Have they capacious Minds to poize the Weight
In Wisdom's Scale?

Probus.

Wisdom is out of Place,

The Mafter Villain, he who bears the Purfe,
Except to a furr'd Fox, or two, gives forth
To none but Fools; for what wife Man could be
To fee the drefs'd up Puppets that are fent
To other Realms, to buy thefe Fools their Caps
Who bring home nothing but difaftrous Writs,
Expensive Peace, and over-bought Delusions?
Shame to our Land or what wife Man could read
(His Patience keeping Indignation quiet,)
The Heap of clashing Treaties, each with each
At natural War, and all with common Senfe
And our home Intereft? We are Slaves to Fools,
They fo to Knaves, the Knaves to Wealth and Power
But all are Slaves; and many boaft their Chains,
Shewing their filken Bandage to the Sun 3
Or bear the Mark of Slavery aloft,

In glittering Mitres, or in little Crowns:

Tho' fome there are that would conceal their Shame
And underneath long Robes, and Forms of Law,
Hide the detefted Truth; but, as they fpeak,
The Prompter's feen; and yet the Farce goes o
O! Folly has got up o'er Wifdom's Head,
Spurning at either Eye; where fhe but blind,
All might feem right; now, tho' they labour fo
To keep up unmix'd Folly; fhe fpoils all,
With fome harfh Counfel, or unwelcome Jeft

Fulvius.

Change for the better, or not change at all.

Probas

Probus

Come Cardinal, Daughter of † Parma come, And fet your Feet on our fubjected Necks, Rather than have this No-body in Fact Thus lord it o'er our Liberties and us. I urge not, Sir, in Wantonnefs; my Heart Speaks in my Tongue; I own I hate the Man, Or in, or out of Place, whoe'er confents, And to his utmoft Cunning, and no Cunning, Buys Power at home, to give away abroad; Digs and prepares a Pit to fink us in, And makes us all fubfcribe to our Undoing; Who by strange Lots gives Mifery to Chance, Making it seem to the miftaken Crowd A May-Play, a Diverfion, tho' their Bane: Nay more, who forges empty Names of Office, Where Office there is none, except to take The unearn'd Salary, and vouch for him. Whofe Heart is open to receive this Man? Whofe, but the Caterpillars which he feeds With Grain from all our Garners?

Still I hope

Fulvius.

That Zeal transports you; fhould thefe Things be Who could enough lament a fallen State?

Probus.

Was it for this our great Fore-fathers ftrove
With domineering Statefmen, to preferve
Freedom intire? Did Mortimer, the Spencers,
And even mitred Wolfey fall for this?
Actions fo falutary to this Land,

[fo

Compaffion's

Cardinal Fleury. † Queen of Spain. Lotteries.

Compaffion's felf look'd on, and faw, and smil'd;
Wolfey, whofe Eye was on the Triple Crown;
Whole Hand prepar'd to change this Nation's Treasury
For Papal Power: Who fhall be more secure?
Was Gavefton? And did not Strafford fall
Againft his Mafter's Will? Comes all to this?
Was it for this the Royal Victim bled,

&

Crowns were fufpended, and the Throne kept vacant?
The mighty Rage of dreadful Civil War,
The Blood of Nobles, nay, the Blood of all,
Has been at Stake; certain the Lofs of Freedom
IS BRITAIN'S All, and shall she lose that Alli
Then take your Chains, and found your own Dif-
As far as your Renown has ever reach'd,
But if, instead of this, ye dare affert

[grace,

Your own and Country's Cause, the Time is now; Arm for the prefent, let new Councils lay

A fure Foundation for your future Glory.

Fulvius.

In fuch a Crifis Council's needed much.

Probus.

As well as Councils, we want Counsellors :
'Tis not becaufe I'm call'd a Man o' the Law,
Or fit in certain Seats, that makes me wife;
Mens Actions prove them beft; but one there was,
Was, nay there is, why faid I that there was?
For where's the Power on Earth pretends to frown
On Man 'till he be nothing? Still he is,
And darkens with the Splendor of his Virtue
Numbers of little Stars: He could advise;

In Courts, and Camps, and Councils, feafon'd well; 1
Has he not spoke already? I was there,

I heard this Northern Wonder, from his Tongue
VOL. IIQ

Duke of Argyle.

Dropp'd

Dropp'd Words that might create a Patriot Soul
In Bofoms dead to Liberty; He fhone
With Rays of honeft Policy; his Eyes

Sparkling with Freedom, and his Country's Love;
But as he fpoke, methought he look'd like Light..
Taking the Veil from Truth, who blufh'd on Fame,
Sounding our Annals; but I can no more-
Choak'd by Reflection...

Yet I don't defpair,

Fulvius!

Nor think our State fo defp'rate as you speak
Who knows but after feven Years Dearth and Fat
[mine
Another fever of Plenty may fucceed?

It stands confefs'd our Soil is not in Faults
We are not barren, but have laid untill'd,
Suffering unthrifty Stewards to run behind
And mortgage for themfelves.

A Prophet's Voice

Probus

Be your's; and our Redemption near at Hand!
Uninterrupted Freedom blefs the Land !

This Dialogue, in a publick Office of the King's, a Gentleman publickly protefted that it was Mr.. Pope's who though (he faid) he had disguised himfelf in Blank Verte, there was fome Phrafes and Paffages, that very plainly declar'd it to be bis: On this a Gentleman then prefent took the Paper to Mr. Pope, then much indifpos'd, and told him what he had heard; when Mr. Pope affur'd him, that he had never feen nor heard the Lines 'till that Hour, howt ever, that he should be glad to know who the Author was, which the Gentleman who brought them took upon himself to find; accordingly, after a little

Enquiry,

Enquiry, he met with one at the Temple-Exchange Coffee-houfe, who had privately feen the Verfes in Manufcript, being acquainted with the Author; by which Means, after proper Explanation of his Intention and good Meaning, thefe Gentlemen had an Interview with the Author, and prevailed on him to reprint the Dialogue on a Sheet of fine Paper, fitted for a Frame and Glass, and from one of these Frames the foregoing Copy was taken, by Direction of a Perfon of Honour, our Obedience to whom we value ourselves much upon.

But a great many Things were father'd on him by Bookfellers and others his Enemies, which were wholly unworthy his, or any other Pen; burlesquing every Thing moral and facred, monftroufly obfcene and profligate, and without the leaft Relifh of either Wit, Learning, or Tafte: Of thefe is the first Pfalm traveftied, and many others, for which we make no Room, for as our witty Poet Mr. Abraham Cowley

pronounces;

Much lefs muft that have any Place, At which a Virgin hides her Face:

Such Drofs the Fire fhould purge away; 'tis juft The Author blufh there, where the Reader must.

This made Mr. Pope fo angry, when his Letters were publifh'd without his Confent or Knowledge, and fo defirous to call into his own Hands any that might remain in those of his Friends; which had he done, we make no Doubt, but the Fire had purg'd away that Drois, which is now (tho' very thinly) mix'd with the bright Metal. Certainly it is very hard, that an Author fhall not have the Liberty to prefent to the Publick only fuch of his Writings as he thinks proper, but fhall have forcibly dragg'd into the Light all the little Privacies acted in Youth, and

Q2

only