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I never (to my sorrow I declare)
P. Not so fierce ;
105 But random Praise the task can ne'er be done Each Mother asks it for her booby Son, Each Widow asks it for the Best of Men, For him she weeps, and him the weds agen. Praise cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground; 110 The Number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd. Enough for half the Greatest of these days, To 'scape my Censure, not expect my Praise. Are they not rich? what more can they pretend ? Dare they to hope a Poet for their Friend?
Notes. Ver. 99. my Lord May'r] Sir John Barnard, Lord Mayor in the year of the Poem, 1738. A Citizen eminent for his virtue, public Spirit, and great talents in Parliament. An excellent Man, Magistrate, and Senator. In the year 1747, the City of London, in memory of his many and signal services to his Country, erected a Statue to him. But his image had been placed long before in the heart of every good Man.
What RICHLIEU wanted, Louis scarce could gain,
P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out,
Is that too little ? Come then, I'll comply-
VER. 127. I only call those Knaves who are so now.] He left it to Time to tell them,
Cato is as great a Rogue as you. not the Cato of Virgil, but the Cato of Mr. Pope. See the Ep. on Riches.
Ver. 129. Spirit of Arnall!), Look for him in his place. Dunc. B. ii. * 315.
COBHAM's a Coward, POLWARTH is a Slave, 130
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 ?
Ver. 130. Polwarth.] The Hon. Hugh Hume, Son of Al xander 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, Wolley, any odious name?] The Leaders of Parties, be they as Horid as they will, generally do their business by compendium: A fingle rule of Rhetoric, which they may have learnt of Quintilian, or perhaps of a much older Sophist, does their bufiness, Si nihil, quod nos adjuvet, erit, quæramus, quid Ad. verfarium lædat. SCRIB.
VER 14.1. When Paxton gives him double pots and pay,] If this band of Penfoners were so offensive while embodied
Sure, if I spare the Minister, no rules
It anger'd TURENNE, once upon a day, 150
Against your worship when had S---k writ?
Ver. 160. the 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 same. 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 mess almost as it came in ; The blessed benefit, not there confin'd, Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind ; From tail to mouth, they feed and they carouse: The last full fairly gives it to the House. 18
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 Prieft ctc.] Spoken not of any particular priest, but of many prietts. P.
Ver. 166. And how did, etc.] This seems to allude to a complaint made ý 71. of the preceding Dialogue, P.