With curious, but destructive art:
Here, thro' the eye to catch the heart,
Gay fars their tinfel beams afford,
Neat artifice to trap a Lord;
There, fit for all whom Folly bred,
Wave plumes of feathers for the head;
Garters the hag contrives to make,
Which as it seems, a babe might break,
But which ambitious madmen feel

More firm and fure than chains of steel;
Which, flipp'd just underneath the knee,
Forbid a Freeman to be free;
Purfes the knew (did ever curfe
Travel more fure than in a purse?)
Which, by fome ftrange and magic hands
Enslave the foul, and tie the hands.

Here Flatt'ry, eldest-born of Guile,
Weaves with rare fkill the filken fmile,
The courtly cringe, the fupple bow,
The private fqueeze, the levee vow,
With which, no strange or recent case,
Fools in deceive fools out of place.

Corruption (who, in former times, Thro' fear or fhame conceal'd her crimes, And what she did contriv'd to do it So that the public might not view it) Prefumptuous grown, unfit was held For their dark councils, and expell'd, Since in the day her bufinefs might Be done as fafe as in the night.

Her eye down-bending to the ground,
Planning fome dark and deadly wound,
Holding a dagger, on which ftood,
All fresh and reeking, drops of blood,
Bearing a lanthorn, which of yore,
By Treafon borrow'd, Guy Fawkes bore,
By which, fince they improv'd in trade,
Excifemen have their lanthorns made,
Affaffination, her whole mind
Blood-thirfting, on her arm reclin'd.
Death, grinning, at her elbow ftood,
And held forth inftruments of blood,
Vile inftruments, which cowards chofe,
But men of honour dare not use;
Around his Lordship and his Grace,
Both qualified for such a place,
With many a Forbes *, and many a Dun†,
Each a refolv'd, and pious fon,
Wait her high bidding; each prepar'd,
As the around her orders fhar'd,
Proof 'gainst remorse, to run, to fly,
And bid the destin'd victim die,
Pofting on Villainy's black wing,
Whether he Patriot is, or King.
Oppreffion, willing to appear
An object of our love, not fear,
Or at the most a rev'rend awe
a

To breed, ufurp'd the garb of Law.
A book fhe held, on which her eyes
Were deeply fixed, whence feemed to rife
Joy in her breaft; a book, of might
Moft wonderful, which black to white
Could turn, and without help of laws,
Could make the worse the better caufe.

* A Scotch officer who challenged Mr. Wilkes. † A poor Lunatic, who was charged with an intention to affaffinate Mr. Wilkes.

She read, by flatt'ring hopes deceiv'd,
She wifh'd, and what the wifh'd, believ'd,
To make that book for ever ftand
The rule of wrong through all the land;
On the back, fair and worthy note,
At large was Magna Charta wrote,
But turn your eye within, and read,
A bitter leffon, Norton's Creed.
Ready, e'en with a look, to run,
Faft as the courfers of the fun,
To worry Virtue, at her hand

Two half-ftarv'd greyhounds took their stand.
A curious model, cut in wood,
Of a moft ancient castle stood
Full in her view; the gates were barr'd,
And foldiers on the watch kept guard ;

In the front, openly, in black

Was wrote, "the Tow'r;" but on the back,
Mark'd with a Secretary's feal,
In bloody letters, the Baftille."
Around a table, fully bent

On mifchief of mott black intent
Deeply determin'd, that their reign
Might longer lat, to work the bane
Of one firm patriot, whose heart, tied
To Honour, all their pow'r defied,
And brought thofe actions into light
They wish'd to have conceal'd in night,
Begot, born, bred to infamy,

A Privy Council fat of Three;
Great were their names, of high repute
And favour thro' the land of Bute.

The First (entitled to the place
Of Honour both by Gown and Grace,
Who never let occafion flip

To take right-hand of fellowship,

And was fo proud, that should he meet
The twelve Apostles in the street,
He'd turn his nose up at them all,
And fhove his Saviour from the wall;

Who was fo mean (Meannefs and Pride

Still go together fide by fide)

That he would cringe, and creep, be civil,
And hold a stirrup for the Devil,

If in a journey to his mind,

He'd let him mount and ride behind;
Who bafely fawn'd thro' all his life,
For patrons first, then for a wife;
Wrote Dedications which must make
The heart of ev'ry Christian quake;
Made one man equal to, or more
Than God, then left him, as before
His God he left, and drawn by pride,
Shifted about to t' other fide)
Was by his fire a parfon made,
Merely to give the boy a trade;
But he himself was thereto drawn
By fome faint omens of the lawn,
And on the truly Chriftian plan
To make himself a Gentleman,
A title in which form array'd him,

Tho' Fate ne'er thought on't when the made him.
The oaths he took, 'tis very true,

