Mine, as a foe profefs'd to falfe pretence,
Who think a Coxcomb's honour like his fenfe ;
Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind;
And mine as man, who feel for all mankind.

F. You're ftrangely proud.

P. So proud, I am no flave:
So impudent, I own myself no knave :
So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave.'
Yes, I am proud, I must be proud to fee
Men not afraid of God, afraid of me:

Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, 210
Yet touch'd and fham'd by Ridicule alone.

O facred weapon! left for truth's defence,
Sole dread of folly, vice, and infolence!
To all but heaven-directed hands deny'd,

The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods muft guide:

Reverent I touch thee! but with honeft zeal;
To rouze the watchmen of the public weal,
To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,
And goad the prelate flumbering in his ftall.
Ye tinfel infects! whom a court maintains, 220
That counts your beauties only by your ftains,
Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!
The mule's wing fhall brush you all away :,
All his Grace preaches, all his Lordship fings,
All that makes Saints of Queens, and Gods of
Kings.

All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the prefs,
Like the laft Gazette, or the laft Addrefs.

When black ambition ftains a public caufe,

Imitated in the Manner of Dr. SWIFT. "TIS true, my Lord, I gave my word,

I would be with you, June the third; Chang'd it to Auguft, and (in fhort) Have kept it---as you do at Court. You humour me when I am sick, Why not when I am (plenetick? In town what objects could I meet? The fhops thut up in every street, And funerals blackening all the doors, And yet more melancholy whores : And what a duft in every place! And a thin court that wants your face, And fevers raging up and down, And W and H** both in town!

"The dog-days are no more the cafe."
"Tis true, but winter comes apace:
Then fouthward let your bard retire,
Hold out fome months 'twixt fun and fire,
And you fhall fee, the firft warm weather,
Me and the Butterflies together.

My Lord, your favours well I know;
"Tis with diftinction you bestow;
And not to every one that comes,
Juft as a Scotfman does his plums.

Pray take them, fir---Enough's a feast : » "Eat fome, and pocket up the reft" What, rob your boys? thofe pretty rogues.

draws,

Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fcar, 230 Not-Boileau turn the feather to a star.

Not fo, when, diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's fhrine,

235

Her prieftels Mufe forbids the Good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.
There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than fuch as Anftis cafts into the grave;
Far other Stars than* and ** wear,
And may defcend to Mordington from Stair;
(Such as on Hough's unfully'd mitre fhine, 240
Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine)
Let envy howl, while Heaven's whole chorus
fings,

And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let flattery fickening fee the incenfe rife,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies: 245
Truth guards the poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verse as mean as mine.
Yes, the laft pen for Freedom let me draw,
When Truth ftands trembling on the edge of

1

Law; Here, laft of Britons! let your names be read; 250 Are none, nene living? let me praise the Dead, And for that Caufe which made your fathers fhine,

Fall by the Votes of their degenerate line.

F. Alas, alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Effays on Man. 255 VOL. VI.

Thus fools with compliments befiege ye,
Contriving never to oblige ye.
Scatter your favours on a fop,
Ingratitude's the certain crop;
And 'tis but just, I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wife man always is or fhould
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a difference in his thought
Betwixt a guinea and a groat.

Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me
A fafe companion and a free;
But if you'd have me always near---
A word, pray, in your honour's ear.
I hope it is your refolution
To give me back my constitution!
The fprightly wit, the lively eye,
Th' engaging fmile, the gaiety,
That laugh'd down many a fummer fun,
And kept you up fo oft till one :
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda rais'd my ftrain.

A weazel once made shift to flink In at a corn-loft through a chink; But baving amply stuff'd his skin, Could not get out as he got in; Which one belonging to the Houfe ('Twas not a Man, it was a Mouse) Obferving, cry'd, " You 'fcape not fo, "Lean as you came, fir, you must go." I'm no fuch beaft, nor his relation; Sir, you may fpare your application, 3 G

Nor one that temperance advance,
Cramm'd to the throat with ortolans:
Extremely ready to refign

All that may make me none of mine.
South-fea fubfcriptions take who please,
Leave me but liberty and ease.

"Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child, Who prais'd my modefty, and fmil'd. Give me, I cry'd, (enough for me)

My bread, and independency!
So bought an annual-rent or two,
And liv'd-juft as you fee I do;
Near fifty, and without a wife,
I trust that finking fund, my life.
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well,
Shrink back to my paternal cell,
A little houfe, with trees a-row,
And, like its mafter, very low.
There dy'd my father, no man's debtor,
And there I'll die, nor worse nor better.
To fet this matter full before ye,
Our old friend Swift will tell his ftory.
"Harley, the nation's great fupport---"
But you may read it, I ftop fhort.

