang'd his principle, or wig ; 'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye A parrior is a fool in every age, Said. “ Tories cail'd him Whig, and Whigs a Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the stage : “ Tory;
These nothing hurts; they keep their fashion fill, And taught his Romans, in much better metre, And wear their strange old virtue, as they will. “ To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter." If any alk you,
“ Who's the man, so near But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice; “ His prince, that writes in verse, and has his Bubo observes, he lah'd no sort of vice :
But were his verses vile, his whisper bare,
Laugh then at any, but at fools or foes; Could please at court, and make Augustus smile : These you but anger, and you mend not those. An artful manager, that crepe between 21 Laugh at your friends, and if your friends are fore, His friend and shame, and was a kind of screen. So much the better, you may laugh the more. But 'laith your very friends will soon be fore; To vice and fully to confine the jelt, Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest; And where's the glory? 'will be only thaught Did not the sneer of more impartial men The great man never offer'd you a groat,
At ferse and virtue balance all again.
60 Go see Sir Robert
Judicious wits spread wide the ridicule,
And charitably comfort knave and fool.
P. Dear Sir, forgive the prejudice of youth: Seen him I have, but in his happier hour
Adicu distinction, facire, warmth, and truth!
The flowers of Bubo, and the flow of Young !
And all the well-whipp'd cream of courtly sense,
Thae first was H-vy's, F-'s next, and then, 71 You don't, I hope, pretend to quit the trade, The S-te's, and then H-vy's once agen. Because you think your reputation made : O come, that easy Ciceronian style, Like good Sir Paul, of whom so much was said, So Latin, yet so English all the while, That when his name was up, he lay a-bed. As, though the pride of Middleton and Bland, Come, come, refreth us with a livelier song, All boys may read, and girls may underland! Or, like Sir Paul, you'll lie a bed too long. Then might I fing, without the leait offence, P. Sir, what I write, should be corre&ly writ. And all I sung thould be the nation's sense ; 1. Correct ! 'tis what no genius can admit. Or teach the melancholy muse to mourd, Besides, you grow leo moral for a wt.
Hang the fad verle on Carolina's urn,
And hal her passage to the realms of reft, Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,
Vice is undone, if the forgets her birth,
And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth: And let, a God's name, every fool and knave But 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore; Be grac'd through life, and flatter'd in his grave. Let greatness own her, and she's mean no more,
F. Why so? if satire knows its time and place, Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess, You fill may lash the greatest-in disgrace : Chalte matrons praise her,and grave bishops bless; For merit will by turns forsake them all;
In golden chains the willing world she draws, Would you know when ? exactly when they fall. And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws; But let all facire in all changes spare
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, Immortal S-k, and grave De-se.
And sees pale virtue carted in her Itead. 150 Silent and soft, as saints remov'd to heaven, Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal cas, Al ties diffolv'd, and every sin forgiven,
Old England's genius, rough with many a scar, These may fome gentle ministerial Wing
Dragg'd in the dust! his arms hang idly round, Receive, and place for ever near a king! (port, His flag inverted trails along the ground! There, where no paflion, pride, or shame trans Our youth, all livery'd o'er with foreign gold, Lulld with the sweet Nepenthe of a court; Before her dance : behind her, crawl the old ! There, where no father's, brother's, friend's dif Sec thronging millions to the pagod run, grace
[place : And offer country, parent, wife, or fon! (claim, Once break their rest, or fir them from their Heat her black trumpet through the land proBet pas the sense of human miseries,
That Not to be corrupted is tbe foame. All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes; In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in power, No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb, 'Tis avarice all, ambition is no more! Save when they lose a question, or a job.
See, all our nobles begging to be flaves ! P. Good Heaven forbid, that I hould blast See, all our fools aspiring to be knavesi their glory,
The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore,
At crimes that 'Icape, or triumph o'er the law : Considering what a gracious prince was next. While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decryHave I, in filent wonder seen such things
“ Nothing is sacred now but villany." 170 As pride in flaves, and avarice in kings;
Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain) And at a peer, or peeress, fall i fret,
Show there was one who held it in dildain.
Fr. 'Tis all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will say.
And for that very cause I print to-day. Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a will? How should I fret to mangle every line,, Is it for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things?)
In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine! To pay their debis, or keep their faith, like kings? Vice with such giane-trides comes on amain, lf Blount dispatch'd himself, he play d the man; Invention strives to be before in vain; And so mayit thou, illustrious Pufferan!
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong, But shall a printer, weary of his life, (wife? Some rising genius fins up to my fong. l.carn, from their books, to hang himfelf and Te yet one but you by name'eine guilty lash! This, this, my friend. I cannot, must not bear ;
Even Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash.
