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? shall each spurgall'd hackney of the day,
When Paxton gives him double pots and pay,
Or each new-pension'd sycophant, pretend
To break my windows if I treat a friend?
Then wifely plead, to me they meant no hurt,
But 'twas my gueft at whom they threw the dirt?
Sure, if I fpare the minifter, no rules

Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid
His faws are toothless, and his hatchet's lead.

It anger'd Turenne, once upon a day
To fee a footman kick'd that took his pay:
But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave,

Knew one a man of honour, one a knave;

The prudent genʼral turn'd it to a jest,

And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the reft:
Which not at present having time to do→→

(you?
F. Hold Sir! for God's fake where's th' affront to
Againft your worship when had Sk writ ?
Or P-ge pour'd forth the torrent of his wit?
Or grant the bard whose diftich all commend
(In pow'r a fervant, out of pow'r a friend)
To W―le guilty of some venial fin';
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?

The priest whose flattery be-dropt the crown How hurt he you? he only stain'd the gown. And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,

Whofe fpeech 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 house 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,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin,
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 tail to mouth, they feed and they carouse:
The laft full fairly gives it to the house.

F. This filthy fimile, this beastly line

Quite turns my stomach

P. So does flatt'ry mine;

And all your courtly civet-cats can vent,

Perfume to you, to me is excrement.

But hear me further-Japhet, 'tis agreed,

Writ not, and Chartres fcarce could write or read, In all the courts of Pindus guiltiefs quite;

write;

But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot
And muft no egg in Japher's face be thrown,
Because the deed he forg'd was not my own?
Muft never patriot then declaim at gin,
Unless, good man! he has been fairly in ?
No zealous paftor blame a failing spouse,
Without a faring reason on his brows?
And each blasphemer quite escape the rod,
Because the infult's not on man, but God?

Ask you

what provocation I have had? The ftrong antipathy of good to bad. When truth or virtue an affront endures,

Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be
Mine, as a foe profefs'd to falfe pretence,
Who think a coxcomb's honour like his fenfe
Mine, as a friend to ev'ry worthy mind;
And mine as man, who feel for all mankind.
F. You're ftrangely proud.

yours.

P. So proud, I am no slave:
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
Yet touch'd and sham'd by ridicule alone.

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

The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods must guide:
Rev'rent I touch thee! but with honeft zeal;
To roufe the watchmen of the public weal,
To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,
And goad the prelate slumb’ring in his stall.
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 faints of queens, and Gods of kings,
All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the prefs

Like the last gazette, or the last address.

When black ambition stains a public 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.

Not fo, when diadem'd with rays divine, (shrine,
Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's
Her priestess Muse 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 ftars than * and ** wear,

And may defcend to Mordington from Stair:
(Such as on Hough's unfully'd mitre shine,
Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine)
Let Envy howl, while heav'n's whole chorus fings,
And bark at honour not confer'd by kings;
Let flatt'ry fick'ning see the incense rise,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies:
Truth guards the poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verfe as mean as mine.

Yes, the laft pen for freedom let me draw, When truth ftands trembling on the edge of law; Here, laft 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.

Fr. Alas! alas! pray end what you began,

And write next winter more Essays on Man.

ON

Receiving from the Right Hon. the Lady

FRANCES SHIRLEY

A STANDISH AND TWO PENS.

YES, I beheld th' Athenian queen

Defcend 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 desert, » And if a vice dares keep the field, >> This fteel shall ftab it to the heart

Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,
Receiv'd the weapons of the sky;
And dipt them in the fable well,

The fount of fame or infamy.

» What well? what weapon? ( Flavia cries)
» A standish, steel and golden pen!
>> It came from Bertrand's, not the skies;
» I gave it you to write again.

» But, friend, take heed whom you attack;
» You'll bring a house (I mean of peers)