Mine, as a foe profefs'd to falle pretence,
Who think a Coxcomb's honour like his fene;
Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind;
And mine as man who feel for all mankind.
F. You're ftrangely proud.
P. So proud, I am no flave
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 fee
Men not afraid of God, afraid of me:
Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, 210
Yet touch'd and fham'd by Ridicule alone.,
O facred weapon! left for truth's defence, Sole dread of folly, vice, and infolence! To all but heaven-directed hands deny'd, The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods muft guide:
Reverent I touch thee! but with honeft zeal;
To Touze the watchmen of the public weal,
To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,
And goad the prelate flumbering in his stall.
Ye tinfel infects! whom a court maintains,
That counts your beauties only by your ftains,
Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!
The mule's wing fhall brush you all away:
All his Grace preaches, all his Lordfhip fings,
All that makes Saints of Queens, and Gods of
Kings.
All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the preis,
Like the laft Gazette, or the last Addrefs.
When black ambition ftains a public caufe, A Monarch's fword, when mad vain-glory draws,
Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fear, 230 Not Boileau turn the feather to a star.
Not fo, when, diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's fhri
Her priefter fufe forbids the Good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.
There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than fuch as Anftis cafts into the grave;
Far other Stars than* and ** wear,
And may defcend to Mordington from Stair;
(Such as on Hough's untully'd mitre fhine, 240
Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine)
Let envy how!, while Heaven's whole chorus
fings,
And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let flattery fickening fee the incenfe rife,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the fkies: 245
Truth guards the poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verfe as mean as mine.
Yes, the laft pen for Freedom let me draw,
When Truth ftands trembling on the edge of
Law;
Here, laft of Britons! let your names be read; 250
Are none, none living? let me praife the Dead,
And for that Caufe which made your fathers
Fall by the Votes of their degenerate line.
F. Alas, alas! pray end what you began, And write next winer more Efays on Man. 255
EPISTLE
Imitated in the Manner of Dr. SWIFT.
TIS true, my Lord, I gave my word,
I would be with you, June the third
Chang'd it to Auguft, and (in short)
Have kept it--as you do at Coutt.
You humour me when I am fick,
Why not when I am iplenetick?
In town what objects could I meet?
The fhops fhut up in every street,
And funerals blackening all the doors,
And yet more melancholy whores:
And what a duft in every place!
And a thin court that wants your face,
And fevers raging up and down,
And W* and H** both in town!
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“The dog-days are no more the cafe.”‚¦. | 15 'Tis true, but winter comes apace: Then fouthward let your bard retire, Hold out fome months 'twixt fun and fire, And you fhall fee, the first warm weather, Me and the Butterflies together.
My Lord, your favours well I know;
Tis with diftinction you bestow;
And not to every one that comes,
Juft as a Scotiman does his plums. ~
"Pray take them, fir---Enough's a feast:
Eat fome, and pocket up the rest”
What, rob your boys? thole pretty rogues!
No, fir, you'll leave them to the bogs."
Thus fcols with compliments befiege ye,
Contriving never to oblige ye.
Scatter your favours on a fop,
Ingratitude's the certain crop;
And 'tis but juft, I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wie man always is or fhould
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a difference in his thought
Betwixt a guinea and a groat.
Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me
A fafe companion and a free;
But if you'd have me always near---
A word, pray, in your honour's ear.
I hope it is your refolution
To give me back my constitution!
The fprightly wit, the lively eye,
Th' engaging fmile, the gaiety,
That laugh'd down many a fummer fur,
And kept you up so oft till one;
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda rais'd my strain.
A weazel once made fhift to flink
In at a corn-loft through a chink;
But having amply ftuff'd his skin,
Could not get out as he got in
Which one belonging to the Houfe
'Twas not a Man, it was a Moufe) Obferving, cry'd," You 'fcape not fo, "Lean as you came, fir, you must go." Sir, you may fpare your application, I'm no fuch beaft, nor his relation; 3 G
Nor one that temperance adyance,
Cramm'd to the throat with ortolans:
Extremely ready to refign T 21
All that may make me none of mine.
South-fea fubfcriptions take who please,
Leave me but liberty and ehfe."
Our courtier fcarce could touch a bit,
But fhow'd his breeding and his wit;
He did his beft to feem to eat,
And cry'd, d vow you're mighty neat.
65" But Lord, my friends, this favage fcene!
