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Hot prond, nor servile; be one poet's praise,
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways;
That flattery, ev'n to kings, he held a shame,
And thought a He in verse or prose the same;
That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to truth, and moralia'd his song;
That not for fame, but virtue's better end,
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half-approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Langh'd at the loss of friends he never had.
The dull, the prond, the wicked, and the mad;
The distant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv'd, the lie so oft o'erthrown,
Th' imputed trash, and dulness not his own;
The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape,
The libell'd person 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 sovereign's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair virtue! all the past:'
For thee, fair virtue! welcome ev'n the last!

A. But why insult the poor, affront the great?
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in every state;
Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail>
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail y
A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire j
If on a pillory, or near a throne,
He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.

Yet soft byjpature, more a dupe than wit,
Sappho can tell you how this man was bit:
This dreaded sat'rist Dennis will confess
Fo&to his pride but friend to his distress:
So humble, he has knock'd atTibbald's door,
Has drunk with Cibber, nay, has rhym'd for Moore.
Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply?
Three thousand suns w,ent down on Welsted's lie.

To please a mistress one aspcrs'd his life;
He lash'd him not, but let her be his wife:
Let Bndgell charge low Grub-street Ou his quill.
And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his will;
Let the two Curlls of town and court abuse
His father, mother, body, soul, and muse.
Yet why? that father held it for a rule,
It was a sin to call our neighbour fool:
That harmless mother thought no wife a whore;
Hear this and spare his family, James Moore!
Unspotted names, and memorable long!
If there be force in virtue or in song.

Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's canse,
While yet in Britain honour had applanse)
Each parent sprung—A. What fortune, pray?—

P. Their own, And better got than Bestia's from the throne. Born to no pride, inheriting no strife, Nor marrying discord in a noble wife, Stranger to civil and religious rage, The good man walk'd innoxious through his age: No courts he saw, no suits would ever try, Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie. Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art, No language but the language of the heart. By nature honest, by experience wise; Healthy by temperance and by exercise; His life, though Ions, to sickness past unknown, His death was instant, and without a groan. O grant ine thus to live, and thus to die! Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.

O friend! may each domestic bliss be thine! Be no unpleasing melancholy mine: Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make langnor smile, and smooth the bed of death; Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, Aad keep a while one parent from the akyl

On cares like these if length of days attend,
May Heaven, to bless those days, preserve my
friend E

Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene,
And just as rich as when he serv'd a queen!

A. Whether that blessing be deny'd or given, Thus far was right; the rest belongs to Heaven. SATIRES AND EPISTLES




The occasion of publishing these imitations was the clamour raised on some of my Epistles. An answer from Horace was both more full, and of more dignity, than any I could have made in my own person ; and the example of much greater freedom in so eminent a divine as Dr. Donne, seemed a proof with what indignation and contempt a Christian may treat vice or folly, in ever so low or ever so high a station. Both these anthors were acceptable to the princes and ministers underwhom they lived. The satires of Dr. Donne I versified at the desire of the earl of Oxford while he was lord treasurer, and of the duke of Shrewsbury, who had been secretary of state; neither of whom looked upon a satire on vicious courts as any reflection on those they served in. And, indeed, there is not in the world a greater error, than that which fools are so apt to fall into, and knaves with good reason to encourage the mistaking a satifist for a libeller; whereas to a true satirist nothing is so odious as a libeller, for the same reason as to a man truly virtnous nothing is so hateful as a hypocrite.

Uni aequns virtuti atquc ejus amicis.

Whoever expects a paraphrase of Horace, or a faithful copy of his genins, or manner of writing/in these imitations, will be much disappointed. Our author uses the Roman poet for little more than his canvass: and if the old design or colouring chance to suit his purpese, it is well; if not, he employs his own, without scrupleceremony. Hence it is, he is so frequently serious where Horace is in jest, and at ease where Horace is disturbed.' In a word, he regulates his movements-no further on his original, than was necessary for his concurrence in promoting their common plan of reformation of manners.

Had it been his purpose merely to paraphrase an ancient satirist, he had hardly made c hoice of Horace; with whom, as a poet, he held Utile in com* raon, besides a comprehensive knowledge of life and manners, and a certain curious felicity of expression, which consists in using the simplest language with dignity, and the most ornamented with ease. For the rest, his harmony and strength of numbers, his force and splendour of colouring, his gravity and sublimity of sentiment, would have rather led him to another model. Nor was his temper less unlike that of Horace, than his talents. What Horace would only smile at, Mr. Pope would treat with the grave severity of Persins; and what Mr.Pope would strike with the caustic lightning of Juvenal, Horace would content himself in turning into ridicule.

If it be asked then, why he took any body at all to imitate, he lias informed us in his advertisement. To which we may add, that this sort of imitations, winch are ot" the nature of parodies, adds reflected grate and splendour on original wit. Besides, he deemed it more modest to give the name of imitations to his satire, than, like Despriiaux- to give the name of satires to imitatious.

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