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Whilft POPE for comic humour fam'd,
Shall live when CLIVE no moré is nam'd.

Your wisdom I fuppofe can't bear
About dull pantomime to hear;
Nor would you have a single word
Of Harlequin, and wooden fword,
Of dumb fhew, fools tricks, and wry faces,
And wit which lies all in grimaces,

Nor fhould I any thing advance
Of new invented comic dance.

Callous, perhaps, to things like these,
Would it your worship better please,
That I, more loaden than the camels,
Should crawl in philosophic trammels?
Should I attack the ftars, and ftray
In triumph o'er the milky way,
And like the TITANS try to move
From feat of empire royal Jove,
Then spread my terrors all around,
And his Satellites confound,
Teach the war far and wide to rage,
And ev'ry ftar by turns engage?
The danger we should share between us,
You fight with MARS and I with VENUS.

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Or fhould I rather, if I cou'd,
Talk of words little understood,
Centric, eccentric, epicycle,
Fine words the vulgar ears to tickle!
A vacuum, plenum, gravitation,
And other words of like relation,
Which may agree with ftudious men,
But hurt my teeth, and gag my pen;
Things of fuch grave and ferious kind
Puzzle my head and plague my mind;
Befides in writing to a friend

A man may any nonsense send,
And the chief merit to impart,
The honeft feelings of his heart,





WORTH is excis'd, and Virtue pays

A heavy Tax for barren praise,

A friend to univerfal Man,
Is univerfal good your plan?
GOD may perhaps your project bless,

But man fhall ftrive to thwart fuccefs.
Tho' the grand scheme thy thoughts pursue,
Bespeak a noble generous view,
Where CHARITY o'er all prefides,
And SENSE approves what VIRTUE guides,
Yet wars and tumults will commence,
For Rogues hate virtue, Blockheads fenfe,

Believe me, Oppofition grows
Not always from our real foes,
But (where it feldom ever ends)
From our more dangerous feeming friends,
I hate not foes, for they declare,

'Tis War for War, and dare who dare;


But your fly, sneaking, worming fouls,
Whom FRIENDSHIP fcorns, and FEAR Controuls,
Who praise, support, and help by halves,
Like Heifers, neither Bulls nor Calves;
Who, in Hypocrify's disguise,
Are truly as the Serpent wife,
But cannot ALL the precept love,
And be as harmless as the Dove.
Who hold each charitable meeting,

To mean no more than good found eating,
While each becomes a hearty fellow
According as he waxes mellow,
And kindly helps the main defign,
By drinking its success in wine;
And when his feet and fenfes reel,
Totters with correspondent zeal ;
Nay, would appear a patron wise,
But that his wifdom's in disguise,
And would harangue, but that his mouth,
Which ever hates the fin of drowth,
Catching the full perpetual glass,
Cannot afford a word to pafs.

Such, who like true Churchwardens eat, Because the Parish pays the treat,



And of their bellyful fecure,
O'erfee, or over-look the poor,
Who would no doubt be wond'rous just,
And faithful Guardians of their truft,
But think the deed might run more clever
To them and to their Heirs for ever,
That Charity, too apt to roam,
Might end, where she begins, at home;
Who make all public good a trade,
Benevolence a mere parade,

And Charity a cloak for fin,
To keep it fnug and warm within;
Who flatter, only to betray,
Who promise much and never pay,
Who wind themselves about


With hypocritic, knavish art,

Tell you what wond'rous things they're doing,
And undermine you to your
Such, or of low or high eftate,
To speak the honeft truth, I hate :
I view their tricks with indignation,
And loath each fulfom proteftation,

As I would loath a whore's embrace,

Who fmiles, and fmirks, and ftroaks my face,

And all fo tender, fond and kind,

As free of body, as of mind,


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