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Eftates have wings, and hang in fortune's pow'r,
Loofe on the point of ev'ry wav'ring hour,
Ready, by force, or of your own accord,
By fale, at least by death, to change their lord.
Man? and for ever? wretch! what wouldst thou
Heirurges heir, like wave impelling wave. [have?
All vaft poffeffions (juft the fame the cafe
Whether you call them Villa, Park, or Chafe)
Alas, my Bathurft! what will they avail?
Join Cotfwood hills to Saperton's fair dale;
Let rifing granaries and temples here,
Their mingled farms and pyramids appear;
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak;
Inclofe whole towns in walls-'tis all a joke!
Inexorable Death fhall level all,
And trees, and ftones, and farms, and farmer fall.
Gold, Silver, Iv'ry, Vafes, fculptur'd high,
Paint, Marble, Gems, and robes of Perfian dye,
There are who have not-and, thank heaven!
there are,

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With terrors round, can reafon hold her throne
Defpife the known, nor tremble at th' unknow
Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire,
In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire?
Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behin
And count each birth-day with a grateful min
Has life no fournefs, drawn fo near its end?
Canft thou endure a foe, forgive a friend?
Has age but melted the rough parts away,
As winter fruits grow mild ere they decay?
Or will you think, my friend, your bufinefs dor
When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one

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Learn to live well, or fairly make your will You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, and drank yo Walk fiber off, before a sprightlier age Comes titt'ring on, and thoves you from theftag Leave fuch to trifle with more grace and cale, Whom foily pleases, and whofe follies pleale.

§21. Epilogues to the Satires. In tavo Dialogues

DIALOGUE I.

Pope.

Who if they have not,think not worth their care.
Talk what you will of Tafte, my friend, you'll
Two of a face as foon as of a mind.
Why, of two brothers, rich and reftlefs one [fun; Ir. Nor twice a twelvemonth you appear
Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from fun to
The other flights, for women, fports, and wines,
All Townthend's turnips, and all Grofvenor's
mines:

Why one, like Bu-with pay and fcorn content,
Bows, and votes on, in Court and Parliament;
One, driven by trong Benevolence of foul,
Shall fly, like Oglethorp, from pole to pole;
Is known alone to that Directing Pow'r
Who forms the Genius in the natal hour;
That God of Nature, who, within us ftill,
Inclines our action, not constrains our will:
Various of temper, as of face or frame,
Each individual; his great End the fame.
Yes, Sir, how fmall foever be my heap,
A
part
I will enjoy as well as keep.
My heir may figh, and think it want of grace
A man fo poor would live without a place :
But fure no ftatute in his favour fays,
How free or frugal I fhall país my days;
I, who at fome times fpend, at others fpare,
Divided between carelessness and care.
'Tis one thing madly to difperfe my store;
Another, not to heed to treasure more;
Glad, like a boy, to fnatch the first good day,
And pleas'd if fordid want be far away.

What is 't to me (a paffenger, Ged wot)
Whether my veffel be first-rate or not?
The thip itself may make a better figure,
But I that fail am neither lefs nor bigger;
I neither ftrut with ev'ry fav'ring breath,
Nor ftrive with all the tempeft in my teeth:
In pow'r, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd
Behind the foremost, and before the last.
"But why all this of avarice? I have none."
I wish you joy, Sir, of a tyrant gone;
Iut does no other lord it at this hour,
As wild and mad-the avarice of pow'r?
Does neither rage inflame, nor fear appall?
Not the black fear of death that faddens all?

print;

And when it comes, the Court fee nothing in
You grow correct, that once with rapture wi
And are, befides, too moral for a Wit.
Decay of parts, alas! we all muft feel-
Why now, this moment, don't I fee you ftcal
'Tis all from Horace; Horace, long before ye
Said, "Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs
"Tory;"

And taught his Romans, in much better metr
"To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter.

But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice;
Bubo obferves, he lafh'd no fort of Vice:
Horace would fay, Sir Billy ferv'd the Crown;
Blunt could do bufinefs, H-ggins knew the town
In Sappho touch the Failings of the Sex,
In rev'rend Bishops note fome small negle&s;
And own the Spaniard did a waggifb ibing,
Who cropp'd our ears, and fent them to the King
His fly, polite, infinuating style

Could pleafe at Court, and make Augustus smile:
An artful manager, that crept between
His friend and name, and was a kind of fereen.
But, faith, your very friends will foon be fore;
Patriots there are who with you'd jeít no more
And where's the Glory? 'twill be only thought
The great man never offer'd you a groat.
Go fee Sir Robert-

P. See Sir Robert!-hum-
And never laugh for all my life to come?
Seen him I have, but in his happier hour
Of Social Pleasure, ill exchang'd for Pow'r,
Seen him, uncumber'd with a venal tribe,
Smile without art, and win without a bribe.
Would he oblige me? let me only find
He does not think me what he thinks mankind,
Come, come-at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt;
The only diff'rence is-I dare laugh out.
F. Why yes,with Scripture ftill you may be free;
A horfe-laugh, if you pleafe, at Honefly;
A joke

4ke on JEKYL, or fome odd Old Whig, Wareve changed his principle, or wig; Art is a fool in ev'ry age,

Wal Lord Chamberlains allow the stage:
Thing hurts; they keep their fashion still,
And wear their strange old virtue, as they will.
ryck you," Who's the man, fo near
pract, that writes in verfe, and has his ear?"
Wawer, Lyttleton; and I'll engage
The worthy rath fhall ne'er be in a rage:
By were overfes vile, his whisper base,
Yar find him in Lord Fanny's
Sey, burt not honest Fleury ;
I put fome ftate fmen in a fury.

cafe.

at any but at fools or foes; Tant anger, and you mend not thofe. our friends; and, if your friends are

ae better, you may laugh the more. rend folly to confine the jeft, theworld, God knows, against the reft; **the inter of more impartial men and virtue balance all again swats fpread wide the ridicule, bly comfort knave and fool. sir, forgive the prejudice of youth: finétion, fatire, warmth, and truth! Paleis characters that no one hit; Henley's oratory, Ofborne's wit! By dropping from Favonio's tongue, Es of Bubo, and the flow of Y-ng! dew of pulpit eloquence,

But, paft the fense of human miferies,
All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;
No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,
Save when they lose a question, or a job.

the well-whipp'd cream of courtly fenfe, * H-vy's, F-'s next, and then and then H-vy's once again. ealy, Ciceronian style,

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tfo English all the while,

* pride of Middleton and Bland,

P. Good Heaven forbid that I fhould blaft their glory,

Who know how like Whig Minifters to Tory,
And when three Sov`reigns died, could scarce be
vext,

Confid'ring what a gracious Prince was next.
Have I, in filent wonder, feen fuch things
As pride in Siaves, and avarice in Kings;
And at a Peer or Peerefs fhall I fret,
Who ftarves a fifter, or forfwears a debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But thall the dignity of Vice, be lof?
Ye Gods! fhall Cibber's fon, without rebuke,
Swear like a Lord, or Rich outwhore a Duke?
A fav'rite's porter with his mafter vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Shall Ward draw contracts with a statesman's
Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a will? [skill?
Is it for Bond or Peter (paltry things!)
To pay their debts, or keeptheir faith, like kings?
If Blount dispatch'd himself, he play'd the man,
And fo may 'it thou, illuftrious Pafferan!
But fhall a Printer, weary of his life,
Learn from their books to hang himself and wife?
This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear;
Vice thus abus'd demands a nation's care:
This cails the church to deprecate our fin,
And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin.

Let modeft Fofter, if he will, excel
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well;
A fimple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,
Outdo Landaff in doctrine-yea in life;
Let humble Allen, with an awkward fhame,
Do good by ftealth, and blush to find it fame.

read, and girls may understand!irtue may choose the high or low degree,

fing, without the leaft offence, Tung thould be the Nation's Sense; the melancholy Mufe to mourn, fad verse on Carolina's urn, her paffage to the Realms of Reft, perform'd, and all her children bleft! at is no more-I feel it diezetteer more innocent than 1Sea-God's name, ev'ry fool and knave thro' life, and flatter'd in his grave. Why fo? if Satire knows its time and place, may lafh the greatest-in difgrace: will by turns forfake them all; you know when? exactly when they fall. ad fatire in all changes spare S-k, and grave Ď―re.

nd foft as faints remov'd to heaven, difolv`d, and ev'ry fin forgiven, may fome gentle ministerial wing

'Tis juft alike to virtue, and to me;
Dwell in a Monk, or light upon a King,
She's ftill the fame belov'd, contented thing
Vice is undone if the forgets her birth,
And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth:
But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a whore:
Let Greatness own her, and flhe's mean no more,
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confefs,
Chafte matrons praife her,and grave bishops blefs;
In golden chains the willing world the draws,
And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws;
Mounts the tribunal, lifts ber scarlet head,
And fees pale Virtue carted in her stead.
Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
Old England's Genius, rough with many a scar,
Dragg'd in the duft! his arms hang idly round,
His flag inverted trails along the ground!

Our youth, all livery'd o'er with foreign gold,
Before her dance; behind her, crawl the old!

ve, and place for ever near a King! [port, See thronging millions to the Pagod run,

Tere,'

where

no paffion, pride, or fhame tranf d with the fweet Nepenthe of a Court; sere, where no father's, brother's, friend's dif.

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And offer country, parent, wife, or fon!
Hear her black trumpet thro' the land proclaim,
That not to be corrupted is the frame.

In foldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow'r,

'Tis av rice all, ambition is no more!

See all our nobles begging to be flaves!
See all our fools afpiring to be knaves!
The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore :
All, all look up, with reverential awe,
At crimes that 'fcape or triumph o'er the law;
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry:
"Nothing is facred now but villany."

Yet may this verfe (if such a verse remain)
Shew there was one who held it in difdain.

DIALOGUE II.

F. TIS all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will fay.
P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow, 'faith, it
And for that very caufe I print to-day. [may;
S
How should I fret to mangle ev'ry line,
In rev'rence to the fins of Thirty-nine!
Vice with fuch giant ftrides comes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er fo ftrong,
Some rifing genius fins up to my fong.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lafh;
Even Guthry faves half Newgate by a dash.
Spare then the perfon, and expofe the vice:

P. How, Sir! not damn the fharper, but the
Come on then, fatire! gen'ral, unconfin'd [dice?
Spread thy broad wing, and foufe on all the kind.
Ye ftatefmen, priefts, of one religion all !
Ye tradeímen, vile, in army, court, or hall!
Ye rev'rend Atheists--F. Scandal! name them;
who?

P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.
Who ftarv'd a fifter, who forfwore a debt,
I never nam'd; the town's enquiring yet.
F. The pois ning dame,you mean.-P.I don't.
F. You do.

P. See, now I keep the fecret, and not you!
Thebribing ftatefman -F. Hold, too highyou go.
P. The brib'd elector.-F. There you stoop
too low.

P. I fain would please you, if I knew with

what;
Tell me which knave is lawful game,which not?
Muft great offenders, once escap'd the Crown,
Like royal harts, be never more run down?
Admit your law to fpare the knight requires,
As beats of nature may we hunt the 'quires?
Suppose I cenfure-you know what I mean-
To fave a Bishop, may I name a Dean?

F. A Dean, Sir? no; his fortune is not made;
You hurt a man that's rifing in the trade.

P. If not the trade fman who fet up to-day,
Much lefs the 'prentice who to-morrow may.
Down, down proud fatire! tho'a realm be spoil'd,
Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild;
Or, if a court or country's made a job,
Go drench a pickpocket, and join the mob.

But, Sir, I beg you (for the love of vice!)
The matter's weighty, pray confider twice;
Have you lefs pity for the needy cheat,
The poor and friendless villain, than the great?
Alas! the small difcredit of a bribe

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Who now that obfolete example fears?
Even Peter trembles only for his ears.

F. What always Peter? Peter thinks your
You make men defp'rate, if they once are 3
Elfe might he take to virtue fome years hend
P. As S-k, if he lives, will love the Pr
F. Strange spleen to S-k!

P. Do I wrong the man
God knows, I praife a Courtier where I ca
When I confefs, there is who feels for fam
And melts to goodnels, need I Scarb'rown:
Pleas'd let me own, in Ester's peaceful gro
(Where Kent and nature vie for Pelham's 10
The fcene, the master, op'ning to my view,
I fit and dream I fee my Craggs anew!

Even in a Bishop I can spy defert;
Secker is decent, Rundel has a heart:
Manners with candour are to Benson given;
To Berkley ev'ry virtue under heaven.

I

But does the Court a worthy man remo1
That inftant, I declare, he has my love:
I fhun his zenith, court his mild decline;
Thus Somers once and Halifax were mine.
Oft, in the clear ftill mirrour of retreat,
ftudied Shrewsbury, the wife and great;
Carleton's calm fenfe and Stanhope's noble f
Compar'd, and knew their gen'rous end the fa
How pleafing Atterbury's fofter hour!
How thin'd the foul, unconquer'd in the Tow
How can I Fult`ney, Chesterfield forget,
While Roman (pirit charms, and Attic wit
Argyle, the State's whole thunder born to wa
And thake alike the fenate and the field:
Or Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne
The mafter of our paflions, and his own:
Names which I long have lov'd,nor lov'd in va
Rank'd with their friends, not number'd w

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Have ftill a fecret bias to a knave:
To find an honeft man, I beat about,
And love him, court him, praife him, in or ou
F. Then why fo few commended?
P. Not fo fierce;

Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe. Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verie.

Ba

Benka praife-the task can ne'er be done :
Lamaks it for her booby fon :
wow aks it for the best of men;

the weeps, for him the weds again.
Pec not loop, like fatire, to the ground:
Teamber may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Tough for half the greatest of these days,
Tope my cenfure, not expect my praife.
Are they act rich? what more can they pretend?
De they hope a poet for their friend-
We wanted, Louis fcarce could gain;
Aung Ammon with'd, but with'd in

C

Norwiche Mufe's friendship can command;
* **when virtue claims it, can withstand:
Virgil pay'd one honest line;
Ceny country's friends illumine mine!

are you thinking? F. 'Faith, the teeght's no fin;

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 affords,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin,
As pure
mefs almost as it came in;

The blessed 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 House.

F. This filthy fimile, this beaftly line
Quite turns my ftomach-

P. So does flatt'ry mine:
And all your 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;

your friends are out, and would be in. merely to come in, Sir, they go out, Tway they take is ftrangely round about. Ty too may be corrupted, you'll allow. aly call thofe knaves who are fo now. too little? Come then, I'll comply-And of Arnall! aid me while I lie. a's a coward, Polwart is a flave; Lyttleton a dark, defigning knave;

has ever been a wealthy foollet me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull; Etever made a friend in private life, Atwa, befides, a tyrant to his wife. be pray, when others praife lim, do I Verres, Wolfey, any odious name? [blame? they then, if but a wreath of mine, omplish'd St. John! deck thy shrine? alleach fpur-gall'd hackney of the day, Whaton gives him double pots and pay; ew-penfion'd fycophant, pretend my windows if I treat a friend; ely plead, to me they meant no hurt; was my gueft at whom they threw the tipare the Minister, no rules [dirt?

our bind me not to maul his tools; they cannot cut, it may be faid ware toothless, and his hatchets lead. Parger'd Turenne, once upon a day,

e a footman kick'd that took his pay : when he heard th' affront the fellow gave, New one a man of honour, one a knave; prudent gen'ral turn'd it to a jeft, begg'd he'd take the pains to kick the hot at prefent having time to do [you? Hid, Er, for God's fake, where's th' affront to At your worthip when had S-k writ?

2

muft no egg in Japhet's face be thrown,
Becanfe the deed he forg'd was not my own?
Mult never Patriot then declaim at gin,
Unlefs, good man! he has been fairly in?
No zealous paftor blame a failing spouse,
Without a staring reafon 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
Mine, as a foe profeft to falfe pretence, [yours.
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 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,
Yet touch'd and fham'd by ridicule alone.
O facred weapon! left for truth's defence;
Sole dread of folly, vice, and infolence!
[reft: 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 stall.
Ye tinfel infects! whom a court maintains,
That counts your beauties only by your stains,
Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!
The Mufe's wing fhall 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.

P- pour'd forth the torrent of his wit?
the Bard whofe diftich all commend
The pow'r a fervant, out of pow'r a friend)
I W-le guilty of fome venial fin;
Wat's that to you, who ne'er was out nor in?
ThePiet whole flattery bedropp'd the Crown,
How hurt be you? he only ftain'd the gown.
And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,
Who speech you took, and gave it to a friend?

When

When black ambition stains a public caufe, A monarch's fword when mad vain-glory draws, Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fcar, Nor 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 shrine,

Her priestefs 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 stars 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);
LetEnvy 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, 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;
Are none, none living! let me praise the dead;
And, for that caufe which made your fathers
Fall by the votes of their degen'rate line. [fhine,
F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began,
And write next winter more Essays on Man.

§ 22. IMITATIONS OF HORACE.

EPISTLE VII.

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 fhort, Have kept it-as you do at Court. You humour me when I am fick, Why not when I am fplenetic? In town, what objects could I meet? The fhops fhut up in ev'ry ftreet, And fun'rals black'ning all the doors, And yet more melancholy whores: And what a duft in ev'ry place! And a thin Court that wants your face, And fevers raging up and down, And W and H both in town!

Pope.

"The dog-days are no more the cafe." 'Tis true, but winter comes apace: Then fouthward let your bard retire, Hold out fome months 'twixt fun and fire, And you shall fee, the first warm weather, Me and the butterflies together.

My lord, your favours well I know; 'Tis with distinction you bestow; And not to ev'ry one that comes, Juft as a Scotfman does his plums. "Pray, take them, fir; enough's a feaft "Eat fome, and pocket up the rest." What, rob your boys, thofe pretty rogues? "No, fir, you'll leave them to the hogs." Thus fools with compliments besiege ye, Contriving never to oblige ye.

Scatter your favours on a for,
Ingratitude 's the certain crop ;
And 'tis but juft; I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wife man always is or fhou'd
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a diff'rence 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 langh'd down many a fummer fun,
And kept you up so oft till one;
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda rais'd my ftrain.

A weazel once made fhift to flink
In at a corn-loft thro' a chink;
But, having amply ftuff'd his skin,
Could not get out as he got in:
Which one belonging to the house
('Twas not a man, it was a mouse)
Obferving, cried, "You 'fcape not fo;
"Lean as you came, fir, you must go.’

Sir, you may fpare your application,
I'm no fuch beait, nor his relation;
Nor one that temperance advance,

Cramm'd to the throat with Ortolans:
Extremely ready to refign

All that may make me none of mine.
South-fea fubfcriptions take who please,
Leave me but liberty and cafe.
Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child,
Who prais'd my modetty, and fmil'd.
Give me, I cried (enough for me),
My bread, and independency!
So bought an annual rent or two,
And liv'd-juft as you fee I do;
Near fifty, and without a wife,
I trust that finking fund, my life.
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well;
Shrink back to my paternal cell,
A little houfe, with trees a-row,
And, like its master, very low.
There died my father, no man's debtor-
And there I'll die, nor worfe nor better.

To fet this matter full before ye,
Our old friend Swift will tell his story:
"Harley, the nation's great fupport,"-
But you may read it, I ftop fhort.

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