Spare then the Person, and expose the Vice. P. How Sir! not damn the Sharper, but the Dice? Spread thy broad wing, and fowze on all the kind. 15 Ye Tradesmen vile, in Army, Court, or Hall! 20 P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do. F. A Dean, Sir? no: his Fortune is not made, You hurt a man that's rifing in the Trade. P. If not the Tradesman who fet up to day, Much less the 'Prentice who to morrow may. Down, down, proud Satire! tho' a Land be spoil'd, Arraign no mightier Thief than wretched * Wild, 30 35 Jonathan Wild, Or H Or if a Court or Country's made a job, 40 The poor Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe. To tax Directors, who (thank God) have Plums; May pinch ev'n there- why lay it on a King. P. Muft Satire, then, nor rife nor fall? 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 desp'rate if they once are bad : 50 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 praise à Courtier where I can. When I confefs, there is who feels for Fame, And melts to Goodness, need I SCAR B'ROW name? 65 Pleas'd Pleas'd let me own, in * Efher's peaceful Grove 70 75 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 SOMMERS 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 gen'rous End the fame : How pleafing ATTERBURY's fofter hour! How fhin'd the Soul, unconquer'd in the Tow'r! How can I PULT'NEY, CHESTERFIELD forget? While Roman spirit charms, and Attic Wit: ARGYLE, the State's whole Thunder born to wield, And shake alike the Senate and the Field: Or WYNDHAM, just to Freedom and the Throne, The Mafter of our Paffions, and his own. Names which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain, go Rank'd with their Friends, not number'd with their And if yet higher the proud Lift fhould end, [Train; Still let me fay! No Follow'r, but a Friend. 85 *The Houfe and Gardens of Efher in Surrey, defign'd by Mr. Kent. 65 Yet think not, Friendship only prompts my lays : I follow Virtue, where fhe fhines I praise, Point fhe to Prieft or Elder, Whig or Tory, Or round a Quaker's Beaver caft a glory. I never (to my forrow 1 declare) Din'd with the MAN of Ross, or my + LORD MAY'R. Some, in their choice of Friends (nay look not grave) Have still a fecret byass to a Knave: To find an honeft man I beat about, And love him, court him, praise him, in or out. P. Not fo fierce; Find you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verfe. Each Mother asks it for her booby Son, Each Widow afks it for the best of Men, 105 110 For him the weeps, and him the weds agen. Sir John Barnard. Το To Cato, Virgil pay'd one honeft line; O let my Country's Friends illumin mine! -What are you thinking? F. Faith, the thought's no fin, P. I only call those Knaves who are so now. 125 COBHAM'S a Coward, POLWARTH is a Slave, 130 And LYTTELTON a dark, defigning Knave, St. JOHN has ever been a wealthy Fool But let me add, Sir ROBERT's mighty dull, 135 But pray, when others praise him, do I blame? Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name? Why rail they then, if but a Wreath of mine Oh All-accomplish'd St. JoHN! deck thy Shrine? What? fhall each spur-gall'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 wifely plead, to me they meant no hurt, But 'twas my Guest at whom they threw the dirt? Sure, if I fpare the Minister, no rules Of Honour bind me, not to maul his Tools; Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid His Saws are toothless, and his Hatchets Lead. It |