His fly, polite, infinuating flyle,

Could pleafe at Court, and make Auguftus fimile:
An artful manager, that crept between

His friend and fhame, and was a kind of screen.

But 'faith, your very friends will foon be fore;
Patriots there are who wish you'd jeft no more—
And where's the Glory ? 'twill be only thought
The great man never offer'd you a groat,
Go fee Sir Robert-

P. See Sir Robert !-hum

And never laugh for all my life to come ?
Seen him I have, but in his happier hour
Of Social Pleasure, ill exchang'd for Pow'r ;
Seen him, uncumber'd with a venal tribe,
Smile without art, and win without a bribe.
Would he oblige me? let me only find

He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
Come, come—at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt;
The only diff'rence is—I dare laugh out.

F. Why yes, with Scripture ftill you may be free; A horfe-laugh, if you please, at Honefty;

A Joke on JEKYL, or fome odd Old Whig,
Who never chang'd his principle, or wig;
A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age,

Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage:
These nothing hurts; they keep their fashion still,
And wear their ftrange old virtue, as they will,

If

If any afk you,

"Who's the man, fo near

"His prince, that writes in verse, and has his ear?” Why anfwer, Lyttleton; 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 cafe,
Sejanus, Wolfey, hurt not honeft Fleury ;
But well may put some statesman in a fury.
Laugh then at any but at fools or foes;
Thefe you but anger, and you mend not thofe.
Laugh at your friends; and, if your friends are fore,
So much the better, you may laugh the more.

To vice and folly to confine the jeft,

Sets half the world, God knows, against the reft
Did not the fneer of more impartial men
At fenfe and virtue balance all again.
Judicious wits fpread wide the ridicule,
And charitably comfort knave and fool.

P. Dear Sir, forgive the prejudice of youth::
Adieu, diftinction, fatire, warmth, and truth!:
Come, harmless characters that no one hit;
Come, Henley's oratory, Ofborne's wit!
The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The flow'rs of Bubo, and the flow of Y-ng!
The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence,
And all the well-whipp'd cream of courtly fenfe,.
The first was H-vy's, F-'s next, and then
The S-te's, and then H-vy's once again.

O come, that easy, Ciceronian ftyle,
So Latin, yet fo English all the while.

As, tho' the pride of Middleton and Bland,
All boys may read, and girls may understand!
Then might I fing, without the leaft offence,
And all I fung fhould be the Nation's Senfe
Or teach the melancholy Mufe to mourn,
Hang the fad verfe on Carolina's urn,
And hail her paffage to the Realms of Reft.
All parts perform'd, and all her children bleft!
So Satire is no more-I feel it die→→→→→

No Gazeteer more innocent than I

And let, a God's name, ev'ry fool and knave
Be grac'd thro' life, and flatter'd in his grave.
F. Why fo? if Satire knows its time and place,
You fill may lafh the greateft-in difgrace:

For merit will by turns forfake them all;

Would you know when? exactly when they fall,
But let all fatire in all changes spare
Immortal S-k, and grave D-re.

Silent and foft as Saints remov'd to Heaven,
All ties diffolv'd, and ev'ry fin forgiven,
These may fome gentle minifterial wing
Receive, and place for ever near a King!

There, where no paffion, pride, or fhame tranfport,
Lull'd with the fweet Nepenthe of a Court.
There, where no father's, brother's, friend's difgrace
Once break their reft, or tir them from their place:

But,

But, paft the fenfe of human miferies,

All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;

No cheek is known to blufh, no heart to throb,..
Save when they lose a question, or a job..

P.. Good Heaven forbid that I fhould blast their glory..
Who know how like Whig Minifters to Tory,
And when three-Sov'reigns died, could fcarce be vext,.
Confid'ring what a gracious Prince was next..
Have I, in filent wonder, feen fuch things
As pride in Slaves, or avarice in Kings;
And at a Peer or Peerefs fhall I fret,
Who ftarves a fifter, or forfwears a debt ?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boaft ;
But fhall the dignity of Vice be loft.?

Ye Gods! fhall Cibber's fon, without rebuke,.
Swear like a Lord, or Rich outwhore a Duke?
A fav'rite's porter with his master vie,

Be brib'd as often, and as often lye ?

Shall Ward draw contracts with a flatefman's fkill?
Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a will ?

Is it for Bond or Peter (paltry things!)

To pay their debts, or keep their faith, like kings?
If Blount difpatch'd himself, he play'd the man,
And so may'ft thou, illuftrious Pafferan!

But shall a Printer, weary of his life,

Learn from their books to hang himself and wife?
This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear; :
Vice thus abus'd demands a nation's care

D3

This

This calls the church to deprecate our fin,
And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin
Let modeft Fofler, if he will, excel
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well;
A fimple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,
Outdo Landaff in doctrine-yea in life;
Let humble Allen, with an aukward shame,
Do good by ftealth, and blufh to find it fame,
Virtue may choose the high or low degree,
'Tis juft alike to virtue, and to me;
Dwell in a Monk, or light upon a King,
She's fill the fame belov'd, contented thing.
Vice is undone if the forgets her birth,

"

And ftoops from angels to the dregs of earth:
But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a whore;
Let Greatnefs own her, and she's mean no more;
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confefs,
Chafte matrons praife her, and grave bishops blefs.
In golden chains the willing world fhe draws,
And hers the gofpel is, and hers the laws.
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her fcarlet head,
And fees pale virtue carted in her stead.
Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
Old England's genius, rough with many a fcar,.
Dragg'd in the duft! his arms hang idly round,
His flag inverted trails along the ground!
Our youth, all liveried o'er with foreign gold,.
Before her dance; behind her, crawl the Old;

Sca