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Abuse the city's best good men in metre,

And laugh at peers that put

their trust in Peter. 40

Ev'n those you

touch not hate you.

P. What should ail 'em?

F. A hundred smart in Timon and in Balaam : The fewer still you name, you wound the more; Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score.

P. Each mortal has his pleasure: none deny
Scarsdale his bottle, Darty his ham-pye;
Ridotta sips and dances, till she see
The doubling lustres dance as fast as she;
Flov's the senate, Hockley-hole his brother,
Like in all else, as one egg to another.



I love to pour out all myself, as plain
As downright SHIPPEN, or as old Montagne :
In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen,

The soul stood forth, nor kept a thought within
In me what spots (for spots I have) appear,
Will prove at least the medium must be clear.
In this impartial glass, my muse intends
Fair to expose myself, my foes, my friends;
Publish the present age; but where my text
Is vice too high, reserve it for the next:





VER.46. Darty] Lyttelton, in his Dialogues of the Dead, has introduced Darteneuf, in a pleasant discourse betwixt him and Apicius, bitterly lamenting his ill-fortune in having lived before turtlefeasts were known in England. The story of the ham-pye was confirmed by Mr. Dodsley, who knew Darteneuf, and, as he candidly owned, had waited on him at dinner.

VER. 52. Downright SHIPPEN,] M. P. for Newton, Lancashire, a Jacobite.

My foes shall wish my life a longer date,

And ev'ry friend the less lament my fate.

My head and heart thus flowing through my quill,
Verse-man or prose-man, term me which you will,
Papist or Protestant, or both between,

Like good Erasmus in an honest mean,
In moderation placing all my glory,

While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run a muck, and tilt at all I meet;
I only wear it in a land of Hectors,
Thieves, supercargoes, sharpers, and directors.
Save but our army! and let Jove incrust



Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!

Peace is my dear delight-not FLEURY's more :


But touch me, and no minister so sore.
Whoe'er offends, at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhime,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the sad burthen of some merry song.

Slander or poison dread from Delia's rage,
Hard words or hanging, if your judge be Page.



VER. 70. To run a muck,] Alludes to a practice among the Malayans, who are great gamesters; which is, that when a man has lost all his property, he intoxicates himself with opium, works himself up to a fit of phrenzy, rushes into the streets, and attacks and murders all he meets.

VER. 81. Delia's rage.] A Miss Mackenzie died about this time, and was supposed to have been poisoned from jealousy. A hint of this kind was sufficient for Pope. The person alluded to was Lady D-ne.

From furious Sappho scarce a milder fate,
P-x'd by her love, or libell'd by her hate.

Its proper pow'r to hurt, each creature feels;
Bulls aim their horns, and asses lift their heels ;
'Tis a bear's talent not to kick, but hug;
And no man wonders he's not stung by pug.
So drink with Walters, or with Chartres eat,
They'll never poison you, they'll only cheat.
Then, learned Sir! (to cut the matter short)
Whate'er my fate, or well or ill at court,
Whether old with faint but cheerful ray,
Attends to gild the ev'ning of my day,
Or death's black wing already be display'd,
To wrap me in the universal shade;


Whether the darken'd room to muse invite,
Or whiten❜d wall provoke the skew'r to write ;
In durance, exile, bedlam, or the mint,

Like Lee or Budgel, I will rhyme and print.





F. Alas, young man! your days can ne'er be long;

In flow'r of age you perish for a song!

Plums and directors, Shylock and his wife,

Will club their testers, now, to take your life!

P. What? arm'd for virtue when I point the pen,

Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men;


Dash the proud gamester in his gilded car ;

Bare the mean heart that lurks beneath a star;


VER. 100. Like Lee or Budgel,] Lee, the dramatic writer, a true genius, is here coupled with Budgel.

Can there be wanting, to defend her cause,
Lights of the church, or guardians of the laws?
Could pension'd Boileau lash in honest strain
Flatt'rers and bigots e'en in Louis' reign?
Could Laureate Dryden pimp and fry'r engage,
Yet neither Charles nor James be in a rage?.

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And I not strip the gilding off a knave,


Unplac'd, unpension'd, no man's heir, or slave?

I will, or perish in the gen'rous cause:

Hear this, and tremble! you, who 'scape the laws. Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave




Shall walk the world, in credit, to his
The world beside may murmur, or commend.G
Know, all the distant din that world can keep,
Rolls o'er my grotto, and but sooths my sleep.
There, my retreat the best companions grace,
Chiefs out of war, and statesmen out of place.
There ST. JOHN mingles with my friendly bowl
The feast of reason and the flow of soul:
And HE, whose lightning pierc'd th' Iberian lines,
Now forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines,
Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain,
Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain.



VER. 129. And HE, whose lightning, &c.] Charles Mordaunt Earl of Peterborow, who in the year 1705 took Barcelona, and in the winter following, with only 280 horse and 900 foot, enterprised and accomplished the conquest of Valentia.

Envy must own, I live among the great, No pimp of pleasure, and no spy of state,

With eyes that pry not, tongue that ne'er repeats,
Fond to spread friendships, but to cover heats; 136
To help who want, to forward who excel;

This all who know me, know; who love me, tell;
And who unknown defame me, let them be
Scriblers or peers, alike are mob to me.
This is my plea, on this I rest my cause—
What saith my council, learned in the laws?

F. Your plea is good; but still I say, beware!
Laws are explain'd by men—so have a care.
It stands on record, that in Richard's times
A man was hang'd for very honest rhymes.
Consult the statute: quart. I think, it is,
Edwardi sext. or prim. et quint. Eliz.

See Libels, Satires-here you have it read.



P. Libels and Satires! lawless things indeed! 150

But grave epistles, bringing vice to light,

Such as a king might read, a bishop write.
Such as Sir ROBERT would approve-

F. Indeed?

The case is alter'd-you may then proceed;
In such a cause the plaintiff will be hiss'd,
My lords the judges laugh, and you're dismiss'd.


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