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Fop at the toilet, flatt'rer at the board,
Now trips a lady, and now struts a lord.
Eve's tempter thus the rabbins have exprest,
A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.
Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust,
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool,
Not lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor fervile; be one poet's praise,
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways:
That flatt'ry, ev'n to kings, he held a shaine,
And thought a lye in verfe or prose the same.
That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But ftoop'd to truth, and moraliz'd his song:
That not for fame, but virtue's better end,
He ftood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Laugh'd at the lofs of friends he never had,
The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;
The diftant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv'd, the lye so oft o'erthrown,
Th' imputed trash, and duiness not his own;
The mora's blacken'd when the writings 'scape,
The libel'd perfon, and the pictur'd shape;
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread,
A friend in exile, or a father dead;

The whisper, that to greatness still too near
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his sovʼreign's ear—
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past

For thee, fair Virtue ! welcome ev'n the last !

A. But why infult the poor, affront the great? P. A knave's a knave, to me, in ev'ry state: Alike my scorn, if he fucceed or fail, Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail, A hireling fcribler, or a hireling peer, Knight of the poft corrupt, or of the shire; If on a pillory, or near a throne,

He gain his prince's ear, or lose 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 diftrefs:
So 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 thousand funs went down on Welfted's lye.
To please a mistress one afpers'd his life :
He lash'd him not, but let her be his wife :
Let Budgel charge low Grubftreet on his quill,
And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his will;
Let the two Curls of town and court, abuse
His father, mother, body, foul, and Muse,
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 shed in honour's cause,
While yet in Britain honour had applause)

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And better got, than Beftia's from the throne.

Born to no pride,inheriting no strife,
Nor marrying difcord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil and religious rage,

The good man walk'd innoxious thro' his age.
No courts he faw, no fuits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lye.
Unlearn'd he knew no schoolman's fubtile art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By nature honeft, by experience wise,
Healthy by temp'rance, and by exercise;
His life, tho' 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 shall know less joy than I.

O Friend!, may each domestic blifs be thine!
Be no unpleafing melancholy mine;
Me, let the tender office long engage,
To rock the cradle 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 sky!
Cn cares like these if length of days attend,
May heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend,
Preferve him focial, chearful, 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.
SATIRES

SATIRES

AND

EPISTLES

OF

HORACE

IMITATED.

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