T "For God's fake, come, and live with men :
Confider, mice, like men must die,
Both fmall and great, both you and I :
Then spend your life in joy and fport,
(This doctrine, friend, I learn'd at Court).” 180
The verieft hermit in the nation
May yield, God knows, to ftrong temptation.
good Away they came, through thick and thin,
nut To a tall houfe near Lincoln's-Inn:
195(Twas on the night of a debate,
'Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child,
Who prais'd my modefty, and imil'd.
Give me, I crydy (enough for me)--11 10))
My bread, and independency in vocmail you
So bought an annual-rent or two, 11 and the
And liv'djuft as you fee I do ;
Near fifty, and without a wife,
I trust that finking fund, my lifedd
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well,rom
Shrink back to my paternal cell,
A little houfe, with trees a-row; *\
And, like its master, very low.
There dy'd my father, no man's debtor,* .' !
And there I die, nor worfe nor better.
To fet this matter full before ye,s led 2071
Our old friend Swift will tell his for
Harley, the nation's great support---350 ko But you may read it, I top fort. fed a
The latter Part of SATIRE VI.*
When all their Lordships had fate late.) Behold the place, where if a poet Shin'd in defeription, he might fhow it; Tell how the moon-beam trembling falls, And tips with filver all the walls; Palladian walls, Venetian doors, Grotefco roofs, and ftucco floors, But let it (in a word) be laid, The Moon was up, and Men a-bed, The napkin's white, the carpet red: The guests withdrawn had left the treat, And down the mice fate, " tête à tête." Our courtier walks from difh to dish, Taftes for his friend of fowl and fish, Tells all their names, lays down the law, Que ça eft bon! Ah goûtez ça! "That jelly's rich, this malmiey healing, "Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in." Was ever fuch a happy fwain? He stuffs and wills, and ftuffs again. "I'm quite afham'd---'tis mighty rude "To eat to much---but all 's fo good. "have a thousand thanks to give--"My Lord alone knows how to li 145 No fooner faid but from the hall Rufh chaplain, butler, dogs and all. "A rat, a rat! clap too the door”The cat comes bouncing on the floor. O for the heart of Homer's mice,
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O Charming noons ! and hights divine! not hard
Or when I fup of When I dime, mein P:26 a că
My friends above, me folks below,
Chatting and laughing alliadow, as .samo 1.
The beans and bacop fet before temy, y dor,iul W
The grace-cup fery'd with 21 decotum ad og
Each willing to be pleas'd, and please, einot LnT
And even the very dogs afrenfellava gaz 140
Here no man prates of idle things, TED, DUCK
How this or that Italian fings, bu
A neighbour's midnieks, or his spouse's,
Or what's in either of the Houses:
But fomething much more our concern,
And quite a fcandal not to learn:
Which is the happier, for the wiler,
A man of merit, or a mifer?ING
Whether we ought to chufe out friends, li
For their own worth, or our own ends ?5 150 Or Gods to fave them in a trice!
What good, or better, we may call, Lo
And what, the very best of all?
Our friend Dan Prior told (you know) f
A tale extremelyà propos :
Name a town-life, and in a trice
He had a story of two nice..
Once on a time (foruns the Fable)
A Country Moufe, right hospitable,
Receiv'd a Town Moule at his board,
Just as a Fanner might a Lord
A frugal moufe, upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his friend, and had a tour, 250-
Knew what was handforne, and would do't,
On juft occafion, "coûte qui coûte."
He brought him bacon (nothing lean);
Pudding, that might
Cheefe, such as men have pleas'd a Dean
in Suffolk make,
But wifh'd it Stilton for his fake;
Yet, to his gueft though no way paring,
fle eat him elf the rind and paring.
* See the first part in Swift's Poems.
AGAIN? new tumults in my breaft?
Ah spare me, Venus! let me, let me rest! I am not now, alas! the man
As in the gentle reign of my Queen Anne,
Ah found no more thy foft alarms,"
Nor circle fober fifty with thy charms! Mother too fierce of dear defires
Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires. To number five direct your doves,
There spread round Murray all your blooming loves;
Noble and young, who ftrikes the heart,
With every fprightly, every decent part; Equal, the injur'd' to de'end,
To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend.
