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Horace would say, Sir Billy serv'd the Crown,
Blunt could do Bus'ness, Huggins knew the Town,
In Sapho touch the Failings of the Sex,
In rev'rend Sutton note some small Neglects,
And own, the Spaniard did a waggish thing,
Who cropt our Ears, and sent them to the King,
His fly, polite, insinuating stile
Could please at Court, and make AUGUSTUS smile:
An artful Manager, that crept between
His Friend and Shame, and was a kind of Screen.t
But ’faith your very Friends will soon be sore ;
Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more
And where's the Glory? 'twill be only thought 25
The Great man never offer'd you a groat,
Go see Sir ROBERT
P. See Sir ROBERT!humAnd never laugh -- for all my life to come! 30 Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Of social Pleasure, ill-exchang'd for Pow'r ; Seen him, uncumber'd with the Venal tribe, Sinile 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, The only diff'rence is, I dare laugh out.
* Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
Tangit, & admifus circum pracerdia ludit.
F. Why yes: with Scripture still you may be free;
A Horse-laugh, if you please, at Honesty ; 4.@
A Joke on Jekyl, or some odd Old Whig
Who never chang’d his Principle, or Wig.
A Patriot is a Fool in ev'ry age,
Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage :
These nothing hurts ; they keep their Fashion still, 45
And wear their strange old Virtue, as they will.
any ask you, “Who's the Man, so near
“ His Prince, that writes in Verse, and has his ear?
Why answer LYTTELTON, and I'll engage
The worthy Youth shall ne'er be in a rage : 50
But were his Verses vile, his Whisper base,
You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's cafe.
Sejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest FLEURY,
But well may put some Statesmen in a fury,
Laugh then at any, but at Fook, or Foes ;
55 These but anger,
and amend not those.
Laugh at your friends, and if your Friends are fore,
So much the better, you may laugh the more.
To Vice and Folly to confine the jest,
Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest : 69
Did not the Sneer of more impartial men
At Sense and Virtue, balance all agen.
Judicious Wits spread wide the Ridicule,
And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.
P. Dear Sir, forgive the Prejudice of Youth: 65
Adieu Distinction, Satire, Warmth, and Truth!
Come harmless Characters that no one hit,
Come Henley': Oratory, Osborn's Wit !
The Honey dropping from Ty-l's tongue,
The Flow'rs of Bub-ton, the flow of Y-ng! 7a
The gracious Dew of Pulpit Eloquence,
And all the well-whipt Cream of Courtly Sense,
That first was H-vy's, F-'s next, and then
The S-te's, and then H-vy's once agen.
O come, that easy Ciceronian stile,
So Latin, yet fo English all the while,
As, tho' the Pride of Middleton and Bland,
All Boys may read, and Girls may understand!
Then might I sing without the leaft offence,
And all I sung should be the Nation's Sense:
Or teach the melancholy Muse to mourn,
Hang the fad Verse on CAROLINA's Urn,
And hail her passage to the Realms of Reft,
All Parts perform'd, and all her Children bleft!
So-Satire is no more I feel it die
No Gazeteer more innocent than I !
And let, a God's-name, ev'ry Fool and Knave
Be grac'd thro' Life, and flatter'd in his Grave,
F. Why so ? if- Satire know its Time and Place, You still may lash the Greatest -- in Disgrace :
90 For Merit will by turns forsake them all ; Would you know when ? exactly when they fall. But let all Satire in all Changes spare Immortal S.
Dere, Silent and soft, as Saints remove to Heav'n, 95 All Tyes diffolv'd, and ev'ry Sin forgiv'n, These, may some gentle ministerial Wing Receive, and place for ever near a King!
There, where no Paffion, Pride or Shame transport,
LulPd with the sweet Nepenthe of a Court ; 100
There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's disgrace
Once breaks their rest, or stirs them from their Place:
But past the sense of human Miseries,
All Tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes ;
No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb, 105.
Save when they lose a Question, or a Job.
P. Good Heav'n forbid that I should blaft their glory,
Who know how like Whig-Ministers to Tory,
And when three Sov'reigns dy'd, could scarce be vext,
Consid'ring what a gracious Prince was next.
Have I, in filent wonder, seen such th'ngs
As Pride in Slaves, and Avarice in Kings;
And at a Peer, or Peeress, shall I fret,
Who starves a Sister, or forswears a Debt ?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast ;
But fliall the Dignity of Vice be loft ?
Ye Gods ! shall Cibber's Son, without rebuke
Swear like a Lord ? or Rich out-whore a Duke ?
A Fav'rite's Porter with his Master vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Shall Ward draw Contracts with a Statesman's skill ?
Or Japhet' pocket, like his Grace, a Will?
Is it for Bond or Peter, (paltry Things !)
To pay their Debts, or keep their Faith, like Kings?
If * Blount dispatch'd himself, he play'd the man, 125
And so may'it thou, Illustrious + Passeran !
* Author of a Book intitled, The Oracles of Reason.
+ Author of another, called a Philosophical Dircourse on Death.
But shall a Printer, weary of his life,
Learn, from their Books, to hang himself and Wife?
my friend, I cannot, must not bear ;
Vice thus abus'd, demands a Nation's care : 139
This calls the Church to deprecate our Sin,
And hurls the Thunder of the Laws on Gin.
Let modeft Foster, if he will, excell
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well ;
A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's Wife,
135 Out-do Landaffe, in Doctrine Let humble Allen, with an aukward Shame, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it Fame. Virtue may chuse the high or low Degree, 'Tis just alike to Virtuç, and to me;
140 Dwell in a Monk, or light upon a King, She's still the fame, belov'd, contented thing. Vice is undoné, if she forgets her birth, And stoops from Angels to the Dregs of Earth: But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a Whọre ; 145 Let Greatness own her, and she's mean no more : Her Birth, her Beauty, Crowds and Caurts confess, Chafte Matrons praise her, and grave Bishops bless ; In golden chains the willing World she draws, And hers the Gospel is, and hers the Laws 159 Mounts the Tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead. Lo! at the wheels of her Triumphal Car, Old England's Genius, rough with many a fear, Dragz'd in the dust! his Arms hang idly round, 155 His Flag inverted trails along the ground!