Not Fortune's worshipper, nor Fashion's fool,
Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor fervile; be one Poet's Praise,
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways:
That Flattery, e'en to Kings, he held a fhame,
And thought a Lie in verfe or profe the fame;
That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But ftoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his fong:
That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end,
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half-approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Laugh'd at the lofs of friends he never had,
The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;"
The diftant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv'd, the lie fo oft o'erthrown,
Th' imputed trath, and dullness not his own;
The morals blacken'd when the writings 'fcape,
The libel'd perfon, and the pictur'd thape;
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, fpread,
A friend in exile, or a father dead;
The whisper, that, to greatness still too near,
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his Sovereign's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past:
For thee, fair Virtue welcome e'en the last!
Let the two Curlls of Town and Court, abufe 380
335 His father, moilier, body, foul and mufe.
Yet why? that Father held it for a rule,
It was a fin to call our neighbour fool:
That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore:
Hear this, and fpare his family, James Moore! 385
340 Unfpotted names, and memorable long!
If there be force in Virtue, or in Song.
Of gentle blood (part fhed in Honour's caufe,
While yet in Britain Honour had applause)
Each parent fprung-A. What fortune, pray ?-P.
Their own.
.390
And better got, than Beftia's from the throne.
Born to no Pride, inheriting no Strife,
Nor marrying discord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.
No Courts he faw, no fuits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an Oath, por hazarded a Lie.
Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
355 Na language, but the language of the heart.
By Nature honeft, by Experience wife!
Healthy by temperance, and by exercife;
His life, though long, to fickness past unknown,
His death was inftant, and without a groan..
3600 grant me thus to live, and thus to die!
Who fprung from Kings shall know lefs joy than I,
A. But why infult the poor, affront the great?
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in every state:
Alike my fcorn, if he fucceed or fail,
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail';,
A hireling fcribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the poft corrupt, or of the fhire;
If on a Pillory, or near a Throne,
He gain his Prince's car, or lofe his own.
Yet foft by nature, more a dupe than wit,
Sappho can tell you how this man was bit:
This dreaded Sat'rift Dennis will confefs
Foe to his pride, but friend to his difirefs:
So humble, he has knocked at Thibba'd's door,
Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor.
Full ten years lander'd, did he once reply?
Three thousand funs went down on Welfted's fic.
To please hie miftrefs, one afpers' ħiš life; ̧
He lafh'd him not, but let her be his wife:
Let Budgell charge low Grug-fleet on his quill,
And write whate er he pleas'd, except his Will;
O Friend! may each domeftic blifs be thine! Be no unpleafing Melancholy mine:
365 Me, let the tender office long engage,
To rock the cradle of repofing Age,
With lenient arts extend a Mother's breath,
Make Languor fmile, and smooth the bed of Death,"
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep a while one parent from the sky!
On cares like thefe if length of days attend,
May Heaven, to blefs thofe days, preferve my friend,
Preferve him focial, chearful, and ferene,
And just as rich as when he ferv'd a Queen!
A Whether that bleffing be deny'd or given,."
Thus far was right, the reft belongs to Heaven.
I love to pour out all myself, as plain
As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne :
In them, as certain to be lov'd as feen,
The Soul food forth, nor kept a thought within;
In me what fpots (for fpots I have) appear, 55
Will prove at least the Medium must be clear.
In this impartial glafs, my Mufe intends
HERE are (I fcarce can think it, but am Fair to expofe myfelf, my foes, my friends
There are, to whom my Satire seems too hold:
Scarce to wife Peter complaifant enough,
And fomething faid of Chartres much too rough.
The lines are weak, another pleas'd to say,
Lord Fanny fpins a thousand fuch a day.
Timorous by nature, of the Rich in awe,
I come to Council learned in the Law:
You'll give me, like a friend both fage and free,
Advice; and (as you use) without a Fee.
P. Not write? but then I think,
And for my foul I cannot fleep a wink.
I nod in company, I wake at night,
Fools rufh into my head, and fo I write.
Publifh the prefent age; but where my text
is Vice too high, referve it for the next:
My foes fhall with my life a longer date,
And every friend the lefs lament my fate.