Spare then the person, and expose the vice.
P. How, Sir! noč damo the sharper, but the 130
dice? Let modest Foder, if he will, excell
Come on then, sacire! general, unconfin'd, Ten metropolitans in preaching well;
Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind. A imple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,
Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all! Outdo Landaffe in doctrine,-yea in life : Ye tradesmen, vile in army, court, or hall! let humble Allen, with an aukward shame, Ye reverend Atheists. F. Scandal! name them, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame;
Who? Virtae may choose the high or low degree, 'Tis juft alike to vircue, and to me;
P. Why that's the thing you bid me n't to do.
I never nam'd; the town's inquiring yet,
The poisoning dame-F. You mean—P. I don't.
F. You do.
P. See, now I keep the secret, and not you! 4
The bribing statesman-F. Hold, too high you go. How can I Pultney, Chesterheld forget,
Argyll, the state's whole thunder born to wield,
1 their train; Suppose I censure you know what I mean And if yet higher the proud lift should end, To save a bishop, may I name a dean?
Still let me say: No follower, but a friend. F A dean, Sir ? no; his fortune is not made, Yes think not, friendship only prompts my layı: You hurt a man that's rising in the trade.
I follow virtue; where the thines, ' praise ;
Point the to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Din'd with the Man of Ross, or my Lord Mayor. Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild; Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not Or, if a court or country's made a job,
But, Sir, I beg you, (for the love of vice!) To find an honest man, 1 beat about;
F. Then why so few commended ?
P. Not fo fierce; Alas! the small discredit of a bribe
Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse. Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe. But random praise-the talk can ne'er be done : Then better sure it charity becomes
Each mother alks it for her booby son, To tax directors, who (thank God) havc plums; Each widow afks it for the best of men, Still better, ministers; or, if the thing So For him she weeps, for him the weds again, May pinch ev'n there-why lay it on a king, Praise cannot stoop, like satire, to the ground : 110 F. Stop: ftop!
| The number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd. P. Must satire, then, nor risc nor fall? Enough for half the greatest of these days, Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all. To 'scape my censure, not expect my praise.
F. Yes, Itrike that Wild, I'll justify the blow, Are they not rich? what more can they pretend? P. Strike ? why the man was hang'd ten years Dare they to hope a poet for their friend? ago:
What Richelicu wanted, Louis scarce could gain, Who now that obfolete example fears?
i And what young Ammon wish'd, but with'din vain. Ev'r Peter tren bles only for his ears. 58 No power the muse's friendship can command;
F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, No power, when virtue claims it, can withstand: You make men desperate, if they once are bad : To Cato, Virgil paid one honest line ; 120 Else might he take to virtue some years hence Olet my country's friend illumine mine! (no fin,
P: As S-k, if he lives, will love the prince. -What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's F. Strange spleen to S-k!
I think your friends are out, and would be in. P. Do I wrong the man? P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, God knows, I praise a courtier where I can. The way they take is strangely round about. When I confess, there is who feels for fame, F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow ? ; And melts to goodness, need I Scarborow name? P. I only call those knaves who are so now. Pleas'd let me own, in Ether's peaceful grove Is that too little? Come then, I'll comply(Where Kent and nature vie for Pelham's love) Spirit of Arnall! aid mc while I lie. The scene, the master, opening to my view, Cbham's a coward, Polwarth is a llave,
130 I sit and dream I ke my craggs anew!
And Lyttelton a dark, designing knave; Ev'n in a bishop I can spy desert :
70 St. John has ever been a mighty fool -Secker is decent; Rundel has a heart;
But let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull, Manners with candour are to Benson given ; Has never made a friend in private life, To Berkley, every virtue under heaven.
And was, besides, a tyrant to his wife. But does the court a worthy man remove ? But pray, when others praise him; do I blame? That instant, I declare, he has my love :
Call Verres, Wolsey, any odious name? I thun bis zenith, court his mild decline ;
Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine, Thus Sommers once, and Halifax, were mine. O all-accomplish'd St. Joho! deck thy fhrine, Oft, in the clear, ftill mirror of retreat,
What ? thall each spur-galld hackney of the day, I ftudy'd Shrewsbury, the wife and great; 79 | When Paxton gives him double pots and pay, 141 Carleion's calm sense, and Stanhope's noble flame, Or each new.pension'd fycophant, pretend Compar'd, and knew their generous end the same: To break my windows if I treat a friend; How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour!
Then wisely plead, to me they meant no hurt, How Inin'd the foul, unconquer'd in the tower! But 'twas my guest at whom they threw the dirt