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'Tis- minc to wash a few light stains ; but theirs
To wash the stains away: Although I yet
DIALOGUE I. FR. OT twice a twelvemonth you appear in Print,
And when it comes, the Court see nothing in't. You grow correct, that once with Rapture writ, And are, besides, too moral for a Wit. Decay of Parts, alas ! we all must feel
5 Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal ? 'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye Said, “ Tories call’d him Whig, and Whigs a Tory;"
You don't, I hope, pretend to quit the trade,
your reputation made :
Or, like Sir Paul, you'll lie a-bed too long.
And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice;
P. See Sir Robert !--hum-
35 The only difference is, I dare laugh out.
F. Why F. Why yes : with Scripture still you may be free; A Horse-laugh, if you please, at Honesty ; A Joke on JEKYLL, or some odd Old Whig, Who never chang’d his Principle, or Wig;
40 A Patriot is a Fool in every age, Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage : These nothing hurts ; they keep their Fashion still, And wear their strange old Virtue, as they will. If any ask you, “ Who's the Man, so near
45 “ His Prince, that writes in Verse, and has his ear?” Why answer Lyttelton, and I'll engage The worthy Youth shall ne'er be in a rage : But were his Verses vile, his Whisper base : You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's case.
50 Sejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest Fleury, But well may put some Statesmen in a fury.
Laugh then at any, but at Fools or Foes; These
and you mend not those. Laugh at your Friends, and, if your Friends are fore, 55 So much the better, you may laugh the more. To Vice and Folly to confine the jest, Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest; Did not the Sneer of more impartial men At Sense and Virtue balance all again.
60 Judicious Wits spread wide the Ridicule, And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.
P. Dear Sir, forgive the Prejudice of Youth : Adieu Distinction, Satire, Warmth, and Truth! Come, harmless Characters that no one hit; Come, Henley's Oratory, Osborn’s Wit!
The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
F. Why so? if Satire knows its Time and Place,
95 Receive, and place for ever near a King!