5My head and heart thus flowing through my quill,
Verfman or Profeman, term me what you will,
Papift or Proteftant, or both between,
Like good Erafmus in an honest mean,
In moderation placing all my glory,
Io While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Satire 's my weapon, but I 'm too difercet
To run a-muck, and tilt at all I meet;
F. You could not do a worfe thing for your life.
Why, if the nights feem tedious-take a wife;
Or rather truly, if your point be rest,
Lettuce and cowl p wine; "Probatum eft."
But talk with Celfus, Celfus will advise
Hartshorn, or something that shall close your eyes.
Or, if you needs muft write, write Cæfar's Praife,
You'll gain at least a Knighthood, or the Bays.
P. What? like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough and
fierce,
I only wear it in a land of Hectors,
Thieves, Supercargoes, Sharpers, and Directors.
Save but our army! and let Jove incrust
Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!
Peace is my dear delight-not Fleury's more: 75
But touch me, and no minifter fo fore.
Whoe'er offends, at fome unlucky time
Slides into verfe, and hitches-in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the fad burthen of fome merry fong.
Slander or Poifon dread from Delia's rage;
Hard words or hanging, if your Judge be Page.
From furious Sappho fcarce a milder fate,
P-x'd by her love, or libell'd by her hate.
Its proper power to hurt, each creature feels: 85
Bulls aim their horns, and Affes lift their heels ;
Tis a Bear's talent not to kick, but hug;
And no man wonders he's not stung by Pug.
and So drink with Walters, or with Chartres cat,
They'll never poifon you, they'll only cheat. 90
With Arms and George and Brunswick crowd the
verfe,
Rend with tremendous found your ears afunder,
With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbufs,
Thunder?
Or nobly wild, with Budgell's fire and force,
Paint Angels trembling round his falling Horfe?
F. Then all your Mufe's fofter art display,
Let Carolina fmooth the tuneful lay,
Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine,
And sweetly flow through all the Royal Line.
P. Alas! few verses touch their nicer ear;
They scarce can bear their Laureate twice a year;
And justly Cæfar fcorns the Poet's lays,
It is to Hiftory he trufts for Praife.
F. Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still,
Than ridicule all Tafte, blafpheme Quadrilie,
Abuse the City's beft good men in metre,
And laugh at Peers that put their truft in Feter.
Ev'n thofe you touch not, hate you.
P. What should ail 'em?
F. A hundred fmart in Timon and in Balaam :
The fewer ftill you name, you wound the more;
Bond is but one, but Harpax is a feore.
P. Each mortal has his pleasure: none deny
Scarfdale his Bottle, Darty his Ham-pye';
Ridotta fips and dances, till she
The doubling Luftres dance as faft as the:
F-loves the Senate, Hockleyhole his brother,
Like in all eife, as one Egg to another.
Then, learned Sir! (to cut the matter short) Whate'er my fate, or well or ill at Court; Whether Old-age, with faint but chearful ray, 30 Atrends to gild the Evening of my day,
Or Death's black wing already be display'd,
To wrap me in the univerfal fhade;
Whether the darken'd room to muse invite,
Or whiten'd wall provoke the skewer to write:
35 In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint,
Like Lee or Budgell, I will rhyme and print. ICO
F. Alas, young man! your days can ne'er be
long,
In flower of Age you perifh for a fong!
40 Plums and Directors, Shylock and his Wife,
Will club their Tefters, now, to take your life!
P. What? arm'd for Virtue when I point the
pen,
Brand the bold front of fhameless guilty men ;
Dafh the proud Gamefter in his gilded Car;
Bare the mean Heart that lurks beneath a Star;
Can there be wanting, to defend Her cause,
Lights of the Church, or Guardians of the Laws?
Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave
Shall walk the World, in credit, to his grave.
To Virtue only and her friends a Friend,
The World befide may murmur, or commend.
Know, all the distant din that world can keep,
Rolls o'er my Grotto, and but fooths my sleep.
There, my retreat the best Companions grace,
125
Chiefs out of war, and Statesmen out of place..
