What Richlieu wanted, Louis fcarce could gain;
And what young Ammon wifh'd, but wifh'd in vain ?
No pow'r the Mufe's friendship can command;
No pow'r, when virtue claims it, can withfland:
To Cato, Virgil pay'd one honeft line;
O let my country's friends illumine mine!
What are you thinking? F. Faith, the thought's no fin; I think you're friends are out, and would be in. P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, The way they take is ftrangely 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. Cobham's a coward, Polwart is a flave, And Lyttleton a dark, defigning knave; St. John has ever been a wealthy foolBut let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull ;' Has never made a Friend in private life,
And was, befides a tyrant to his wife.
But pray,
when others praise him, do I blame?
Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name?
Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine,
O all-accomplish'd St. John! deck thy fhrine?
What fhall each fpur-gall'd hackney of the day,
When Paxton gives him double pots and
Or each new-penfion'd fycophant, pretend
To break
my windows if I treat a friend;
Then wifely plead, to me they meant no hurt ;
But it was my gueft at home they threw the dirt?
Sure, if I fpare the Minifter, no rules
Of honour bind me not to maul his tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be said
His faws are toothless, and his hatchets lead.
It anger'd Turenne, once upon a day,
To see a footman kick'd that took his pay:
But when he heard the affront the fellow gave,
Knew one a man of honour, one a knave;
The prudent gen'ral turn'd it to a jeft,
And begg'd he'd take the pains to kick the reft
Which not at present having time to do→→
F. hold, fir, for God's fake, where's the affront to you?
Again your worship when had S-k writ ?
Or P-ge pour'd forth the torrent of his wit?
Or grant the Bard whofe diftich all commend
(In pow'r a fervant, one of pow'r a friend)
To W-le guilty of fome venial fin;
What's that to you, who ne'er was out nor in ?
The Prieft whofe flattery bedropt the Crown,
How hurt he you? he only ftain'd the gown.
And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,
Whofe fpeech 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 Houfe did afterwards the fame.
Let courtly wits to wits afford fupply,
As hog to hog in huts of Weftphaly;
If one thro' nature's bounty, or his Lord's,
Has what the frugal, dirty foil afford,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin,
As pure a mess almost as it came in ;''
The bleffed benefit, not there confin'd,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind:
From tail to mouth they feed and they caroufe ;
The last full fairly gives it to the Houfe.'
F. This filthy fimile, this beafly line
P. So does flatt'ry mine
And all our courtly Civet-cats can vent,
Perfume to you, to me is excrement.
But hear me farther-Japhet, 'tis agreed,
Writ not, and Chartres fcarce could write or read,
In all the Courts of Pindus guiltless quite ;
But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write ;
And muft no egg in Japhet's-face be thrown,
Because the deed he forg'd was not my own?
Must never Patriot then declaim at gin,
Unless, good man! he has been fairly in?
No zealous paflor blame a failing fpoufe,
Without a flaring reason on his brows?
And each blafphemer quite efcape the rod,
Because the infult's not on man, but God?
Afk you what provocation I have had?
The ftrong antipathy of good to bad.
When truth or virtue an affront endures,
'Th' affront is mine, my friend, and fhould be yours.
Mine, as a foe profess'd to false pretence.
Who think a Coxcomb's honour like his fenfe ;
Mine, as a friend to ev'ry worthy mind;
And mine as man, who feel for all mankind.
F. You're flrangely proud.
P. So proud, I am no flave;
So impudent, I own myfelf no knave;
So odd, my country's ruin makes mé 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,
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 denied, The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods muft guide : Rev'rent I touch thee! but with honeft zeal ; To roufe the watchmen of the public weal, To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall, And goad the Prelate flumb'ring in his flall. Ye tinfel infects! whom a court maintains, That counts your beauties only by your flains, Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day! The Mufe's wing shall brush you all away : All his Grace preaches, all his Lordship fings, All that makes faints of queens, and gods of kings,
All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the prefs,
Like the laft Gazette, or the laft addrefs.
When black ambition ftains a public cause,
A monarch's fword when mad vain-glory draws,
Not Wallers wreath can hide the nation's fcar,
Nor Boileau turn the feather to a flar.
Not fo, when diadem'd with rays divine,
Touch'd with the flame that breaks from Virtue's fhrine, Her prieflefs Mufe 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 flars than * and ** wear,
And may defcend to Mornington from Stair
(Such as on Hough's unfullied mitre fhine,
Or beam good Digby, from a heart like thine);
Let Envy howl, while heaven's whole chorus fings,
And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let Flatt'ry fick'ning fee the incenfe rife,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies:
Truth guards the Poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verse as mean as mine.
Yes, the laft pen for freedom let me draw,
When truth flands trembling on the edge of law;
Here laft of Britons! let your name be read;
Are none, none living? let me praise the dead,
And, for that cause which made your fathers fhine,
Fall by the votes of their degen'rate line.
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