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Pope.

The morals blacken'd when the writings 'cape
The libell'd perfon, and the pictur'd fhape:
Abuse on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread,
A friend in exile, or a father dead;

The whisper, that to greatnefs ftill too near.
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his Sovreign's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue? all the paft.
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last!

A. But why infult thee poor, affront the great?
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in ev'ry 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 ear, or lofe his own.

Yet foft by nature, more a dupe than wit,
Sappho can tell you how this man was bit:
This dreaded fat'rift Dennis will confefs
Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress
To humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door
Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor
Full ten years flander'd, did he once reply?
Three thoufand funs went down on Welfted's lie
To please a mistress one afperf'd his life;
He lafh'd him not, but let her be his wife;
Let Budgel charge low Grubftreet on his quill
And write whate'er he pleaf'd, except his will
Let the two Curlls of town and court, abufe
His father, mother, 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!
Unfpotted names, and memorable long!
If there be force in virtue, or in fong
Of gentle blood (part fhed in Honour's caufe
While yet in Britain Honour had applause)

Each

-Each parent fprung,

A. What fortune, pray? pope.
P. Their own;

And better got, than Beftia's from the throne
Born to no pride, inheriting no ftrife
Nor marrying difcord in a noble wife
Stranger to civil and religious rage

The good man walk'd innoxious through his age
No courts he law, no fuits would ever try
Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie
Unlearn'd he knew no fchoolman's fubtile art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By nature honest, by experience wife
Healthy by temp'rance, and by exercife;
His life, though long, to sickness past unknown
His death was inftant, and without a groan
O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die!
Who fprung from kings fhall know lefs joy than I,
Q friend, may each domeftic blifs be thine!
Be no unpleafing melancholy mine:
Me, let the tender office long engage,
To rock the crodle 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 fky!
On cares like these if length of days attend,
May Heav'n, to blefs thofe days, preferve my friend,
Preferve him focial, cheerful, and ferene

And just as rich as when he ferv'd a Queen!
A. Whether that bleffing be deny'd or giv'n
Thus far was right, the reft belongs to Heav'n.

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Swift.

wift.

(Schwerlich läßt sich diesem satirischen Schriftsteller, in Rücksicht auf den ganzen Umfang seiner Talente, auf die Fruchtbarkeit und Stärke seines Wiges, auf die Mannich faltigkeit der Darstellungsart, und besonders auf die glück lichste Anwendung der Ironie, irgend ein andrer an die Seiz te sehen. Von der zahlreichen Menge seiner Schriften, de ren Sammlung an die dreißig Bånde beträgt, ist, wie bes kannt, der größte Theil profaisch, und in mancherlei Formen abgefaßt, auch haben die meisten derselben nahe Beziehung auf die damaligen Zeitumstånde. Aber auch seine Gedichte find fast alle satirisch; und aus diefen habe ich nur folgendes zur Probe gewählt, dessen erste Hälfte åsopische Fabel, und die zweite, Ausführung der daraus gezognen Lehre ist: daß der Mensch gemeiniglich gegen seine Fehler blind iß, und fich, selbst beim Geständniß derselben, gerade von den auf fallendsten frei spricht. Ueber das Leben und den Charak ter dieses merkwürdigen Mannes haben der Graf Orrery, Dr. Hawkesworth, Dr. Johnson, und Hr. Sheridan, umständlich geschrieben.)

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THE BEASTS CONFESSION.

WHEN Beafts could speak, (the Learned fay
They ftill can do fo every day.)

It feems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
It happen'd when a plague broke out,
(Which therefore made them more devout)
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of Quadrupeds I only mean)

By proclamation gave command,
That ev'ry fubject in the land

Should to the Prieft confefs their fins;
And thus the pious Wolf begins:

Good

Good Father, I must own with fhame,
That often I have been to blame!
I must confefs, on Friday laft,
Wretch that I was, I broke my faft:
But, I defy the baseft tongue

To prove I did my neighbour wrong:
Or ever went to feek my food
By Rapine, theft, or thirft of blood.

The afs approaching next, confefs'd
That in his heart he lov'd a jeft;
A Wag he was, he needs must own,
And could not let a Dunce alone:
Sometimes his friend he would not fpare,
And might perhaps be too fevere :
But yet, the worst that could be faid,
He was a wit both born and bred;
And, if it be a fin or fhame,
Nature alone must bear the blame:
One fault he hath, is forry for't,
His ears are half a foot to fhort;
Which could he to the ftandard bring.
He'd fhew his face before the king.
Then, for his voice, there's none difputes
That he's the nightingale of brutes.

The Swine with contrite heart allow'd
His fhape and beauty made him proud:
In diet was perhaps too nice,
But gluttony was ne'er his vice:
In ev'ry turn of life content,
And meekly took what Fortune fent:
Inquire thro' all the parish round,
A better neighbour ne'er was found!
His vigilance might fome difplease;
'Tis true, he hated floth jike peas.

The mimik Ape began his chatter,
How evil tongues his life befpatter:
Much of the cens'ring world complain'd
Who faid, his gravity was feign'd:

Swift.

Swift. Indeed, the ftrictness of his morals
Engag'd him in an hundred quarrels ;
He faw and he was griev'd to fee't,
His zeal was fometimes indiscreet:
He found, his virtues too fevere
For our corrupted times to bear:
Yet, fuch a lewd licentious age
Might well excufe a ftoick's rage.

The Goat advanc'd with decent pace,
And firft excuf'd his youthful face;
Forgiveness begg'd, that he appear'd
('Twas Nature's faults) without a beard.
'Tis true, he was not much inclin'd
To fondness for the female kind;
Not, as his enemies object,
From chance, or natural defect;
Not by his frigid constitution;
But, thro' a pious refolution;
For he had made a holy vow
Of chastity, as monks do now;
Which he refolv'd to keep for ever hence
As ftrictly too, as doth his Reverence.

Apply the tale, and you fhall find
How juft it fuits with human kind.
Some faults we own; but, can you guess?
Why? Virtues carry'd to excefs,
Wherewith our vanity endows us,
Though neither foe nor friend allows us.
The lawyer fwears; you may rely on't,
He never squeez'd a needy Client:
And, this he makes his conftant rule;
For which his brethren call him fool:
His confcience always was fo nice,
He freely gave the poor advice;
By which he loft, he may affirm,
A hundred fees laft eafter term.
While others of the learned robe
Would break the patience of a Job,

No

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