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl
The Feaft of Reason and the Flow of foul:
And He, whofe lightning pierc'd th' Iberian Lines,
Now forms my Quincunx, and now ranks my
Vines;
Or tames the Genius of the ftubborn plain,
Almoft as quickly as he conquer'd Spain.
Envy muft own, I live among the Great,
No Pimp of pleasure, and no Spy of state;
With eyes that pry not, tongue that ne'er repeats
Fond to spread friendships, but to cover heats;
To help who want, to forward who excel;
This, all who know me, know; who love
tell i
Not when a gilt Buffet's reflected pride
Turns you from found Philofophy afide;
Not when from plate to plate your eye-balls roll,
And the brain dances to the mantling bowl
Hear Bethel's Sermon, one not vers'd in fchools,
But Atrong in fenfe, and wife without the rules. 10
Go work, hunt, exercife! (he thus began)
Then fcorn a homely dinner, if you can.
Your wine lock'd up, your Butler stroll'd abroad,
Or fish deny'd (the river yet unthaw'd),
If then plain bread and milk will do the feat,
The pleafure lies in you, and not the meat.
Preach as I please, I doubt our curious men
Will choose a pheasant ftill before a hen ;
Yet hens of Guinea full as good I hold,
Except you eat the feathers green and gold.
Of carps and mullets why prefer the great,
(Though cut in pieces ere my Lord can eat)
Yet for ímall Turbots fuch esteem profess?
Because God made these large, the other lefs.
Oldfield, with more than Harpy throat endued, 25
Cries," Send me, Gods! a whole Hog barbe-
Oh blaft it, South-winds! till a ftench exhale
Rank as the ripenefs of a rabbit's tail.
By what Criterion do you eat, d'ye think,
If this is priz'd for fweetnefs, that for ftink? 30
When the tir'd glutton labours through a treat,
He finds no relish in the sweetest meat,
He calls for fomething bitter, fomething four,
And the rich feast concludes extremely poor :
Cheap eggs, and herbs, and olives, ftill we fee; 35
140 Thus much is left of old Simplicity!
The Robin-red-breaft till of late had reft,
And children facred held a Martin's neft,
Till Beccaficos fold fo dev'lish dear
To one that was, or would have been, a Peer. 40 145 Let me extol a Cat, on oyfters fed,
And who unknown defame me, let them be
Scribblers or Peers, alike are Mob to me.
This is my Plea, on this I rest my cause→
What faith my Council, learned in the laws?
F. Your Plea is good; but still I say, beware!
Laws are explain'd by men-so have a care.
It stands on record, that in Richard's times
A man was hang'd for very honest rhymes;
Confult the Statute, " quart." I think, it is,
"Edwardi fext." or "prim. et quint. Eliz."
See Libels, Satires-here you have it-read.
P. Libels and Satires! lawiefs things indeed!
But grave Epistles, bringing Vice to light,
Such as a King might read, a Bishop write,
Such as Sir Robert would approvVE--
I'll have a Party at the Bedford-head;
Or ev'n to crack live Crawfish recommend;
I'd never doubt at Court to make a friend.
'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother
About one vice, and fall into the other:
Between Excefs and Famine lies a mean;
Plain, but not fordid; though not fplendid, clean.
Avidien, or his Wife, (no matter which
F. Indeed? For him you 'll call a dog, and her a bitch)
155 Sell their prefented partridges, and fruits,
And humbly live on rabbits, and on roots:
One half-pint bottle ferves them both to dine,
And is at once their vinegar and wine.
The Cafe is alter'd-you may then proceed;
In fuch a cafe the Plaintiff will be hifs'd,
My Lords the judges laugh, and you're dismiss'd.
But on fome lucky day (as when they found
A loft Bank bill, or heard their fon was drown'd),
At fuch a feaft, old vinegar to spare,
Is what two fouls fo generous cannot bear :
Oil, though it ftink, they drop by drop impart,
But fowfe the cabbage with a bounteous heart. 60
He knows to live, who keeps the middle state,
And neither leans on this fide, nor on that;
Nor ftops, for one bad cork, his butler's pay,
Swears, like Albutius, a good cook away;
Nor lets, like Nævius, every error pass,
THAT, and how great, the Virtue and the The mufty wine, foul cloth, or greafy glass.