But took them, as all wife men do,
With an intent, if things fhould turn.
Rather to temporize, than burn.
Gospel and Loyalty were made
To ferve the purposes of trade;

Religions are but paper ties,

Which bind the fool, but which the wife,
Such idle notions far above,
Draw on and off, just like a glove;
All Gods, all Kings (let his great aim
Be anfwer'd) were to him the fame,

A Curate first, he read and read,
And laid in, whilst he should have fed
The fouls of his neglected flock,
Of reading fuch a mighty stock,
That he o'ercharg'd the weary Brain
With more than the could well contain,
More than fhe was with spirits fraught
To turn, and methodize to thought,
And which, like ill-digefted food,
To humours turn'd, and not to blood.
Brought up to London, from the plow
And pulpit, how to make a bow
He try'd to learn, he grew polite,
And was the Poet's parafite.
With Wits converfing (and Wits then
Were to be found 'mongst Noblemen)
He caught, or would have caught the flame,
And would be nothing, or the fame ;

He drank with drunkards, liv'd with finners,
Herded with infidels for dinners ;
With fuch an emphasis and grace
Blafphem'd, that Potter kept not pace;
He, in the highest reign of noon,
Bawl'd bawdry fongs to a Pfalm tune;
Liv'd with men infamous and vile,
Truck'd his falvation for a smile,
To catch their humour caught their plan,
And laugh'd at God to laugh with man ;
Prais'd them, when living, in each breath,
And damn'd their mem'ries after death.

To prove his faith, which all admit
Is at least equal to his wit,
And make himself a man of note,
He in defence of Scripture wrote;
So long he wrote, and long about it,
That e'en believers 'gan to doubt it:
He wrote too of the Inward Light,
Tho' no one knew how he came by't,
And of that Influencing Grace,
Which in his life ne'er found a place :
He wrote too of the Holy Ghost,
Of whom no more than doth a poft

He knew; nor, should an Angel fhew him,
Would he or know, or chufe to know him.
Next (for he knew 'twixt ev'ry science
There was a natural alliance)
He wrote, t' advance his Maker's praise,
Comments on rimes, and notes on plays,
And with an all-fufficient air
Plac'd himself in the Critic's chair,
Ufurp'd o'er Reason full dominion,
And govern'd merely by opinion.

At length dethron'd, and kept in awe
By one plain fimple Man of Law*,

He arm'd dead friends †, to vengeance true,
T' abuse the man they never knew.
Examine ftrictly all mankind,

Moft characters are mix'd, we find;

And Vice and Virtue take their turn

In the fame breaft to beat and burn.
Our Priest was an exception here,
Nor did one fpark of grace appear,
Not one dull, dim fpark in his foul;
Vice, glorious Vice poffefs'd the whole,
And, in her fervice truly warm,
He was in fin moft uniform:

Injurious Satire, own at least
One fnivelling virtue in the Priest,
One fnivelling virtue which is plac'd,
They fay, in or about the waist,
Call'd Chastity; the prudish dame
Knows it at large by Virtue's name.
To this his wife (and in these days
Wives feldom without reafon praise)
Bears evidence then calls her child,
And fwears that Tom was vaftly wild.

Ripen'd by a long course of years,
He great and perfect now appears.
In fhape scarce of the human kind;
A man, without a manly mind;
No hufband, tho' he's truly wed;
Tho' on his knees a child is bred,
No father; injur'd, without end
A foe; and tho' oblig'd, no friend;
A heart, which Virtue ne'er difgrac'd ;
A head, where Learning runs to wafte;
A gentleman well-bred, if breeding
Refts in the article of reading;
A man of this world, for the next
Was ne'er included in his text;
A judge af genius, tho' confeft
With not one spark of genius bleft;
Amongst the first of critics plac'd,
Tho' free from ev'ry taint of taste;
A Chriftian without faith or works,
As he would be a Turk 'mongst Turks
A great divine, as Lords agree,
Without the least divinity;
To crown all, in declining age,
Enflam'd with church and party rage,
Behold him, full and perfect quite,
A falfe Saint, and true Hypocrite.

Next fat a Lawyer, often try'd
In perilous extremes; when Pride
And Pow'r, all wild and trembling, food,
Nor dar'd to tempt the raging flood;
This bold, bad man arose to view,
And gave his hand to help them through.
Steel'd 'gainst compaffion, as they past,
He faw poor Freedom breathe her laft ;
He faw her ftruggle, heard her groan,
He faw her helpless and alone,
Whelm'd in that ftorm, which fear'd and prais'd
By flaves lefs bold, himself had rais'd.

Bred to the law, he from the first
Of all bad lawyers was the worst.
Perfection (for bad men maintain
In ill we may perfection gain)

In others is a work of time,

And they creep on from crime to crime;
He, for a prodigy defign'd

To fpread amazement o'er mankind,
Started full ripen'd all at once

cifm.

+ See Notes to Pope.

Who will for him may boast of fenfe, His better guard is Impudence.

His front with ten-fold plates of brafs
Secur'd, Shame never yet could país,
Nor on the furface of his fkin

Blush for that guilt which dwelt within.
How often in contempt of laws,
To found the bottom of a cause,
To search out ev'ry rotten part,
And worm into its very heart,
Hath he ta'en briefs on falfe pretence,
And undertaken the defence

Of trusting fools, whom in the end
He meant to ruin, not defend?
How often, e'en in open court,

Hath the wretch made his fhame his fport,
And laugh'd off, with a villain's ease,
Throwing up briefs, and keeping fees?
Such things, as, tho' to roguery bred,
Had ftruck a little villain dead.

Caufes, whatever their import,
He undertakes, to ferve a court;
For he by heart his rule had got,
Pow'r can affect, what law cannot.
Fools he forgives, but rogues
he fears;
If Genius, yok'd with Worth, appears,
His weak foul fickens at the fight,
And strives to plunge them down in night.
So loud he talks, fo very loud,
He is an Angel with the crowd,
Whilft he makes juftice hang her head,
And Judges turn from pale to red.

Bid all that nature, on a plan
Moft intimate, makes dear to man,
All that with grand and gen'ral ties
Binds good and bad, the fool and wife,
Knock at his heart; they knock in vain,
No entrance there fuch fuitors gain.
Bid kneeling Kings forfake the throne;
Bid at his feet his Country groan;
Bid Liberty stretch out her hands;
Religion plead her stronger bands;
Bid parents, children, wife and friends;
If they come, 'twhart his private ends,
Unmov'd he hears the gen'ral call,
And bravely tramples on them all.
Who will for him may cant and whine,
And let weak Confcience with her line
Chalk out their ways; fuch starving rules
Are only fit for coward fools,

Fellows who credit what Priests tell,
And tremble at the thoughts of Hell;
His fpirit dares contend with grace,
And meets damnation face to face.

Such was our Lawyer; by his fide,
In all bad qualities allied,

In all bad counfels, fat a third,
By birth a Lord. O facred word!
Q word moft facred, whence men get
A privilege to run in debt;
Whence they at large exemption claim
From Satire, and her fervant Shame;
Whence they, depriv'd of all her force,
Forbid bold Truth to hold her course.

Confult his perfon, drefs, and air,

He feems, which strangers well might fwear,
The Mafter, or by courtesy,
The Captain of a Colliery.
Look at his vifage, and agree

Half-hang'd he feems, juft from the tree

Efcap'd; a rope may fometimes break,
Or men be cut down by mistake.

He hath not virtue, (in the school
Of Vice bred up) to live by rule,
Nor hath he fenfe (which none can doubt
Who know the man) to live without.
His life is a continued scene

Of all that's infamous and mean;
He knows not change, unless grown nice
And delicate, from vice to vice;
Nature defign'd him, in a rage,
To be the Wharton of his age,
But, having giv'n all the fin,
Forgot to put the Virtues in.
To run a horfe, to make a match,
To revel deep, to roar a catch,
To knock a tott'ring watchman down,
To fweat a woman of the town,
By fits to keep the peace, or break it,
In turn to give a pox, or take it,
He is, in faith, moit excellent,
And in the word's most full intent,
A true Choice Spirit we admit ;
With Wits a Fool, with Fools a Wit:
Hear him but talk, and you would fwea
Obfcenity herself was there;

And that Prophaneness had made choice,
By way of trump, to use his voice ;
That, in all mean and low things great,
He had been bred at Billingfgate;
And that, afcending to the earth
Before the feafon of his birth,
Blafphemy, making way and room,
Had mark'd him in his mother's womb;
Too honeft (for the worst of men
In forms are honeft now and then)
Not to have, in the usual way,

His bills fent in; too great, to pay;
Too proud to speak to, if he meets,
The honeft tradefman whom he cheats ;
Too infamous to have a friend,

Too bad for bad men to commend,

Or good to name; beneath whose weight
Earth groans; who hath been fpar'd by Fate
Only to fhew, on Mercy's plan,
How far and long God bears with man.

Such were the Three, who, mocking fleep,
At midnight fat, in counfel deep,
Plotting deftruction 'gainst a head,
Whose wisdom could not be mifled;
Plotting deftruction 'gainst a heart,
Which ne'er from honour would depart.

"Is he not rank'd amongst our foes? "Hath not his fpirit dar'd oppofe "Our dearest measures, made our name "Stand forward on the roll of fhame? "Hath he not won the vulgar tribes, "By fcorning menaces and bribes, "And proving, that his darling caufe "Is of their Liberties and Laws "To ftand the champion? In a word, "Nor need one argument be heard "Beyond this, to awake our zeal, "To quicken our refolves, and steel "Our steady fouls to bloody bent, " (Sure ruin to each dear intent, "Each flatt'ring hope) he, without fear, Hath dar'd to make the Truth appear."

They faid, and, by refentment taught, Each on revenge employ'd his thought; Each, bent on mischief, rack'd his brain To her full ftretch, but rack'd in vain; Scheme after fcheme they brought to view; All were examin'd, none would do. When Fraud, with pleafure in her face. Forth iffu'd from her hiding-place, And at the table where they meet, First having bleft them, took her feat. "No trifling caufe, my darling boys, "Your prefent thoughts and cares employs; "No common fnare, no random blow "Can work the bane of fuch a foe: "By Nature cautious as he's brave, "To Honour only he's a flave; "In that weak part without defence; "We must to Honour make pretence: "That lure fhall to his ruin draw "The wretch, who ftands fecure in law. "Nor think that I have idly plann'd

This full-ripe fcheme; behold at hand, "With three months training on his head, "An inftrument, whom I have bred, "Born of thefe bowels, far from fight "Of Virtue's falfe, but glaring light, "My youngeft-born, my dearest joy, Moft like myself, my darling boy. "He, never touch'd with vile remorfe, "Refolv'd and crafty in his course, "Shall work our ends, complete our schemes; "Moft mine, when moft he Honour's feems;

Nor can be found, at home, abroad, "So firm and full a flave of Fraud.'

She faid, and from each envious fon
A difcontented murmur run
Around the table; all in place
Thought his full praife their own difgrace,
Wond'ring what ftranger she had got,
Who had one vice that they had not.
When trait the portals open flew,
And, clad in armour, to their view
M - The Duellift, came forth;
All knew, and all confeft his worth,
All justified, with fmiles array'd,
The happy choice their dam had made.

There lies an Ifland, neither great nor small,
Which, for diftinction-fake, I GOTHAM call:
The man who finds an unknown country out,
By giving it a name, acquires, no doubt,
A Gofpel title, tho' the people there
The pious Christian thinks not worth his care.
Bar this pretence, and into air is hurl'd
The claim of Europe to the Western World.
Caft by a tempeft on the favage coast,
Some roving buccaneer fet up a poft;
A beam in proper form tranfverfely laid,
Of his Redeemer's Crofs the figure made,
Of that Redeemer, with whofe laws his life,
From first to laft, had been one scene of ftrife;
His royal mafter's name thereon engrav'd,
Without more procefs, the whole race enflav'd,
Cut off that Charter they from Nature drew,
And made them flaves to men they never knew
Search ancient hiftories, confult records,
Under this title the moit Chriftian Lords
Hold (thanks to confcience) more than half the
ball;

O'erthrow this title, they have none at all.
For never yet might any Monarch dare,
Who liv'd to Truth, and breath'd a Chriftian air,
Pretend that Chrift (who came, we all agree,
To blefs his people, and to fet them free)
To make a convert ever one law gave,
By which converters made him first a slave.

Spite of the gloffes of a canting Priest,
Who talks of charity, but means a feast;
Who recommends it (whilft he seems to feel
The holy glowings of a real zeal)

To all his hearers, as a deed of worth,

To give them heaven, whom they have robb'd of. earth,

Never shall one, one truly honeft man,

Who, bleft with Liberty, reveres her plan,
Allow one moment, that a savage fire,
Could from his wretched race, for childish hire,
By a wild grant, their All, their Freedom pafs,
And fell his Country for a bit of glafs.

Or grant this barb'rous right, let Spain and
France,

In flav'ry bred, as purchafers advance,
Let them, whilft Confcience is at diftance hurl'd,
With fome gay bawble by a golden world;
An Englishman, in charter'd Freedom born,
Shall fpurn the flavish merchandize, shall scorn
To take from others, thro' base private views,
What he himself would rather die, than lofe.
Happy the favage of thofe early times
Ere Europe's fons were known, and Europe's

crimes!

Gold, curfed gold! flept in the womb of earth,
Unfelt its mifchiefs, as unknown its worth;
In full content he found the trueft wealth;
In toil he found diverfion, food, and health;
Stranger to cafe and luxury of Courts,
His fports were labours, and his labours fports;
His youth was hardy, and his old age green;
Life's morn was vig'rous, and her eve ferene
No rules he held, but what were made for ufe;
No arts he learn'd, nor ills which arts produce ;
Falfe lights he follow'd, but believ'd them true;
He knew not much, but liv'd to what he knew.
Happy, thrice happy now the favage race,
Since Europe took their gold, and gave them grace!

L