It anger'd TUR ENNE, once upon à day, To fee a Footman kick'd that took his pay : But when he heard th'Affront the Fellow gave, 150 And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the rest: 155 F. Hold Sir! for God's-fake, where's th'Affront to you? Or grant, the Bard whose distich all commend, 160 " What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in? The Priest whofe Flattery be-dropt the Crown, How hurt he you? he only stain❜d the Gown. 165 And how did, pray, the florid Youth offend, Whofe Speech you took, and gave it to a Friend? P. Faith it imports not much from 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 fupply, As Hog to Hog in huts of Weftphaly; If one, thro' Nature's bounty or his Lord's, Has what the frugal, dirty foil affords, 171 From him the next receives it, thick or thin, 175 As pure a mess almost as it came in ; The bleffed benefit, not there confin'd, Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind; From From tail to mouth, they feed, and they caroufe: F. This filthy Simile, this beaftly line 180 Quite turns my ftomach -P. So does Flatt'ry mine; But hear me further-Japhet, 'tis agreed, Writ not, and Chartres fcarce could write or read, In all the Courts of Pindus guiltless quite ; 185 But Pens can forge, my Friend, that cannot write. 190 195 Th' Affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours. Who think a Coxcomb's Honour like his Sense; F. You're ftrangely proud. P. So proud I am no Slave: So impudent, I own myself no Knave: · B 205 Yes, 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 The mufe may give thee, but the Gods muft guide: 220 Ye tinfel Infects! whom a Court maintains That counts your Beauties only by your Stains, Spin all your Cobwebs o'er the Eye of Day! The Mufe's wing shall 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 Press, Like the laft Gazette, or the last Address. When black Ambition ftains a Publick Cause, A Monarch's fword when mad Vain-glory draws, Not Waller's Wreath can hide the Nation's Scar, Nor Boileau turn the† Feather to a Star. + See his Ode on Namur; where (to use his own words) il a fait un Aftre de la Plume blanche qui le Roy porte ordinairement a fon Chapeau, & qui eft en effet une efpece de Comete, fatale a nos ennemis. Nor 230 Not fo, when diadem'd with Rays divine, There, other Trophies deck the truly brave, wear, 235 And may defcend to Mor-ton from STAIR : 245 Yes, the last Pen for Freedom let me draw, When Truth ftands trembling on the edge of Law: Here, Last of Britons! let your Names be read; Are none, none living? let me praise the Dead, And for that Cause which made your Fathers shine, Fall by the Votes of their degen'rate Line! F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Essays on Man. *Dr. Hough Bishop of Worcester. |