He with a hundred arts refin'd,"
Though daring Milton fys fubling,
In Spenfer native Mufeplay;
Nor yet fhall Waller yield to time,
Nor penfive Cowley's moral lay---
Sages and chiefs long fince had birth
Ere Cæfar was, or Newton ram'd;
The new Pipires d'er the Ath, 07
And thofe, new Heavens and Sytems fram
Vain was the Chief's the Sage's pride!
They had no Poet, and they died:
Shall ftretch the conquefts over half the kind In vain they fchein'dein vain the bied !
To him each rival shall submit,
They Had no Poet, and are dead.
Shall glitter o'er the pendent green,
Where Thames reflects the vifionary feene: Thither the filver-founding lyres
Shall call the fmiling loves, and young de-
fires
There, every Grace and Mufe hall throng,
Exalt the dance, or animate the fong;
There youths and nymphs, in confort gay,
Shall hail the rifing, close the parting day.
With me, alas! thofe joys are ofer
For me the vernal garlands bloom no more.
Adieu! fond hope of mutual fire,
The ftill-believing, ftill renew'd defire; Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl,
And all the kind deceivers of the foul! But why? ah tell me, ah too dearton
Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear Why words fo flowing, thoughts fo free,
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Stop, or turn nonfenfe, at one glance of thee?
Thee, drefs'd in fancy's aity bearn,od profe
Ablent I follow through th extended dream
Now, now I ceafe, I clafp thy chatmis,
And now you burft (ah, cruel !) from my
arms"; SAT NAS PEVES ST Most
And swiftly fhoot along the Mall, (vedi bisÅ
Or foftly glide by the Canal, solo 20.917
Now shown by Cynthia's filter ray, viibisi baa
And now ontrolling waters hatch'd away 2
andi sai.ft or exil
This feel hall ftab it to the heart."
Aw'd, on my bended knees fel,
Receiv'd the weapons of the
And dipp'd them in the fible wellent bioist The fount of fame or in Yus fistul In A "What well what weapon 26(Flavie chie) "A ftantifh, Reef and golden penol A "It came from Bertrands, not the sides, svedA gave it you to writed lavor to S.X 10 10 63Th di Final to fuled T "But, friendly takes heeddhum yowattick gi "You'll bring achoufes (mean of Peersyd "Rad, blue, fand gleef; nay write and black,? སྤུ་་ "Land all about your farmid schu - X pieu aniremiyad tip fallen florşıni asdk/ "You'd write as fmooth again myglus. Ils haA And run, on ivory foglio to is a42 PART OF THE NINTH ODESAs not to ftigk at fool otsail fuel is as V and W "Nor ftup at flattery or fib.. How Affenial Cucent and roberenndi won n'vI
A FRAGMENİSKOT
twa of ordir enirola og nog
EST you hould think that verfe hall die. T
Which founds the filver Thames alongjian
Taught on the wings of truth to fly
Above the reach of vulgar fong;
SENT to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnell's
Peens, published by our Author after the said
Earl's Imprisonment in the Tower, and Re-
treat into the country, the year 1721.
SUCH were the notes thy once-loved poet fun
'Till death untimely topp'd his tuneful
tongue.
Ob juft beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd!
With fofteft manners, gentleft aris adorn'd!'
Bleft in each .cience, bleft in every ftrain!
Dear, to the Mute to Harley dear-in vain!
For him, thou oft haft bid the world attend,
Fond to forget the statesman in the friend!
For Swift and him defpis'd the farce of state,
The fober follies of the wile and great';
Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,
And pleas'd to 'fcape from Flattery to Wit.
Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear,
(A figh the ablent claims, the dead a tear)
Recall thote nights that elos'd thy toilome days, 15
Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays,
Who, careless now of intereft, fame, or fate,
Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great;
Or, deeming méaneft what we greatest call,
Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall.
And fure, if aught below the feats divine
Can touch, immortals, 'tis a foul like thine:
A foul fupreme, in each hard inftance try'
Above all pain, and paffion, and all pride,
This, from no venal or ungrateful muse.
Whether thy band strike out fome free deûgn,
Where life awakes, and dawns at every line;
Or blend in beauteous tints the colour'dmals, 5
And from the canvass call the mimic face:
Read these inftructive leaves, in which confpire
Freinoy's clofe art, and Dryden's native fire;
And reading wifh, like theirs, our fate and farme,
Like them to thine through long fucceeding age,
So uft thy fkill, fo regular my rage,
The rage of power, the blaft of public breath, 25 So mix'd our studies, and fo join'd our pare ; 10
The luft of lucre, and the dread of death.
