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Or, if you needs must write, write Cæsar's praise,
You'll gain at least a knighthood, or the bays.
P. What? like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough, and
fierce,

With arms, and George, and Brunswick crowd the

verfe,

Rend with tremendous found your ears afunder,
With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbufs, and thun.
Or nobly wild, with Budgel's fire and force, (der b
Paint Angels trembling round his falling horse?
F. Then all your Mufe's fofter art display,
Let Carolina smooth the tuneful lay,
Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine,
And fweetly flow thro' all the royal line.

P. Alas! few verses touch their nicer ear;
They scarce can bear their Laureate twice a year;
And justly Cæfar fcorns the poet's lays,

It is to history he trufts for praise.

F. Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still,
Than ridicule all taste, blaspheme quadrille,
Abuse the city's best good men in metre,
And laugh at peers that put their trust in Peter.
Ev'n those you touch not,

hate you.

P. What should ail 'em? F. A hundred fmart in Timon and in Balaam: The fewer ftill you name, you wound the more : Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score.

P. Each mortal has his pleasure : none deny
Scarfdale his bottle, Darty his ham-pye;
Ridotta fips and dances, till she fee
The doubling luftres dance as fast as she;

F-loves the fenate, Hockley-hole his brother,
Like in all else, as one egg to another.

I love to pour out all myself, as plain
As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne:
In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen,

The foul food forth, nor kept a thought within;

In me what fpots (for spots I have ) appear,
:)
Will prove at least the medium must be clear.
In this impartial glass, my Muse intends
Fair to expose myself, my foes, my friends;
Publish the prefent age; but where my text
Is vice too high, referve it for the next:
My foes shall wish my life a longer date,
And ev'ry friend the less lament my fate,
My head and heart thus flowing thro' my quill,
Verfe-man or profe-man, term me which you will,
Papift or proteftant, or both between,

Like good Erafmus in an honest mean >

In moderation placing all my glory,

While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run a muck, and tilt at all I meet;

I only wear it in a land of hectors,

Thieves, fupercargoes, sharpers and directors.
Save but our army! and let Jove incrust

Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting ruft!
Peace is my dear delight-

not Fleury's more:
But touch me, and no minifter fo fore.
Whoe'er offends, at fome unlucky time
Slides into verfe, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,

And the fad burthen of fome merry fong.

Slander or poifon dread from Delia's rage,
Hard words or hanging, if your judge be Page.
From furious Sappho scarce a milder fate,
P-x'd by her love, or libell'd by her hate.
Its proper pow'r to hurt, each creature feels;
Bulls aim their horns, and affes lift their heels
'Tis a bear's talent not to kick, but hug;
And no man wonders he's not ftung by pug.
So drink with Walters, or with Chartres eat,
They'll never poifon you, they'll only cheat.

Then, learned Sir! (to cut the matter short }
Whate'er my fate, or well or ill at court,
Whether old age, with faint but chearful ray,
Attends to gild the ev'ning of my day,
Or death's black wing already be display'd,
To wrap me in the univerfal shade;

Whether the darken'd room to muse invite,
Or whiten'd wall provoke the skew'r to write :
In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint,
Like Lee or Budgel, I will rhyme and print.

F. Alas, young man! your days can ne'er be long ; In flow'r of age you perish for a song!

Plums and directors, Shylock and his wife,
Will club their testers, now, to take your life!

P. What? arm'd for virtue when I point the pen,
Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men;
Dash the proud gamester in his gilded car ;
Bare the mean heart that lurks beneath a star;
Can there be wanting, to defend her caufe,
Lights of the church, or guardians of the laws?

Could penfion'd Boileau lash in honeft strain
Flatt'rers and bigots ev'n in Louis' reign?
Could Laureate Dryden pimp and fry'r engage,
Yet neither Charles nor James be in a rage?
And I not ftrip the gilding off a knave,
Unplac'd, unpenfion'd, no man's heir, or flave?
I will, or perish in the gen'rous cause:
Hear this, and tremble! you who 'fcape the laws.
Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave
Shall walk the world, in credit, to his grave.
To virtue only and her friends a friend,

The world befide may murmur, or commend.
Know, all the diftant din-that world can keep,
Rolls o'er my grotto, and but fooths my sleep.
There, my retreat the best companions grace,
Chiefs out of war, and ftatefmen out of place.
There, St. John mingles with my friendly bowl
The feaft of reafon and the flow of foul:
And he, whofe lightning pierc'd th'Iberian lines,
Now forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines,
Or tames the genius of the ftubborn plain,
Almoft as quickly as he conquer'd Spain.

Envy must own, I live among the great,
No pimp of pleasure, and no spy of state,
With eyes that pry not, tongue that ne'er repeats,
Fond to fpread friendships, but to cover heats;
To help who want, to forward who excel;

This, all who know me, know; who love me, tell; And who unknown defame me, let them be

Scriblers or peers, alike are mob to me.

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What faith my council, learned in the laws?

-

F. Your plea is good ; but still I say, beware!
Laws are explain'd by men -Lo have a care.
It stands on record, that in Richard's times
A man was hang'd for very honeft rhymes.
Confult the Statute, quart. I think, it is,
Edwardi fext. or prim. et quint. Eliz.
See Libels, Satires- here you have it

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read.

P. Libels and Satires! lawless things indeed! But grave Epiftles, bringing vice to light, Such as a king might read, a bishop write, Such as Sir Robert would approve.

The cafe is alter'd

F. Indeed?

-you may then proceed;

In fuch a caufe the plaintiff will be hiss'd,

My lords the judges laugh, and you're dismiss'd.

THE

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