Nay troth th Apoftles (though perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of Tongues enough:
Yet the e were all poor Gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas Travel made them what they were.
Thus, others talents having nicely fhown, 80
He came by fure tranfition to his own:
Till Iery'd out, You prove yourself fo able,
Pity you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half to good,
I make no question but the Tower had ftood. 85
Obliging Sir! for Courts you fire were made:
"Why then for ever burv'd in the fhade?
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Spirits like you, fhould fee and fould be feen, "The King would imile on you---at least the Queen."
Ah, gentle Sir! you Courtiers fo caiole us--- 90
But Tully has it," Nunquam minus folus :”
And as for Courts, forgive me, if I say
No leffons now are taught the Spartan way:
Though in his pictures Luft be i. di play'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
Squeaks like a high-ftretch'd luteftring, and re-
plies;
"Oh, 'tis the fweetest of all earthly things "To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings!" Then, happy Man who shows the Tombs Haid I, He dwells amidst the Royal Family; He every day from King to King can walk, Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk; And get, by peaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living, Eafe and Bread. "Lord, Sir, a mere Mechanic! ftrangely low, "And coarfe of phrafe,---your English all are fo. "How elegant your Frenchmen!" Mine, d'ye!
I have but one; I hope the fellow's clean.
"Oh! Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die,
Your only wearing is your Paduatoy."
Not, Sir, my only, I have better still,
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 coarfe iron, fharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch moft hurts when anger'd to a fore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis ftill the curfe, 120
You only make the matter worse and worse.
Who, having left his credit, pawn'd his reat,
Is therefore fit to have a Government:
Who, in the fecret, deals in Stocks iecure,
Who makes a Truft of Charity a job,
And cheats th' unknowing Widow and the Pour.
And gets an Act of Parliament to rob:
Why Turnpikes rife, and now no Cit nor Clown
Can gratis tee the country, or the town:
But fome excifing Courtier will have toll.
Shortly no lad fhall chuck, or lady vole,
He tells what Strumpet places fells for life,
At laft (which proves him wifer ftill than
What 'Squire his lands, what Citizen his wife:
all)
150
What Lady's face is not a whited wall,
As one of Woodward's patients, sick, and fore,
I puke, I naufeate,---yet he thrufts in more:
Trims Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part,
And talks Gazettes and Poftboys o'er by heart. 155
Like a big wife at fight of leathiome meat
Then as a licens'd fpy, whem nothing can
Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, and sweat.
Silence or hurt, he libels every Man;
Swears every place entail'd for years to come, 160.
In fure fucceffion to the day of doom:
He names the price for every office paid,
And fays our wars thrive ill, becaufe delay'd;
Than Spain Tobson, and Dunkirk's ftill a Port. 165
Nav hints, 'tis by connivance of the Court,
Not more amazement feiz'd on Circe's guefts,
To 'ee them'elves 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:
One of our Giant Statues ope its jaw.
And quick to fwallow me methought I faw
In that nice Mement, as another Lye
Stood uft a-tilt, the Minifter came by.
To him he flies, and bows, and bows again,
Then, clole as Umbra, joins the dirty train.
Not Fannius' felf more impudently near,
115 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 faft as one that pays his bail,
And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.
He paft it o'er; affects an ealy (mile
At all my peevishnets, and turns his ftyle.
He afks," What news?" I tell him of new Plays,
New Eunuchs, Harlequins, and Operas.
He hears, and as a ftill with fimples in it,
125
Between each drop it gives, ftays half a minute,
Loth to inrich me with too quick replies,
By little, and by little, drops his lies.
Mere houfhold trash! of birthnights, balls, and
fhows,
More than ten Hollingfheds, or Halls, or Stows.
When the Queen frown'd, or fmil'd, he knows;
and what
A fubtle Minifter may make of that:
Who fins with whom : who got his Penfion rug,
Or quicken'd a Reverfion by a drug:
Whofe place is quarter'd out, three parts in four,
And whether to a Bishop, or a Whore:
Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence
To whole'ome Solitude, the hurie of Senfe; 185
Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,
There fober thought purfued th' amufing there,
And the free foul looks down to pity Kings!
Till Fancy coleur'd it, and form'd a Dream.
A Vifion hermits can to Hell transport,
And forc'd ev'n me to fee the damn'd at Court.
190
Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state,
Bale Fear becomes the guilty, not the free;
Beheld fuch fcenes of envy, fin, and hate.
Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but fuits not me: 195
Care, if a livery'd Lord or fmile or frown?
Shall I, the Terror of this finful town,
Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
O my fair mistress, Truth! fhall I quit thee 200
Tremble before a noble Serving-man?
Thou, who fince yefterday haft roll'd o'er all
For huffing, braggart, puft Nobility?
The bufy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Haft thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier fort,
Than fuch as fwell this bladder of a court?
Now pox on thofe who show a Court in wax! 205
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 noles, 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 laft duty to the Court, and come
All fresh and fragrant, to the drawing-room;215
In hues as gay, and odours as divine,
As the fair fields they fold to look so fine.
"That's velvet for a King!" the flatterer fwears;
"Tis true,
for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's.
Our Court may juftly to our stage give rules, 220
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 beft.
225
Painted for fight, and effenc'd for the smell,
Like frigates fraught with fpice and cochinell,
Sail in the Ladies: how each pirate eyes
So weak a veffel, and fo rich a prize!
Top-gallant he, and fhe in all her trim,
He boarding her, the ftriking fail to him:
"Dear Countess you have charms all hearts to
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. 235
"Twould burft even Heraclitus with the spleen,
To fee thote anticks, Fopling and Courtin:
The Prefence feems, with things fo richly odd,
The mofque of Mahmoud, or fome queer Pa-god.
See them furvey their limbs by Durer's rules, 240
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 muft diftract the foul
Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole;
Or fhould one pound of powder lefs bespread
Thofe monkey-tals 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 gues, 250
With band of Lily, and with cheek of Role,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim,
Neatness itlelf impertinent in him.
Let but the Ladies ftaile, and they are bleft:
Prodigions! how the things proteft, proteft? 255
Peace, fools, or Gon on will for Papifes icize 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,
260 Whofe air cries Arm! whofe very look's an out, The Captain's honeft, Sirs, and that 's enough, Though his foul's bullet, and his body buff. He pits fore-right; his haughty cheft before, Like battering rams, beats open every door: 265 And with a face as red, and as awry, As Herod's hangdogs in vid Tapcítry,
Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curfe, Has yet a ftrange ambition to look worse : Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe, 270 Jefts like a licens'd fɔol, 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 lin❜d with Giants deadlier than them all: 275 Each Man an Akapart, of ftrength to tofs For quoits, both Terple-bar and Charing-crofs. Scar'd at the grizly forms, I fweat, I fly, And shake all o'er, like a discover'd spy. Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine: 280
Charge them with Heaven's Artillery, bold Divine!
From fuch alone the Great rebukes endure,
Whofe Satire's faerad, and whofe rage fecure:
'Tis mine. to wash a few light ftains; but theirs
To deluge fin, and drown a Court in tears. 285
Howe'er, what's now Apocrypha, my Wit,
In time to come, may país for Holy Writ.
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FR. NOT twice a twelvemonth you appear in
Print,
And when it comes, the Court fee nothing in't.
You grow correct, that once with Rapture writ,
And are, befides, too moral for a Wit.
Decay of Parts, alas! we all muft feel---
Why new, this moment, don't I fee you steal?
'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye
Said, "Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs
Tory;"
And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
To laugh at fools who put their truft in Peter."10
But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice;
Bubo obferves, he lafh'd no fort of Vice:
Horace would fav, Sir Billy ferv'd the Crown,
Blunt could do Bufine's, Higgins knew the Town;
In Sappho torch the Failing of the Sex,
In reverend Bithops note fome fimall Neglects,
And own the Spaniard did a waggish thing,
Who cropt our Ears, and fent them to the King.
His fly, polite, in muating style
Could fleafe at Court, and make AUGUSTUS
An artful Mina er, that crent between
His Friend and Shame, and was a kind of Screen. But 'faith your very Friends will foon be fore; Patriots there are, who with you 'd jett no more-And where's the Glory? 'twill be only though: 25 The Great man never offer'd you a grost.
P. See Sir ROBERT ---hum---
And never laugh---for all my life to come?
Seen him I have, but in his happier hour
Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchang'd for Power;
Seen him, uncumber'd with a Venal tribe
Smile without Art, and win without a Bribe.
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; 35
The only difference is, I dare laugh out.
F. Why yes with Scripture ftill you may be
A Horfe-laugh, if you please, at honefty;
A Joke on JEKYLL, or fome odd Old Whig,
Who never chang'd his Principle, or Wig; 40
A Patriot is a Fool in every age,
Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage:
These nothing hurts; they keep their Fashion ftill,
And wear their strange old virtue, as they will.