In vain to deserts thy retreat is made;
The Mufe attends thee to thy filent fhade:
"Tis her's, the brave man's lateft fteps to trace;
Re-judge his acis, and dignify disgrace.
When intereft calls off all her sneaking train,
And all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the feaffold, or the cell,
When the last lingering friend has bid fare
Ev'n now, the fhades thy evening-walk with
(No hireling the, no prostitute to praife):
Ev'n now, obfervant of the parting ray
Eyes the calm fun-fet of thy various day,"
Through fortune's cloud one truly great can
fee,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is be
Smit with the love of fifter-arts we came,
And met congenial, mingling flame with flame;
Like friendly colours found them both unite, 15
And each from each contract new strength and
How oft in pleafing take we wear the day,
While fummer-funs roll unperceiv'd away!
While images reflect from art to art!
How oft our flowly-growing works impart,
How oft review; each finding like a friend
Something to blame, and fomething to commend!
What flattering fcenes our wandering fancy
wrought; Ai
Rome's pompous glories rifing to our thought!
Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly,
Fired with ideas of fair Italy.
regat was haver so little more brily pathetic from
the epicotte of Eliise ; the Elegy to the unferturich lady; (and let me not forget one of the sweitest and most reelschious to Lord Oxford
With thee on Raphael's monument I mourn,
Or wait infpiring dreams at Maro's urn;
With thee repole, where Tully once was laid,
Or feek fome ruin's formidable fhade:
While fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view,
And builds imaginary Rome anew.
Here thy well-ftudied arbles fix our eye;
A fading Frelco here demands a figh:
Each heavenly piece unwearied we compare,
Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air,
Carracci's ftrength, Correggia's fofter line,
Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine.
How finish'd with illuftrious toil appears
This fmall, well-polish'd gem the work of years!49
Yet ftill how faint by precept is expreis'd
The living image in the painter's breaft!,
Thence endles ftreams of fair Ideas flow,
Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow;
Thence beauty, waking all her form, fupplies 45
An angel's fweetnels, or Bridgewater's eyes.
Mule! at that name thy facred forrows fhed,
Thofe tears eternal that embalm the dead;
Call round her tomb each object of defire,
Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire:
Bid her be all that chears or foftens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife:
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore,
Then view this marble, and be vain no more!
Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint en
gage;
55
Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age.
Beauty, frail flower that every feafon fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.
Thus Churchill's race fhall other hearts furprife,
And other beauties envy Worfley's eyes;
Each pleafing Blount fhall endless fimiles beftow,
And foft Belinda's bluth for ever glow.
Oh, lafting as those colours may they fhine, Free as thy ftroke, yet faultles as thy line; New graces yearly like thy works difplay, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by fome rule, that guides, but not constrains: And finish'd more through happiness than pains! The kindred arts fhall in their praise confpire, One dip the pencil, and one ftring the lyre. Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on every face; Yet fhould the Mufes bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul: With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, And there be fung till Granville's Myra dies Alas! how little from the grave, we claim! Thou but preferv'ft a Face, and I a Name,'
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flattery pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with efteem no less convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-
bred:
His heart, bis mistress and his friend did share ;
His time, the Muse, the witty and the fair.
Thus wifely carelefs, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
Till fate fcarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft;
As fmiling infants fport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival wits did Voiture's death deplore, 15
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd be-
fore;
The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brighteft eyes:
The Smiles, and Loves had died in Voiture's
death,
But that for ever in his lines they breathe. 20
Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious comedy;
In every scene some moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular,
Have humour, wit, a native efe and grace,
Though not too ftrialy bound to time and place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please ;
Few write to those, and none can live to thefe. 30
Too much your fex are by their forms con-
The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her prayers. Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders mates,50. The fhining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, And, to complete her blifs, a Fool for mate. She glares in balls, front boxes, and the ring, A vain, unquiet, glittering, wretched thing! Pride, pomp, and state, but reach her outward 55
She fighs, and is no Duchefs at her heart. 1
But, madam, if the fates withstand, and you
Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too;
Truft not too much your now refiftless charms,
Thole, age or fickness, foon or late difarms: 60
Good-humour only teaches charms to lait,
Still makes new conqueft, and maintains the past;
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