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Pr. NOT twice a twelve month you apppear in Print,

And when it comes, the Court fee nothing in't. You grow correct, that once with Rapture writ, And are, besides, too moral for a Wit. Decay of parts, alas! we all must feel Why now,

this moment, don't I see you steal? "Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye Said, “ 'Tories cail'd him Whig, and Whigs a Tory;" And taught his Romans, in much better metre, 66 To laugh at Fools who put their trust in Peter."

But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice;
Bubo observes, he lath'd no fort of Vice:
Ilorace would say, Sir Billy serv'd the Crown,
Blunt could do Bufoness, H-ggins knew the Towns
In Sappho touch the Failings of ihe Sex,
In rev’rend withops note some small Neglefts

And own the Spaniard did a waggish thing,
Who cropt our Ears, and sent them to the King.
His sly, polite, insinuating style
Could please at Court, and make Augustus smile:
An artful Manager, that crept between
His Friend and Shame, and was a kind of Screen.
But 'faith your very friends will soon be sore;
Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more---
And where's the Glory! 'twill be only thought
The Great man never offer'd you a groat.
Go see Sir ROBERT

P. See Sir ROBERT !--hum
And never laugh-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 the 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 laugh he laughs, no doubt;
The only diff'rence is, I dare laugh out.

F. Why yes: with Scripture still you may be free;
A Horse-laugh, if you please, at Honesty;
A Joke on Jekyl, or fome 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, fo near
His Prince, that writes in Verle, and has his ear?"

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Why answer, Lyttelton, and I'll engage
The worthy youth shall ne'er be in a rage :
But were his Verses vile, his Whisper base,
You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's case.
Sejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest FleURY,
But well may put some Statesman in a fury.

Laugh then at any, but at Fools or Foes;
These you but anger, and you mend not those.
Laugh at your Friends, and if your Friends are fore,
So much the better, you may laugh the more.
To vice and Folly to confine the jest,
Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest;
Did not the Sneer of more impartial men

A Sense and Virtue, balance all agen.
Judicious Wits spread wide the Ridicule,
And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.

P. Dear Sir, forgive the prejudice of Youth:
Adieu Distinction, Satire, Warmth, and Truth!
Come, harmless Characters that no one hit ;
Come, Henley's Oratory, Osborn's Wit!
The Honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The Flow’rs of Bubo, and the Flow of Yu-ng!
The gracious Dew of Pulpit Eloquence,
And all the well-whipt cream of Courtly Sense,
That first was Hvy's, F's next, and then
The S-te's, and then H--vy's once agen.
O come, that easy, Ciceronian style,
So Latin, yet so English all the while,
As, tho' the Pride of Middleton and Bland,
All Boys may read, and Girls may

understand! Vol. III.


Then might I sing, without the least offence,
And all I sung should be the Nation's Sense ;
Or teach the melancholy Muse to mourn,
Hang the fad Verse on CAROLINA's Urn,
And hail ber passage to the Realms of Rest,
All parts perform’d, and all her children blest!
So---Satire is no more-I feel it die-
No Gazetteer more innocent than |----
And let, a God's-name, ev'ry Fool and Knave
Be grac'd tho' Life, and Aatter'd in his Grave.

F. Why so ? if Satire knows its Time and Place,
You still may lalh the greatest---in Disgrace :
For Merit will by turns forsake them all;
Would you know when ? exactly when they fall.
But let all Satire in all Changes spare
Immortal Skand grave Dere.
Silent and soft, as Saints remove to Heav'n,
All Tyes dissolvid, and ev'ry Sin forgiv'n,
These may some gentle ministerial Wing
Receive, and place for ever near a King !
'There, where no Passion, Pride, or Shame transport,
Lull'd with the sweet Nepenthe of a Court ;
There, where no Father's, Brother's Friend's disgrace
Once break their rest, or stir them from their Place:
But past the Sense of human Miseries,
All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes ;
No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,
Save when they lose a Question, or a Job.

P. Good Heav'n forbid, that I hould blast their glory, Who know how like Whig Ministers to Tory.

And when three Sov'reigns dy'd, could scarce be vext,
Consid’ring what a gracious Prince was next.
Have I, in silent wonder, seen such things
As Pride in Slaves, and Avarice in Kings;
And at a Peer, or Peeress, hall I fret,
Who starves a Sister, or forswears a Debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the Dignity of Vice be loft?
Ye Gods! shall Cibber's Son, without rebuke,
Swear like a Lord, or Rich out-whore a Duke ?
A Fav'rite's Porter with his Master vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Shall Ward draw Contracts with a Statesman's skill?
Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a Will?
Is it for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things)
To pay their Debts, or keep their Faith, like Kings?
If Blount dispatch'd himself, he play'd the man,
And so may'st thou, illustrious Passeran !
But shall a Printer weary of his life,
Learn, from their Books, to hang himself and Wife?
This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear ;
Vice thus abus’d, demands a nation's care :
This calls the Church to deprecate our Sin,
And hurls the Thunder of the Laws on Gin.

Let modest Foster, if he will, excell
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well;
A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's Wife,
Out-do Landaffe in Doctrine,-yea in Life:
Let Humble Allen, with an aukward Shame,
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it Fame.

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