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Cobham's a Coward, POLWARTH is a Slave, 130
135 when others praise him, do I blame? Call Verres, Wolsey, any odious name? Why rail they then, if but a Wreath of mine, Oh AH-accomplish'd St. John ! deck thy shrine ?
What? fhall each spurgall’d Hackney of the day, When Paxton gives him double Pots and Pay, 141 Or each new-pension'd Sycophant, pretend To break my Windows if I treat a Friend? Then wisely plead, to me they meant no hurt, But 'twas my Guest at whom they threw the dirt ?
Notes. Ver. 130. Polwarth.] The Hon. Hugh Hume, Son of Altxander Earl of Marchmont, Grandson of Patric Earl of Marchmont, and distinguished, like them, in the cause of Liberty. P.
Ver. 136. do I blame? Call Verres, Wolsey, any odions name?] The Leaders of Parties, be they as Horid as they will, generally do their business by compendium: A fin. gle rule of Rhetoric, which they may have learnt of Quintilian, or perhaps of a much older Sophist, does their bufiness, si nibil, quod nos adjuvet, erit, quæramus quid Adversarium ladat.
SCRIB. VER 141. When Paxton gives him double pots If this band of Pensioners were so offensive while embodied
and pay, ]
Sure, if I spare the Minister, no rules 146
It anger'd TURENNE, once upon a day, 150
Against your worship when had S---k writ?
Notis. and under discipline, what must we think of their disorders since they were disbanded and become free-booters ? No virtue nor merit hath escaped them. They have made a great City in the South, too much resemble another in the North, where the products of night and darkness are discharged from Garrets on every honest man that comes within their reach.
Ver. 160. tbe Bard] A verse taken out of a poem to Sir R. W., P.
The Priest whose Flattery be-dropt the Crown, How hurt he you? he only stain'd the Gown. 165 And how did, pray, the Aorid Youth offend, Whose 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 House did afterwards the fame.. Let Courtly. Wits to Wits afford supply, 171 As Hog to Hog in huts of Westphaly ; 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,
175 As pure
a mefs almost as it came in ;
180 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.
Ver. 164. The Priet etc.] Spoken not of any particular priest, but of many priests. P.
Ver. 166. And how did, etc.] This seems to allude to a complaint made x 71. of the preceding Dialogue, P.