The latter Part of SATIRE VI.* O Charming noons and nights divine! Or when I fup or when I dine, My friends above, my folks below, Chatting and laughing all-a-row, The beans and bacon fet before 'em, The grace-cup ferv'd with all decorum : Each willing to be pleas'd, and please, And even the very dogs at eafe! Here no man prates of idle things, How this or that Italian fings, A neighbour's madness, or his fpoufe's, Or what's in either of the Houses: But fomething much more our concern, And quite a fcandal not to learn:... Which is the happier, or the wifer, A man of merit, or a mifer? Whether we ought to chute our friends, For their own worth, or our own ends? What good, or better, we may call, rq. And what, the very beft of all?

65

70

"Both Immall and great, both you and I :
"Then spend your life in joy and sport,

"(This doctrine, friend, I learn'd at Court)." 180
The verieft hermit in the nation

May yield, God knows, to strong temptation.
Away they came, through thick and thin,
To a tall house near Lincoln's-Inn:
75 ('Twas on the night of a debate,
When all their Lordships had fate late.)
Behold the place, where if a poet
Shin'd in defcription, he might fhow it;
Tell how the moon-beam trembling falls,
80 And tips with filver all the walls;

185

195

Rufh chaplain, butler, dogs and all.
A rat, a rat! clap too the door"---
The cat comes bouncing on the floor.
O for the heart of Homer's mice,
Or Gods to fave them in a trice!
(It was by Providence they think,

For your damn'd stucco has no chink.)

An't pleate your honour, quoth the Peafant, "This farte deffert is not to pleasant:

Our friend Dan Prior told (you know) A tale extremely ". · 2 ρτορος :

Name a town-life, and in a trice

Give me again my hollow tree,

He had a ftory of two mice.

"A Cruft of Bread, and Liberty!"

190

200

205

210

215

220

Once on a time (fo run the Fable)
A Country Moufe, right hospitable.
Receiv'd a Town Mone at his beard,
Juft as a Farmer might a Lord.
A fragal moule, upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his friend, and had aloul,
Knew what was handfome, and would do't,
Un just occasion, **'coûte qui coûte.”
He brought him bacon (nothing lean);
Pudding, that might have pleas'd a Dean;
Cheese, fuch as men in Suffolk make,
But with'd it Stilton for his fake;
Yet, to his guest though no way ipating,
He eat himself the rind and paring.

* See the foft part in Swift's Poems.

Ab found no more thy foft alarms,

Nor circle fober fifty with thy charms! Mother too fierce of dear defires

Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires. To number five direct your doves,

There spread round Murray all your blooming loves;

Noble and young, who ftrikes the heart

With every sprightly, every decent part; Equal, the injur'd to defend,

To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend. He with a hundred arts refin'd,

Shall ftretch thy conquefts over half the kind; To him each rival fhall fubmit,

Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then fhall thy form the marble grace,

(Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face: His houfe, embofom'd in the grove,

Sacred to focial life and focial love, Shail glitter o'er the pendent green,

Where Thames reflects the vifionary scene: Thither the filver-founding lyres

Shall call the fmiling loves, and young de

fires;

There, every Grace and Mufe fall throng,
Exalt the dance, or animate the fong;
There youths and nymphs, in confort gay,
Shall hail the rifing, clofe the parting day.
With me, alas! thofe joys are o'er;

For me the vernal garlands bloom no more, Adieu! fond hope of mutual fire,

The ftill-believing, ftili renew'd defire; Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl,

And all the kind deceivers of the foul! But why? ah tell me, ah too dear!

Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear? Why words fo flowing, thoughts fo free,

Stop, or turn nonfenfe, at one glance of thee? Thee, drefs'd in fancy's airy beam,

Abfent I follow through th' extended dream; Now, now I cease, I clafp thy charms,

And now you burft (ah, cruel!) from my

A STANDISH AND TWO PENS.

YES, I beheld th' Athenian Queen

Descend in all her fober charms; "And take (she said, and smil'd ferene) "Take at this hand celeftial arms. "Secure the radiant weapons wield;

"This golden lance shall guard deiert, "And it a vice dares keep the field, "This fteel fhall ftab it to the heart."

Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,
Receiv'd the weapons of the sky;
And dipp'd them in the fable well,
The fount of fame or infainy,

"What well? what weapon? (Flavia cries)
"A ftandifh, fteel and golden pen!
"It came from Bertrand's, not the skies;
I gave it you to write aga'n.

