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I never (to my sorrow I declare)
Din’d with the Man of Ross, or my LORD MAY'R.
Some, in their choice of Friends (nay look not grave)
Have still a secret Byass to a Knave :
To find an honest man I beat about,
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
F. Then why so few commended

P. Not so fierce ;
Find you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verse.

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.

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What RICHLIEU wanted, Louis scarce could gain,
And what young AMMON wilh'd, but with'd in vain.
No Pow'r the Muse's Friendship can command ;
No Pow'r, when Virtue claims it, can withstand:
To Cato, Virgil pay'd one honest line ;

Olet my Country's Friends illumin mine!
-What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's no

I think your Friends are out and would be in.

P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out,
The way they take is strangely round about.

F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow?
P. I only call those Knaves who are so now.

Is that too little ? Come then, I'll comply-
Spirit of Arnall! aid me while I lye.

VER. 116. Louis foarce could gain.] By this expression
finely insinuating, that the great Boileau always falls below
himself in those passages where he flatters his Master. Of
which flattery he gives an instance in * 231, where the
topic of adulation is exceeding childish and extravagant.

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
And LYTTLETOŃ a dark, designing Knave,
St. John has ever been a wealthy Fool---
But let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull,
Has never made a Friend in private life,
And was, besides, a Tyrant to his Wife.

But pray, 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'a 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 ?


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

Of Honour bind me, not to maul his Tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be said
His Saws are toothless, and his Hatchets Lead.

It anger'd TURENNE, once upon a day, 150
To see a Footman kick'd that took his pay:
But when he heard th' Affront the Fellow gave,
Knew one a Man of honour, one a Knave;
The prudent Gen'ral turn'd it to a jest,
And begg’d, he'd take the pains to kick the rest : 155
Which not at present having time to do---
F. Hold Sir! for God's-fake where's th' Affront to

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Against your worship when had S---k writ?
Or P---ge pour'd forth the Torrent of his Wit?.
Or grant the Bard whose diftich all commend 16
[In Pow'r a Servant, out of Pow'r a friend]
To W-.-le guilty of some venial fin 3
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in ?

and under discipline, what must we think of their disor-
ders 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 Garrels on every honest man that comes
within their reach.

Ver. 160. the Bard] A verse taken out of a poem to Sir R. W. P.

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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.


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