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Why rail they then if but a wreath of mine,
Oh, all accomplisb'd St. John! deck thy shrine?

What! shall each spur-gall'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?
Sure if I spare the minister, no rules 146

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 general 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 sake; where's th'affront to
you?
Against your worship when hadS**k writ?
Or P*ge pour'd forth the torrent of his wit?
Or grant the bard whose distich all commend 160
(In power a servant, out of power a friend)
To W**le guilty of some venial sin,
What's that to you, who ne'er was out nor in?

The priest whose flattery be-dropp'd the crown How hurt he you? he only stain'd the gown. ig5

And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,
Whose speech you took, aud gave it to a friend?

P. Faith it imports not much from whom it came ;■> Whoever borrow'd could not be to blame, I

Since the whole house did afterwards the same. J
Let courtly wits to wits afford supply, 171

As hog to hog in huts of Westplialv:
If one, through Nature's bounty of his lord's,
Has what the frugal dirty soil affords,
From him the next receives it,- thick or thin, 175
As pure a mess almost as it came in; > .

VOL. II. H

The blessed benefit, not there confin'd,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind;
From tail to mouth they feed and they carouss;
The last full fairly gives it to the house. 180

F. This filthy simile, this beastly line,
Quite turns my stomach—P. So does flattery mine;
And all your courtly civet-cats can vent,
Perfume to you, to me is excrement.
But hear me further—Japhet, 'tis agreed,, 185

Writ not, and Chartres scarce could write or read;
In all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite;
But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write;
And must no egg in Japhet's face be thrown,
Beeause the deed he forg'd was net my own? 199
Must never patriot then declaim at gin,
Unless, good man] he has been fairly in?
No zealous pastor blame a failing spouse
Without a staring reason on his brows.?
And each blasphemer quite escape the rorl, Iff*

Because the insult's not on man, but God f

Ask you what provocation I have had?
The strong antipathy of good to bad.
When truth or virtue an affront endures,
Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be your's.
Mine, as a foe profess'd to false pretence, 201

Who think a coxcomb's honour like his sense;
Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind;
And mine as man, who feel for all mankind.

F. You're strangely proud.

P. So proud, I am no slave; 203 )

So impudent, I own myself no knave; (

So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. )

Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see
Men, not afraid of God, afraid of me;
Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, 216
Yet touch'd and sham'd by ridicule alone.

O sacred weapon! left for truth's defence,
Sole dread of folly, vice, and insolence!
To all but Henv'n-directrd hands denied,
The Muse may give thee, but the gods must »uide:

ltevercnt 1 touch thee! but with honest zeal, 216

To rouse the watchmen of the public weal,

To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,

And goad the prelate slumbering in his stall.

Ye tinsel insects' whom a court maintains, 220

That counts your beauties only by your stains,

Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day,

The Muse's wing shall brush you all away:

All his grace preaches, all his lordship sings, 224

All that makes saints of queens, and gods of kings;

All, all but truth, drops dead-bom from the press,

Like the last gazette or the last address.

When black ambition stains a public cause, A monarch's sword when mad vain-glory draws, Not Waller's wreath can hide the natron's scar, 930 Nor Boileau turn the feather to a star.

Not so when diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's Her priestess Muse forbids the good to die, [shrine, And opes the temple of eternity. 235

There other trophies deck the truly brave .

Than such as Anstis casts into the grave;
Tar other stars than * and * * wear,
And may descend to Mordington from Stair!
(Such as on Hough's unsullied mitre shine, 240

Or beam, good Digby! from a heart like thiue.)
Let envy howl, while Heaven's whole choras sijigs,
And bark at honour not conferrM by kings;
Let flattery sickening sec the incense rise,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies: 246
Truth guards the poet, sanctifies the line,
And makes immortal verse as mean as mine.

Yes, the last pen for freedom let me draw,
When truth stands trembling on the edge of law.
Here, last of Britons! let your names be read: 250
Are none, none living? let me praise the dead;
And for that cause which made your fathers shine,
Fall by the votes of tbeir degenerate line.

F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Essays on Man. 255

ODES

ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1708.

Descend, ye Nine! descend and sing;

The breathmg instruments inspire,

Wake into voice each silent string,

And sweep the sounding lyre!

In a sadly-pleasing strain • i

Let the warbling lute complain;

Let the loud trumpet sound, *

Till the roofs all around

The shrill echoes rebound;

While in more lengthen'd notes and slow 10

The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow.

Hark! the numbers soft and clear

Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder rise,

And fill with spreading sounds the skies: 15

Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,

In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats;

Till by degrees, remote and small,

The strains decay,

And melt away S*

In a dying, dying fall.

By music minds an equal temper know,

Nor swell too high nor sink too low.

If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,

Music her soft assuasive voice applies, tt

Or when the soul is press'd with cares,

Exalts her in enliv'nftg airs.

Warriors she fires w'ith animated sounds;

Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wound

Melancholy lifts her head, 30

Morpheus rouses from his bed,

Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,

List'ning envy drops her snakes;

Intestine war no more our passions wage,

And giddy factions hear away their rage. 85

But when our country's cause provokes to arm?,

How martial .music ev'ry bosom warms!

So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,

High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,

While Argo saw her kindred trees 40

Descend trom Pelion to the main:

Transported demigods stood round,

And men grew heroes at the sound,

Inflam'd with glory's charms:

Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd, 45

And half unsheath'd the shining blade;

And seas, and rocks, and skies, rebound

To arms, to arms, to arms!

But when through all th' infernal bounds,.
Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds, 5©

Love, strong as death, the poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appear'd,

O'er all the dreary coasts! 55

Dreadful gleams,
Dismal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans, 60

Hollow groans,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And, see! the tortur'd ghosts respire;
See shady forms advance! 05

Thy stone, O Sisyphus! stands still,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,
And the pale spectres dance;
The furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uucurl'd hang listening round their heads.

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