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Such wits and beauties are not praia'd for nought, For both the beauty and the wit are bought. Twould burst ev'n Heraclitus with the spleen, To see those anticks, Fopling and Courtin: The presence seems, with things so richly odd. The mosque of Mahound, or some queer pa-god, See them survey their limbs by Durer's rules, Of all beau-kind the best proportion'd fools! Adjust their clothes, and to confession draw Those venial sins, an atom, or a straw: But, oh! what terrors must distract the soul 'Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole; Or should one pound of powder less bespread Those monkey-tails that wag behind their head? Thus finish'd, and corrected to a hair, They march, to prate their hour before the fair. So first to preach a white-glov'd chaplain goes, With band of lilly, and with cheek of rose, Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim, Neatness itself impertinent in him. Let but the ladies smile, and they are blest: Prodigious! how the things protest, protest! Peace, fools, or Gonson will for papists seize yon, If once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu!
Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Just as one beauty mortifies another.
Him not so much as good-will, he arrests,
And unto her protests, protests, protests,
So much as at Rome would serve to have thrown
Ten cardinals into the inquisition;
And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a
Pursuevant would have ravish'd him away
For saying our lady's Psalter. But 'tis fit
That they each other plague, they merit it.
But here comes Glorious that will plague 'em both,
Who in the other extreme only doth
Call a rough carelessness good fashion:
Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on,
But here's the captain that will plague them both,
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so
Courts are too much for wits so weak as mine: Charge them with heaven's artillery, bold divine!
He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm
Tir'd, now, 1 leave this place, and but plcas'd so
From such alone the great rebukes endure,
Drown the sins of this place, but as for me Which am but a scant brook, enough shall be To wash the stains away: although I yet (With Maccabees modesty) the known merit Of my work lessen, yet some wise men shall, 1 hope, esteem my writs canonical.
EPILOGUE TO THE SATIRES.
IN TWO DIALOGUES.
WRITTEN IN M DCC XXXVIII.
Fr.'VTOT twice a twelvemonth you appear in print,
But Horace, sir, was delicate, was nice;
Go see sir Robert
P. See sir Robert I—hum— And never langh—for all my life to come? Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Of social pleasure, ill-exchang'd for power; Seen him, uncumber'd with a venal tribe, Smile without art, and win without a bribe. Would he oblige me ? let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind. Come, come, at all I langh he langhs, no doubt; The only difference is, I dare langh out.
K Why yes: with Scripture still you may be free; A horse-langh, if you please, at honesty; A joke ou Jekyll, or some odd old Whig, Who never chang'd his principle, or wig; A patriot is a fool in every age, Whom all lord chamberlains allow the stage: These nothing hurts; they keep their fashion still, And wear their strange old virtue as they will.
If any ask you, ' Who's the man so near His prince, that writes inverse, and has his ear?' Why answer, Lyttelton; and I'll engage The worthy youth shall uc'er be in a nige: But were his verses vile, his whisper base, Yon'd quickly find him in lord Fanny's case. Sejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest Flenry, But well may put some statesman in a fury.
Langh then at any, but at fools or foes; These you but anger, and you mend not thoie. Langh at your friends, and, if your friends are sore, So much the better, you may langh the more. To vice and folly to confine the jest, Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest;