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But, if I

Yet, not forgetful of a friend,
They 'll soon enable thee to spend,
If to Macartney * thou wilt toast,
And to his pious patron's ghoft.
Now manfully thou ’lt run a tilt
6« On popes, for all the blood they've spilt,
« For massacres, and racks, and flames,
“ For lands enrich'd by crimson streams,
" For inquisitions taught by Spain,
“ Of which the Christian world complain.”

Dick, we agree-all's true thou 'st said,
As that my Muse is yet a maid.

may

with freedom talk,
All this is foreign to thy walk :
Thy genius has perhaps a knack
At trudging in a beaten track,
But is for state-affairs as fit
As mine for politicks and wit.
Then let us both in time grow wise,
Nor higher than our talents rise;
To fome snug cellar let 's repair
From duns and debts, and drown our care;
Now quaff of honest ale a quart,
Now venture at a pint of port,
With which inspir’d, we 'll club each night
Some tender sonnet to indite,
And with Tom D'Urfey, Philips, Dennis,
Immortalize our Dolls and Jenneys.

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* General Macartney, who killed duke Hamilton.

HORACE, HORACE, BOOK I. EP. V. 20

John Dennis the sheltering Poet's INVITATION

to RICHARD STEELE, the secluded Party-writer,
and Member; to come and live with him in
The MINT; 1914*.

Fit to be bound up with The Crisis.
IF
F thou canst lay aside a spendthrift's air,

And condescend to feed on homely fare,
Such as we Minters, with ragouts unstor’d,
Will, in defiance of the law, afford :
Quit thy patrols with Toby's Christmas-box,

S
And come to me at The Two Fighting Cocks;
Since printing by subscription now is grown
The stalest, idlest cheat about the town;
And ev'n Charles Gildon, who, a Papift bred,
Has an alarm against that worship spread,
Is practising those beaten paths of cruising,
And for new levies on Proposals musing.

'Tis true, that Bloomsbury Square 's a noble place : But what are lofty buildings in thy case? What 's a fine house embellish'd to profusion, 35 Where shoulder-dabbers are in execution ? Or whence its timorous tenant seldom fallies, But apprehensive of insulting bailiffs ?

* This and the preceding poem are printed from copies in the Lambeth Library, K. 1. 2. 29, 30. 4to.

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This once be mindful of a friend's advice,
And cease to be improvidently nice;
Exchange the prospects that delude thy fight,
From Highgate's steep ascent and Hampstead's height,
With verdant scenes, that, from St. George's field,
More durable and safe enjoyments yield.
Here I, ey'n I, that ne'er till now could find

25
Ease to my troubled and suspicious mind,
But ever was with jealousies possess’d,
Am in a state of indolence and rest;
Fearful no more of Frenchmen in disguise,
Nor looking upon strangers as on spies,

30 But quite divested of my former spleen, Am unprovok'd without, and calm within : / And here I'll wait thy coining, till the sun Shall its diurnal course completely run. Think not that thou of sturdy butt shalt fail, 35 My landlord's cellar's stock'd with beer and ale, With every

sort of malt that is in use, And every county's generous produce. The ready (for here Christian faith is fick, Which makes us seldom trespass upon tick) 40 Inftantly brings the choicest liquors out, Whether we ask for home-brew'd or for stout, For mead or cyder, or, with dainties fed, Ring for a flask or two of white or red, Such as the drawer will not fail to swear

45 Was drunk by Pilkington when third time mayor. That namne, methinks, so popularly known For opposition to the church and crown,

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Might make the Lusitanian grape to pass,
And almost give a sanction to the glass ;
Especially with thee, whose hasty zeal
Against the late rejected commerce-bill
Made thee rise up, like an audacious elf,
To do the fpeaker honour, not thyself.

But, if thou soar’st above the common prices,
By virtue of subscription to thy Crisis,
And nothing can go down with thee, but wines
Press’d froin Burgundian and Campanian vines,
Bid them be brought; for, though I hate the French,
I love their liquors, as thou lov'st a wench;
Else thou must humble thy expensive taste,
And, with us, hold contentment for a feast,

The fire 's already lighted; and the maid
Has a clean cloth upon the table laic),
Who never on a Saturday had struck,
But for thy entertainment, up a buck.
Think of this act of grace, which by your leave
Susan would not have done on Easter Eve,
Had she not been inform’d over and over,
'Twas for th' ingenious Author of The Lover.

Cease therefore to beguile thyself with hopes,
Which is no more than making sandy ropes,
And quit the vain pursuit of loud applause,
That must bewilder thee in faction's cause.
Pry'thee what is it to thee who guides the state ? 75
Whv Dunkirk's demolition is to late?
Or why her majesty thinks fit to cease
The din of war, and hush the world to peace ?

The

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fouls as

The clergy too, without thy aid, can tell
What texts to chufe, and on what topicks dwell ;
And, uninstructed by thy babbling, teach
Their flocks celestial happiness to reach.
Rather let such

poor

you

and I Say that the holydays are drawing nigh, And that to-morrow's sun begins the week,

SS Which will abound with store of ale and cake, With hams of bacon, and with powder'd beef, Stuff?d to give field-itinerants relief.

Then I, who have within these precinets kept,
And ne'er beyond the chimney-sweeper's ftept, 90
Will take a loose, and venture to be seen,
Since 'twill be Sunday, upon Shanks's green;
There, with erected looks and phrase fublime,
To talk of unity of place and time,
And with much malice, mix'd with little satire, 95
Explode the wits on t'other side o'th' water.

Why has my lord Godolphin's special grace
Invested me with a queen’s-wai er's place,
If I, debarr’d of festival delights,
Am not allow'd to spend the perquisites?
He's but a short remove from being mad,
Who at a time of jubilee is sad,
And, like a griping usurer, does spare
His money to be squander'd by his heir;
Flutter'd away in liveries and in coaches,

105 And washy sorts of feminine debauches. As for my part, whate'er the world may

think, I'll bid adieu to gravity, and drink;

And,

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