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Thus it is deem'd in English nobles wise
To stoop for no one reason but to rise.

30 Election matters fhun with cautious awe,
O all ye judges learned in the law;
A judge by bribes as much himself degrades,
As duchess-dowager by masquerades.

31 Try not with jests obscene to force a smile,
Nor lard your speech with mother Needham's u ftile;
Let not your tongue to ΩλφιελδισμG- run, ,
And K.Capion with abhorrence shun;
Let not your looks affected words disgrace,
Nor join with silver tongue a brazen face;

30 Effutire leves indigna Tragedia versus,

Ut feftis matrona moveri juffa diebus,

latererit Satyris paulum pudibunda protervis.
31 Non ego inornata & dominantia nomina folum,

Verbaque, Pisones, Satyrorum scriptor amabo ;
Nec fic enitar Tragico differre colori,
Ut nihil interfit Davusne loquatur, & audax
Pythias, emunéto lucrata Simone talentum:
An custos famulusque Dei Silenus alumni.

it was,

# A lady celebrated in the Dunciad, see b. i. 1. 324. She was a matron of great fame, and very religious in her way; whose constant prayer

that she might get enough by her profession to leave it off in “ time, and make her peace with God.” But her fate was not so happy; for being convicted of keeping a disorderly house, and set in the pillory, the was (to the lasting shame of all her great friends and votaries) so ill used by the populace, that it put an end to her days.

Let not your hands, like tallboys be employ'd,
And the mad rant of tragedy avoid.
Just in your thoughts, in your expression clear,
Neither too modeft, nor too bold appear.

32 Others in vain a like success will boast, He speaks most easy, who has study'd most.

33 A peer's pert heir has to the commons spoke
A vile reflection, or a bawdy joke :
Call'd to the house of lords, of this beware,
'Tis what the bishops' bench will never bear.
Among the commons is such freedom shown,
They lash each other, and attack the throne ;
Yet so unkilful or so fearful fome,
For nine that speak there's nine-and-forty dumb.

34 When James the first, at great Britannia's helm, Ruld this word-clipping and word-coining realm,

32 Ut fibi quivis

Speret idem, sudet multum, frustraque laboret.
33 Ne nimium teneris juvenentur verfibus unquam,

Aut immunda crepent ignominiofaque diéta :
Offenduntur enim quibus eft equus, & pater & res,
Nec fi quid fricti ciceris probat, & nucis emptor,

Æquis accipiunt animis, donantve corona.
34 At noftri proavi Plautinos & numeros &

Laudavere fales; nimium patienter utrumque,
Ne dicam ftulte, mirati; fi modo ego & vog
Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto,
Legitimumque fonum digitis callemus & aure.

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No word to royal favour made pretence,
But what agreed in found and clash'd in sense.
Thrice happy he! how great that speaker's praise,
Whose every period look'd an hundred ways.
What then: we now with just abhorrence shun
The trifling quibble, and the school-boy's pun;
Though no great connoiffeur, I make a shift
Just to find out a Durfey from a Swift;
I can discern with half an eye, I hope,
Mift from Jo Addison ; from Eusden, Pope :
I know a farce from one of Congreve's plays,
And Cibber's opera * from Johnny Gay’s.

35 When pert Defoe y his faucy papers writ,
He from a cart was pillor'd for his wit :
By mob was pelted half a morning's space,
And rotten eggs besmear'd his yellow face;

35 Ignotum Tragicæ genus invenife Camenz

Dicitur, & plauftris vexiffe poëmata Thespis,
Quæ canerent agerentque peruncti fæcibus ora,
Poft hunc personæ, pallæque repertor honeftae
Æschylus, & modicis inftravit pulpita tignis,
Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno.
Successit vetus his Comædia, non fine multâ
Laude: sed in vitium libertas excidit, & vim
Dignam lege regi: lex est accepta, chorusque
Turpiter obticuit sublato jure nocendi.

* Love in a Riddle, written in opposition to the Beggars Opera.
y Daniel Defoe, author of Robinson Crusoe, and other pieces.


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The Cenfor 2 then improv'd the liftning ille,
And held both parties in an artful smile.
A scribbling crew now pinching winter brings,
That spare no earthly nor no heavenly things,
Nor church, nor state, nor treasurers, nor kings.
But blasphemy displeases all the town;
And for defying scripture, law, and crown,
Woolfton should
pay his fine, and lose his

gown, 36 It must be own'd the journals try all

To merit their respective party's praise :
They jar in every article from Spain ;
A war these threaten, those a peace maintain:
Though lie they will, to give them all their due,
In foreign matters, and domestic too.
Whoe'er thou art that wou'dít a Postman write,
Enquire all day, and hearken all the night.
Sure, Gazetteers and writers of Courants
Might foon exceed the intelligence of France ;
To be out-done old England should refuse,
As in her arms, so in her public news :

36 Nil intentatum noftri liquêre Poëtæ ;

Hec minimum meruere decus, vestigia Græca
Ausi deferere, & celebrare domestica facta :
Nec virtute foret clarisve potentius armis,
Quàm linguâ, Latium, fi non offenderet unum-
quemque Poëtarum limæ labor & mora.

2 A character assumed by Isaac Bickerstaff, the fictitious author of The Taiter,


But truth is scarce, the scene of action large,
And correspondence an excessive charge.

37 There are who say, no man can be a wit,
Unless for Newgate, or for Bedlam fit;
Let pamphleteers abusive fatire write,
To thew a genius is to fhew a spite :
That author's work will ne'er be reckon'd good,
Who has not been where Curli the printer stood.

38 Alas poor me! you may my fortune guess : I write, and yet humanity profess: (Though nothing can delight a modern judge, Without ill-nature and a private grudge)


37 Ingenium miferâ quia fortunatius arte

Credit, & excludit fanos Helicone Poëtas
Democritus; bona pars non ungues ponere curat,
Non barbam
Nanciscetur enim pretium nomenque Poëtæ,
Si tribus Anticyris caput insanabile nunquam
Tonsori Licino commiserit.

O ego lævus,
Qui purgor bilem sub verni temporis horam :
Non alius faceret meliora poëmata, verum
Nil tanti est : ergo fungar vice cotis acutum
Reddere quæ ferrum valet, exfors ipfa fecandi;
Munus & officium, nii fcribens ipfe, docebo;
Unde parentur opes, quid alat formetque Poëtam:
Quid deceat, quid non i quò virtus, quò ferat error,

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