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Who, to provoke revenge, rides round the fire,
And, with a civil congé, does retire :

But guiltless blood to ground must never fall ;
There's Antichrift behind, to pay for all.
The punk of Babylon in pomp appears,
A lewd old gentleman of seventy years :
Whofe age in vain our mercy would implore;
For few take pity on an old cast-whore.

The devil, who brought him to the shame, takes part;
Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart;
Like thief and parson in a Tyburn-cart.

The word is given, and with a loud huzza
The mitred puppet from his chair they draw:
On the flain corpfe contending nations fall:
Alas! what's one poor pope among them all!
He burns; now all true hearts your triumphs ring:
And next, for fashion, cry, God fave the king!
A needful cry in midft of fuch alarms,

When forty thousand men are up in arms.
But after he's once fav'd, to make amends,
In each fucceeding health they damn his friends:
So God begins, but ftill the devil ends.

What if fome one, infpir'd with zeal, should call,
Come, let's go cry, God fave him at Whitehali ?
His best friends would not like this over-care,
Or think him e'er the fafer for this prayer.
Five praying faints are by an act allow'd;
But not the whole church-militant in croud.
Yet, fhould heaven all the true petitions drain
Of Prefbyterians, who would kings maintain,
Of forty thoufand, five would fcarce remain.

XVIII. EPILOGUE

XVIII.

EPILOGUE to the fame.

A Virgin poet was ferv'd up to-day,

Who, till this hour, ne'er cackled for a play.
He's neither yet a Whig nor Tory-boy;
But, like a girl whom several would enjoy,
Begs leave to make the beft of his own natural toy.
Were I to play my callow author's game,

The king's houfe would inftruct me by the name.
There's loyalty to one; I wish no more :

A commonwealth founds like a common whore.
Let hufband or gallant be what they will,
One part of woman is true Tory ftill.
If any factious fpirit should rebel,

Our fex, with ease, can every rising quell.
Then, as you hope we should your failings hide,
An honeft jury for our play provide.

Whigs

at their poets never take offence;

}

They fave dull culprits, who have murder'd sense.
Though nonfenfe is a naufeous heavy mass,
The vehicle call'd Faction makes it pafs.
Faction in play 's the commonwealth-man's bribe;
The leaden farthing of the canting tribe:
Though void in payment laws and ftatutes make it,
The neighbourhood, that knows the man, will take it.
'Tis faction buys the votes of half the pit;

Their's is the penfion-parliament of wit.

In city-clubs their venom let them vent;

For there 'tis fafe, in its own element.

Here, where their madness can have no pretence,
Let them forget themselves an hour of sense.
In one poor ifle, why fhould two factions be?
Small difference in your vices I can fee:
In drink and drabs both fides too well agree.
Would there were more preferments in the land:
If places fell, the party could not stand:

Of this damn'd grievance every Whig complains
They grunt like hogs till they have got their grains.
Mean time you fee what trade our plots advance;
We fend each year good money into France;
And they that know what merchandize we need,
Send o'er true Proteftants to mend our breed.

}

XIX.

PROLOGUE to the Univerfity of OXFORD, fpoken by Mr. HART, at the acting of the SILENT WOMAN.

WH

HAT Greece, when learning flourish'd, only knew,
Athenian judges, you this day renew.

Here too are annual rites to Pallas done,
And here poetic prizes loft or won.
Methinks I fee you, crown'd with olives, fit,
And strike a facred horror from the pit.
A day of doom is this of your decree,
Where ev'n the best are but by mercy free:

A day, which none but Jonfon durft have wifh'd to fee.

}

Here

As

your

Here they, who long have known the ufeful stage,
Come to be taught themselves to teach the age.
commiffioners our poets go,
To cultivate the virtue which you sow;
In your Lyceum first themselves refin'd,
And delegated thence to human-kind.
But as ambaffadors, when long from home,
For new inftructions to their princes come;
So poets, who your precepts have forgot,
Return, and beg they may be better taught :
Follies and faults elfewhere by them are shown,
But by your manners they correct their own.
Th' illiterate writer, emp'ric-like, applies
To minds difeas'd, unfafe, chance, remedies:
The learn'd in fchools, where knowlege first began,
Studies with care th' anatomy of man;

Sees virtue, vice, and paffions, in their cause,
And fame from fcience, not from fortune, draws.
So Poetry, which is in Oxford made

An art, in London only is a trade.

There haughty dunces, whose unlearned pen
Could ne'er fpell grammar, would be reading men.
Such build their poems the Lucretian way;
So many huddled atoms make a play;
And if they hit in order by fome chance,
They call that nature, which is ignorance.
To fuch a fame let mere town-wits aspire,
And their gay nonfenfe their own cits admire.
Our poet, could he find forgiveness here,
Would wish it rather than a plaudit there.

He

He owns no crown from those Prætorian bards,
But knows that right is in the fenate's hands,
Not impudent enough to hope your praise,
Low at the Mufes feet his wreath he lays,
And, where he took it up, refigns his bays.
Kings make their poets whom themselves think fit,
But 'tis your fuffrage makes authentic wit.

XX.

EPILOGUE, fpoken by the fame.

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N poor

Dutch peasant, wing'd with all his fear, Flies with more hafte, when the French arms

draw near,

Than we with our poetic train come down,

For refuge hither, from th' infected town:
Heaven for our fins this fummer has thought fit
To vifit us with all the plagues of wit.
A French troop first swept all things in its way;
But thofe hot Monfieurs were too quick to stay :
Yet, to our coft, in that short time, we find
They left their itch of novelty behind.
Th' Italian merry-andrews took their place,
And quite debauch'd the stage with lewd grimace :
Inftead of wit, and humours, your delight
Was there to fee two hobby-horfes fight;
Stout Scaramoucha with rush lance rode in,
And ran a tilt at centaur Arlequin.

For love you heard how amorous affes bray'd,
And cats in gutters gave their ferenade.

Nature

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