To live on little with a cheerful heart;
(A doctrine fage, but truly none of mine)
Let's talk, my friends, but talk before we dine,
Now hear what bleffings Temperance can bring: (Thus faid our friend, and what he said I fing) First Health: The ftomach (cramm'd from every dish, A tomb of beil'd and roast, and fliesh and fish, 70
Where bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar,
And all the man is one inteftine war)
Remembers oft the School-boy's fimple fare,
>The temperate fleeps, and spirits light as air.
How pale, each Worshipful and Reverend guest
75
Rife from a Clergy, or a City feaft!
What life in all that ample body, fay?
What heavenly particle infpires the clay?
The Soul fubfides, and wickedly inclines
To feem but mortal, ev'n in found Divines.
And who stands safest? tell me, is it he
That fpreads and fwells in puff'd Profperity,
Or bleft with little, whofe preventing care
In peace provides fit arms against a war?
Thus BETHEL spoke, who always speaks his
thought,
And always thinks the very thing he ought:
His equal mind I copy what I can,
And as I love, would imitate the Man. In South-fea days not happier, when furmis'd 80 The Lord of thousands, and if now Excis'd;
On morning wings how active springs the Mind In forest planted by a Father's hand,
That leaves the load of yesterday behind!
How eafy every labour it purfues!
How coming to the Poet every Mufe!
Not but we may exceed, fome holy time,
Or tir'd in fearch of Truth, or fearch of Rhyme;
Ill health fome just indulgence may engage;
And more the fickness of long life, Old-age;
For fainting Age what cordial drop remains,
If our intemperate Youth the veffel drains?
Our fathers prais'd rank Ven'fon.
Than in five acres now of rented land.
Content with little 1 can piddle here
On brocoli and mutton, round the year;
85 But ancient friends (though poor, or out of play)
That touch my bell, I cannot turn away.
I is true, no Turbots dignify my boards,
But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords :
To Hounflow-heath I point, and Bansted-down,
go Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my
pofe,
Perhaps, young men! our fathers had no nose.
Not fo: a Buck was then a week's repast,
And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it laft;
More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could
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Than eat the sweetest by themselves at home.
Why had not I in these good times my birth,
Ere coxcomb pyes or coxcombs were on earth?
Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear,
That sweetest music to an honeft ear;
(For 'faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong,
'The world's good word is better than a fong)
Who has not learn'd,' fresh sturgeon and ham-pye
Are no rewards for want, and infamy!
When Luxury has lick'd up all thý pelf,
Curs'd be thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself,
To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame,
Think how pofterity will treat thy name;
And buy a rope, that future times may tell
Thou haft at least bestow'd one penny well.
"Right, cries his Lordship, for a rogue
need
"To have a tafte, is infolence indeed: -
"In me 'tis noble, fuits my birth and state,
"My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great.”
Then, like the Sun, let Bounty fpread her
And shine that fuperfluity away.
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From yon old walnut-tree a shower shall fall; 145
And grapes, long-lingering on my only wall,
And figs from standard and efpalier join;
The devil is in you if you cannot dine :
Then chearful healths (your Mistress shall have
place);
And, what's more rare, a Poet fhall fay Grace. 150
Fortune not much of humbling me can boast:
Though double tax'd, how little have I loft!
My Life's amufements have been just the same,
Before, and after Standing Armies came.
My lands are fold, my father's houfe is gone; 155
I'll hire another's? is not that my own,
And yours, my friends? through whose free opening
gate
None comes too early, none départs too late; (For I, who hold fage Homer's rule the beft, Welcome the coming, fpeed the going gueft.) 160 "Pray heaven it laft! (cries Swift) as you go on; "I wish to God this houfe had been your own : "Pity! to build, without a fon or wife;' in "Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life.*** Well, if the ufe be mine, can it concern one, 165 Whether the rame belong to Pope or Vernon ? What's Property? dear Swift! you fee it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter ; ray, Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's fhare; 115 Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir;
Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy store,
How dar'ft thou let one worthy man be poor?
Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall?
Make Quays, build Bridges, or repair Whitehall
Or to thy Country let that heap be lent,
As Mo's was, but not at five per cent.
Who thinks that Fortune cannot change
mind,
Prepares a dreadful jeft for all mankind,
And Hemley, once proud Buckingham's delight, her Slides to a Scrivener, or a City Knight.
Let lands and houses what lords they will,
Let Us be fix'd, and our own mafter's ftill.
Not to go back, is fomewhat to advance,
And men must walk at least before they dance.`
Şay, does thy blood rebel, thy bofom move
With wretched Avarice, or as wretched Love?
Know, there are Words, and Spells, which can
controul
T. JOHN, whofe love indulg my labours paft, Matures my prefent, and hall bound my lan? Why will you break the fabbath of my days? Now fick alike of Envy and of Praife. Public too long, ab let me hide any age! See modeft Cibber now has left the Stage: Our Generals now, retir'd to their Eftates," Hang their Old Trophies o'er the Garden gates, In Life's cool Evening fatiate of Applaufe, Nor fond of bleeding, ev'n in BRUNSWICK'S caufe. A voice there is, that wh.fpers in my ear, ('Tis Reafon's voice, which fometimes one can hear)
"Friend Pope! be prudent, let your Mufe "breath,
"And never gallop Pegasus to death; "Left ftiff, and ftately, void of fire or force, "You limp, like Blackmore, on a Lord Mayor's horfe."
Farewell then Verfe, and Love, and every Toy,
The Rhymes and Rattles of the Man or Boy;
What right, what true, what fit we juftly call,
Let this be all my care-for this is All:
To lay this harvest up, and hoard with hafte,
What every day will want, and moft, the lait.
But afk not, to what Doctors I apply?
Sworn to no Mafter, of no Sect am I:
As drives the ftorm, at any door I knock,
And houfe with Montagne now, or now
Locke:
Sometimes a Patriot, active in debate,
Mix with the World, and battle for the State,
Free as young Lyttelton, her caufe pursue,
Still true to Virtue, and as warm as true :
Sometimes with Ariftippus, or St. Paul,
Indulge my candour, and grow all to all;
Back to my native Moderation flide,
And win my way by yielding to the tide.
'Tis the firft 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 fmall Estate. To either India fee the Merchant fly, Scar'd at the spectre of pale Poverty! See him, with pains of body, pangs of foul, Burn through the Tropic, freeze beneath the Pole! Wilt thou do nothing for a nobler end, Nothing, to make Philosophy thy friend? To ftop thy foolish views, thy long defires, And eafe thy heart of all that it admires? Here Wisdom calls: "Seek Virtue first, be bold! As Gold to Silver, Virtue is to Gold." There London's voice, "Get Money, Money ftill! "And then let Virtue follow, if the 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 sticks at Westminster.
Bernard in fpirit, fenfe, and truth abounds; 85 "Pray then, what wants he?" Fourfcore thoufand pounds?
25 A penfion, or fuch Harness for a flave with As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have. Bernard, thou art a Cit with all thy worth; But Bug and D1, Their Honours, and fo forth. go Yet every child another fong will fing,
Long, as to him who works for debt, the day, Long as the Night to her whofe Love 's away, Long as the Year's dull circle feems to run, When the brifk Minor pants for twenty-one; So flow th' unprofitable moments roll, That lock up all the Functions of the foul; That keep me from myself; and ftill delay Life's inftant bufinefs to a future day: That task, which as we follow, or defpife, The eldeft is a fool, the youngest wife: Which done, the pooreft can no wants endure; And which not done, the richest must be poor. Late as it is, I put myself to school, And feel fome comfort, not to be a fool. Weak though 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. VOL. VI.
Virtue, brave boys! 'tis Virtue makes a King." 30 True, confcious Honour, is to feel no fin, He's arm'd without that 's innocent within;. Be this thy Screen, and this thy Wall of Brafs; 95 Compar'd to this, a Minifter 's an Afs.
And fay, to which shall our applause belong, 35 This new Court jargon, or the good old fong? The modern language of corrupted Peers,
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