But at a feast 'tis difficult to know,
From real friends an undiscover'd foe;
The man that swears he will the poll secure,
And pawns his soul that your election's sure, 49
Suspect that man: beware, all is not right,
He's ten to one a corporation-bite.
Alderman Pond, a downright honest man, Would say, I cannot help you, or I can : To spend your money, sir, is all a jest; Matters are settled, set your heart at rest: We've made a compromise, and sir, you know, That sends one member high, and t'other low. But if his good advice you would not take, He'd scorn your supper, and your punch forsake, Leave you of mighty interest to brag, And poll two voices like sir Robert Fag.
Parliamenteering is a sort of itch,
That will too oft unwary knights bewitch.
Two good estates Sir Harry Clodpole spent ;
Sate thrice, but spoke not once, in parliament;
Two good estates are gone-Who'll take his word?
Oh! should his uncle die, he'd spend a third;
He'd buy a house his happiness to crown,
Within a mile of some good borough-town; 516
Tag, rag, and bobtail to sir Harry's run,
Men that have votes, and women that have none;
Sons, daughters, grandsons, with his Honor dine;
He keeps a public-house without a sign.
Coblers and smiths extol th' ensuing choice,
And drunken taylors boast their right of voice.
Dearly the free-born neighbourhood is bought,
They never leave him while he's worth a groat:
So leeches stick, nor quit the bleeding wound,
Till off they drop with skins full to the ground.
TO WILLIAM WYNDHAM, ESQ.
OF FELBRIG, NORFOLK.
THE art of converse, how to sooth the soul
Of haughty man, his passions to control,
His pride at once to humble and to please,
And join the dignity of life with ease,
Be now my theme. O thou, whom Nature's hand
Fram'd for this best, this delicate command,
And taught, when lisping without reason's aid,
At the same time to speak and to persuade,
WYNDHAM, with diligence awhile attend,
Nor scorn th' instructions of an older friend; 10
Who when the world's great commerce shall have intercourse
The deep reflection, and the strength of mind,
To the bright talents of thy youthful state,
In turn shall on thy better lessons wait.
Whence comes it, that in every art we see
Many can rise to a supreme degree;
Yet in this art, for which all seem design'd
By nature, scarcely one compleat we find?
You'll say, perhaps, we think, we speak, we move,
By the strong springs alone of selfish love:
Yet among all the species, is there one,
Whom with more caution than ourselves we shun?
What is it fills a puppet-show or court?
Go none but for the profit or the sport?
If so, why comes each soul fatigu'd away,
And curses the dull puppets same dull play ;
Yet, unconvinc'd, is tempted still to go?
'Tis that we find at home our greatest foc.
And reason good why solitude we flee;
Can wants with self-sufficiency agree?
Yet, such our inconsistency of mind,
We court society, and hate mankind.
With some we quarrel, for they're too sincere:
With others, for they're close, reserv'd and queer;
This is too learn'd, too prudent, or too wise;
And that we for his ignorance despise :
A voice perhaps our ear shall harshly strike, Then strait ev'n wit itself shall raise dislike; Our eye may by some feature be annoy'd, Behold at once a character destroy'd: One's so good-natur'd, he's beyond all bearing, He'll ridicule no friend, though out of hearing : Another warm'd with zeal, offends our eyes, 7. Because he holds the mirror up to vice. f
No wonder then, since fancies wild as these
Can move our spleen, that real faults displease.
When Maevius, spite of dulness, will be bright,
And teach ARGYLL to speak, and SWIFT to write
When Flavia entertains us with her dreams,
And Macer with his no less airy schemes;
When peevishness, and jealousy and pride,
And int'rest that can brother hearts divide,
In their imagin'd forms our eyesight hit,
Of an old maid, a poet, peer or cit;
Can then, You'll say, philosophy refrain,
And check the torrent of each boiling vein ?
Yes. She can still do more; view passion's slave
With mind serene, indulge him, and yet save.
But self-conceit steps in, and with strict eye
Scans every man, and every man awry ;
-bo
That reigning passion, which through every stage
Of life, still haunts us with unceasing rage.
No quality so mean, but what can raise
Some drudging driveling candidate for praise;
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