If any afk you," Who's the Man fo near
"His prince, that writes in Verfe, and has his
ear?"
F. Why fo? if Satire knows its Time and Place,
You ftill may iafh the greateft ---in Difgrace :
For merit will by turns forfake them all;
Would you know when? exactly when they fall. ga
But let all Satire in all Changes fpare
Immortal S---k, and grave De- -re.
Silent and loft, as Saints remov'd to Heaven,
All Ties diffolv'd, and every fin forgiven,
Thefe may fome gentle minifterial Wing
Receive, and place for ever near a King!
There, where no Paffion, Pride, or Shame tranf
Lull'd with the fweet Nepenthe of a Court;
port,
There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's
di grace
Once break their reft, or ftir them from their
Place:
But paft the Sense of human Miferies,
No cheek is known to blufh, no heart to throb,
All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;
Save when they lofe a Queftion, or a Job.
P. Good Heaven forbid, that I fhould blaft
their glory,
Who know how like Whig Minifters to Tory,
And when three Sovereigns dy'd, could fearce be
Why answer LYTTELTON; and I'll engage
The worthy Youth fhall ne'er be in a
rage:
But were his Verfes vile, his Whilper bale,
You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's cafe. 50 Have I, in filent wonder, feen fuch things
Confidering what a gracions Prince was next.
Sejanus, Wolfey, hurt not honeft FLEURY,
But well may put fome Statefman in a fury.
Laugh then at any, but at Fools or Foes;
There you but anger, and you mend not thofe.
Laugh at your Friends, and, if your Friends are
So much the better, you may laugh the more.
To Vice and Folly to confine the jest,
As Pride in Slaves, and Avarice in Kings; 110
And at a Peer, or Peerefs, fhall I fret,
Who ftarves a Sifter or forfwears a Debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boaft ;
But fhall the dignity of Vice be loft?
Ye Gods! fhall Cibber's Son, without rebuke, 115
Swear like a Lord, or Rich outwhore a Duke?
A Favourite's Porter with his Mafter vie,
Sets half the world, God knows, against the reft; Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Did not the Sneer of more impartial men
At Senfe and Virtue balance all again.
Judicious Wits fpread wide the Ridicule,
And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.
P. Dear Sir. forgive the Prejudice of Youth:
Adieu Diftinction, Satire, Warmth, and Truth!
Come, harmleis Characters that no one hit; 65
Come, Henley's Oratory, Ofborn's Wit!
The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The Flowers of Bubo, and the Flow of Young!
The gracious Dew of Pulpit Eloquence,
And all the well-whipp'd Cream of Courtly
Senfe,
That firft was H---vy's, F---'s next, and then,
The S---te's, and then H---vy's once agen.
O come, that ealy Ciceronian ftyle,
So Latin, yet fo Englith all the while,
As, though the Pride of Middleton and Bland, 75
All Boys may read, and Girls may understand?
Then might I fing, without the leaft offence,
And all I fung fhould be the Nation's Senle ;
Or teach the Melancholy Mule to mourn,
Hang the fad Verfe on CAROLINA's Urn, 80
And hail her paffage to the Realms of Reft,
All parts perform'd, and all her Children bleft!
So---Satire is no more---I feel it die---
No Gazetteer more innocent than I---
Shall Ward draw Contracts with a Statesman's fkill?
Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a Will?
It is for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things)
To pay their Debts, or keep their Faith, like
If Blount di patch'd himself, he play'd the man ;
And fo may ft thou, illuftrious Pafferan!
But fhali a Printer, weary of his life,
Learn, from their Books, to hang himself and
This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear ;
Vice thus abus'd, demands a Nation's care:
This calls the Church to deprecate our Sin,
And hurls the Thunder of the Laws on Gin. 130
Let modeft Fofter, if he will. excell
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well ;
A fimple Quaker, or a Quaker's Wife,
Outlo Landafre in Darire,---yea in Life:
Let humble Allen, with an aukward Shame, 135
Do good by ftealth, and blush to find it Fame;
Virtue may choote the high or low Degree,
'Tis juft alike to Virtue, and to me;
Dwell in a Monk, or light upon a King,
She's ftill the fame belov'd, contented thing. 140
Vice is undone, if the forgets her Birth,
And ftoops from Angels to the dregs of Earth:
And let, a God's name, every Fool and Knave 85 But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a Whore;
Be e grec'd through life, and flatter'd in his Grave,Let Greatness own her, and the's inean no more,
Her Birth, her Beauty, Crowds and Courts confels,
Chafte Matrons praife her, and grave Bishops biefs;
In golden Chains the willing World the draws,
And hers the Gospel is, and hers the Laws;
Mounts the Tribunal, lifts her fearlet 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 'do'er with foreign Gold, 155
Before her dance: behind her, crawl the Old!