"But, friend, take heed who you attack; "You'll bring a houfe (I mean of Peers) "Red, blue, and green, nay white and black, "Land all about your ears.

"You'd write as smooth again on glass,
"And run, op ivory, fo glib,
"As not to stick at fool or afs,
"Nor ftop at flattery or fib.

"Athenian Queen! and fober charms!
"I tell you, fool, there's nothing in't:
""Tis Venus, Venus gives there arms;
"In Dryden's Virgil fee the print.

"Come, if you'll be a quiet fou..

"That dares tell neither truth nor lies "I'll lift you in the harmless roll "Of those that fing of these poor eyes.

3 G 2

35

With thee on Raphael's monument I mourn, Or wait infpiring dreams at Maro's urn: With thee repofe, where Tully once was laid, Or feek fome ruin's formidable fhade: While fancy brings the vanifh'd piles to view, And builds imaginary Rome anew. Here thy well-ftudied marbles fix our eye; A fading Frelco here demands a figh: Each heavenly piece unwearied we compare, Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air, Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line, Paulo's free ftroke, and Tition's warmth divine. How finish'd with illuftrious toil appears This fmall, well-polifh'd gem the work of years! 40 Yet ftill how faint by precept is exprefs'd The living image in the painter's breast! Thence endlefs ftreams of fair Ideas flow, Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow; Thence beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies 45 An angel's fweetness, or Bridgewater's eyes. Mufe! at that name thy facred forrows shed, Thofe tears eternal that embalm the dead; Call round her tomb each object of defire, Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire: Bid her be all that chears or foftens life, The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife: Bid her be all that makes mankind adore; Then view this marble, and be vain no more! Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint en

gage;

50

55

Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age.
Beauty, frail flower that every feason fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.
Thus Churchill's race fhall other hearts furprife,
And other beauties envy Worfley's eyes;
Each pleafing Blount fhall endlefs fmiles beftow,
And foft Belinda's blush for ever glow.

60

65

70

Oh, lafting as thofe colours may they fhine, Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line; New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by fome rule, that guides, but not constrains; And finish'd more through happiness than pains! The kindred arts fhall in their praise confpire, One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre. Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe as air divine on every face Yet fhould the Mufes bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul; With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, And these be fung till Granville's Myra die : Alas! how little from the grave we claim! Thou but preferv'ft a Face, and I a Name.

EPISTLE

то

MISS BLOUNT,

75

WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE.

IN thefe gay thoughts the loves and Graces fhine,
And all the Writer lives in every line:

His ealy Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themfelves are elegant in him.

5

Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flattery pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with efteem no lefs convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-
bred:

10

His heart, his miftrefs and his friend did fhare;
His time, the Mufe, the witty and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
Till fate fearce felt his gentle breath fuppreft;
As fmiling infants fport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival wits did Voiture's death deplore, 15
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd be-
fore;

The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brightest eyes:
The Smiles and Loves had died in Voiture's
death,

But that for ever in his lines they breathe.
Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious comedy;

20

25

In every fcene fome moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular,
Have humour, wit, a native ease and grace,
Though not too strictly bound to time and place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please ;
Few write to thofe, and none can live to thefe. 30
Too much your fex are by their forms con-
fin'd,

Severe to all, but most to Womankind;
Cuftom, grown blind with age, must be your
guide;

35.

Your pleafure is a vice, but not your pride;
By nature yielding, ftubborn but for fame;
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by
fhame.

Warriage may all thofe petty tyrants chace,
But fets up one, a greater in their place;
Well might you wish for change by thofe ac-
curft,

40

But the last tyrant ever proves the worst.
Still in constraint your fuffering fex remains,
Or bound in formal or in real chains:
Whole
years neglected, for fome months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah, quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let falfe fhews, nor empty titles please:
Aim not at joy, but reft content with ease.

45

The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her prayers, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders mares,50 The fhining robes, rich jewels, beds of ftate, And, to complete her blifs, a Fool for mate. She glares in balls, front boxes, and the ring, A vain, unquiet, glittering, wretched thing! Pride, pomp, and flate, but reach her outward 55

part;

She fight, and is no Duchefs at her heart.

But, madam, if the lates withstand, and you Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Truft not too much your now refiftless charms, Thofe, age or fickness, foon or late difarms: 60 Good-humour only teaches charms to laft, Still makes new conquefte, and maintains the paft;