See thronging Millions to the Paged run,
And offer Country, Parent, Wife, or or Son!
Hear her black Trumpet through the land pro-
claim,
That NOT TO
In Soldier, Churchman, Patriot, Man in Power,
'Tis Avarice all, Ambition is no more!
See, all our Nobles begging to be Slaves!
See, all our Fools afpiring to be Knaves!
Who ftarv'd a fifter, who forefwore a Debt, 20
I never nam'd; the Town 's enquiring yet.
The poifoning Dame--- F. You mean--- P. I
don't.---F. You do.
P. See, now I keep the Secret, and not you! The bribing Statelman---F. Hold, too high you go.
P. The brib'd Elector---F. There you ftoop 25
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.tofpare the Knight requires, 30
As Beafts of Nature may we hunt the Squires?
Suppole I ceufure---you know what I mean---
To fave a Bishop, may I name a Dean?
F: A Dean, Sir? no; his Fortune is not made,
You hurt a man that 's rifing in the Trade. 35
P. If not the Trade man who fet up to-day, Much lefs the 'Prentice who to-morrow may Down, down, proud Satire! though a realm be fpoil'd,
The Wit of Cheats, the Courage of a Whore, 165 Arraign no mightier Thief than wretched Wild
Are what ten thoufand envy and adore:
All, all look up, with reverential Awe,
At crimes that 'cape, or triumph o'er the Law:
While Truth, Worth, Wildom, daily they decry
"Nothing is facred now but Villainy."
Yet may this Verfe if fuch a Verle remain)
Shew there was one who held it in difdain.
FR. TIS all a Libe!---Paxton (Sir) will say.
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 Sins of Thirty-nine!
Vice with fuch Giant-trides comes on amain,
Invention ftrives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er fo ftrong,
Some rising Genius fins up to my Song.
F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lafh; 10
Even Guthry faves half Newgate by a Dafh.
Spare then the Perton, and expofe the Vice.
P. How, Sir! not damn the Sharper, but the
Dice?
Core on then, Satire! general, unconfin'd,
Spread thy broad wing, and fouce on all the kind. 15
Ye Statemen, Priefts, of one Religion all!
Ye Tradefmen, vile, in Army, Court, or Hall!
Ye Teverend Atheists. F. Scandal! name them,
who?
P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.
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? 43
Alas the fmall Dilcredit of a Bribe
Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe.
Then better fure it Charity becomes
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 Satire, 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.
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 hence 60.
P. As S---k, if he lives, will love the Prince
F. Strange fpleen to S---k!
P. Do I wrong the Man?
God knows, I praife a Courtier where I can.
When I confess, there is who feels for Fame,
And melts to Goodnefs, need I Scarborow name 2.
Pleas'd let me own, in Efher's peaceful Grove
(Where Kent and Nature vie for Pelham's Lovel
The Scene, the Mafter, opening to my view,
I fit and dicam 1 fee my Craggs anew?
Ev'nin a Bishop I can spy Defert :
Secker is decent; Rundel has a Heart;
Manners with Candour are to Benfon given;
To Berkley, every Virtue under Heaven.
But does the Court a worthy Man remove?
That inftant, I declare, he has my Love:
I fhun his Zenith, court his mild Decline;
Thus Somers once, and Halifax, were mine.
Oft, in the clear, ftill Mirrour of Retreat,
I ftudy'd Shrewsbury, the wife and great;
Carleton's calm Senfe, and Stanhope's noble
Flame,
Compar'd, and knew their generous End the fame:
How pleafing Atterbur'y's fofter hour!
How fhin'd the Soul, unconquer'ed in the Tower!
How can I Pulteney, Chesterfield forget,
While Roman Spirit charms, and Attic Wit: 85
Argyll, the State's whole Thunder born to wield,
And fhake alike the Senate and the Field:
Or Wyndham, just to Freedom and the Throne,
The Master of our Paffi ns, and his own?
Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in
vain,
၄၁
Rank'd with their Friends, nor number'd with
their Train;
And if yet higher the proud Lift should end,
Still let me fay! No Follower, but a Friend.
Yet think not, Friendship only prompts my lays:
I follow Virtue; where the fhines, I praile; 95
Point fhe to Prieft or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's Beaver caft a Glory.
I never (to my forrow I declare)
Din'd with the Man of Refs, or my Lord Mayor.
Some, in their choice of Friends (nay, look not
grave)
Have ftill a fecret Byafs to a Knave:
To find an honeft man, I beat about;
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
F. Then why fo few-commended?
Find you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verfe. 105
But random Praife---the task can ne'er be done :
Each Mother afks 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 ftoop, like Satire, to the ground: T10
The Number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for haif the Greatest of the'e day,
To 'icape my Cenfure, not expect my Praise.
Are they not rich? what more can they pretend?
Dare they to hope a Poet for their Friend? 115
What Richlieu wanted, Louis fcarce cou'd gain,
And what young Ammon wifh'd, but wifh'd in
vain.
No Power the Mufe's Friendship can command;
No Power, when Virtue claims it, can withstand:
To Cato, Virgil paid one honeft line;
O let my Country's Friends illumine mine!
---What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's
no fin,
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 strangely round about. 125
F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow?
P. I only call thofe Knaves who are fo now.
Is that too little? Come then, I'll comply---
Spirit of Amall! aid me while I lie.
"Cobham's a Coward, Polwarth is a Slave,
And Lyttelton a dark, defigning Knave;
St. John has ever been a nighty Fool-
But let me add, Sir Robert 's mighty dull,
Has never made a Friend in private life,
And was, befides, a Tyrant to his Wife.
But pray, when others praife him, do I b'ame? Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name?
Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine,
O all-accomplish'd St. John! deck thy shrine?
What? fhall each pur-gail'd Hackney of the
day,
When Paxton gives him double Pots and Pay,
Or each new-penfion'd Sycophant, pretend
To break my windows if I treat a Friend;
Then wi'ely plead, to me they meant no hurt,
But 'twas my Gueft at whom they threw the
dirt?
Sure, if I pare the Minifter, no rules
Of honour bind me, not to maul his Tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid
His Saws are toothlefs, and his Hatchets Lead.
It anger'd Turenne, once upon a day, 150
To fee a Footman kick'd that took his pay:
But when he heard th' Affront the Fellow gave,
Knew one a Man of Honour, one a Krave;
The prudent General turn'd it to a jest,
And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the reft: 155
Which not at prefent having time to do---
F. Hold, Sir! for God's fake, where's th' Affro
to you?
Against your worship when had S---k writ?
Or P---ge pour'd forth the Torrent of his Wit?
Or grant the Bard whose diftich all commend 160
[In Power a Servant, out of Power a Friend]
To We guilty of fome venial fin;
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?
The Priest whole Flattery bedropt the Crown,
How hurt be you? be only flain'd the Gown.
And how did, pray, the fiorid Youth offend,
Whofe Speech you took, and gave it to a Friend?
'P.Faith it imports not muchfrom whom it came;
Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame,
Since the whole Houfe did afterwards the fame.
Let Courtly Wits to Wits afford supply,
As Hog to Hog in Huts of Weftphaly;
If one, through Nature's bounty or his Lord's,
Has what the frugal, dirty foil affords,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin, 175
As pure a mefs almost as it came in ;
The bleffed benefit, not there confin'd,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind;
From tail to mouth, they feed and they caroufe:
The laft full fairly gives it to the Houfe.
F. This filthy fimile, this beaftly line Quite turns my stomach--
P. So does Flattery mine : And all your courtly Civet-cats can vent, Perfume to you, to me is Excrement. But hear me further---Japhet, 'tis agreed, Writ not, and Chartres fcarce could write or read, In all the Courts of Pindus guiltlefs quite ;. But Pens can forge, my Friend, that cannot write ; And muft no Egg in Japhet's face be thrown, Because the Deed he forg'd was not my own? 190 Muft never Patriot then declaim at Gin, Unlefs, good man! he has been fairly in? No zealous Paftor blame a failing Spouse, Without a ftaring Reafon on his brows? And each blafphemer quite efcape the red, Because the infult 's not on Man, but God?
Afk you what Provocation I have had ? The ftrong Antipathy of Good to Bad. When Truth or Virtue an Affront endures, Th’A front is mine, my friend, and should be yours
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