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anger, and

Langh then at any but at fools or foes ;
These you but

you

mend not those. Laugh at your friends, and, if your friends are sore, 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. Judicious wits spread wide the ridicule, And charitably comfort knave and fool.

P. Dear sir, forgive the prejudice of yonth : Adieu distinction, satire, warmth, and truth! Come, harmless characters that no one hit ; Come, Henley's oratory, Osborn's wit! The honey dropping from Favopio's tongnie, The flowers of Bubo, and the flow of Young ! The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence, And all the well-wbipt cream of courtly sense; 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 style, So Latin yet so English all the wbile, As, though the pride of Middleton and Bland, All boys may read, and girls may understand! Then might I sing without the least offence, And all I sung should be the nation's sense ; Or teach the melancholy Muse to mourn, Hang the sad verse on Carolina's urn, And hail her passage to the realms of rest, All parts perform'd, and all her children bless'd! So-Satire is no more- -I feel it die No gazetteer more innocent than I And let, a God's name! every fool and knave Be graç'd through life, and flatter'd in his grave.

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F. Why so ? if satire knows its time and place,
Yon still may lash the greatest-in disgrace;
For merit will by turns forsake them all;
Would you know when ? exactly when they fall.
But let all satire in all changes spare
Immortal S* *k, and grave De***re.
Silent and soft, as saints remove to Heav'n,
All ties dissolv'd, and every sin forgiv’n,
These may some gentle ministerial wing
Receive, and place for ever near a king !
There where no passion, pride, or shame, transport,
Lull'd with the sweet pepentie of a court ;
There where no father's, brothers, friend's disgrace
Once break their rest, or stir them from their place;
But past the sense of human miseries,
All tear3 are wip'd forever from all eyes ;
No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,
Save when they lose a question, or a job. [glory,

P. Good Heav'n forbid that I should blast their
Who know how like whig ministers to tory,
And when three sovereigns died could scarce be vext,
Considering what a gracious prince was next.
Have I, in silent wonder, seen such things
As pride in slaves, and avarice in kings?
And at a peer or peeress shall I fret
Who starves a sister, or forswears a debt?
Virtne, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
Ye gods! shall Cibber's son, without rebnke,
Swear like a lord ; or Rich outwhore a duke?
A favourite's porter with his master vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Shall Ward draw contracts with a statesman's skill?
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 dispatch'd himself, he play'd the man,
And so may'st thou, illustrious Passeran! -
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 hear;
Vice thus abas'd demands a nation's care :
This calls the church to deprecate our sin,
And hurls the thunder of the laws on gio.

Let modest Foster, if he will, excel
Ten metropolitans in preaching well;
A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,
Outdo Landaff in doctrine-yea, in life :
Let humble Allen, with an awkward shame,
Do good by stealth, and blush to tind it fame.
Virtne may choose the high or low degree,
'Tis just alike to virtue and to me;
Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,
She's still the same, belov'd, contented thing.
Vice is undone, if she forgets her birth,
And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth;
But 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore;
Let greatness own her, and she's mean no more:
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and conrts confess,
Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless;
In golden chains the willing world slie draws,
And her's the gospel is, and her's the laws;
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,
And sees pale virtne carted in her stead.
Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car
Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
Drag'd in the dust! his arms hang idly round,
His dag inverted trails along the ground!

Our youth, all liveried o’er with foreign gold,
Before her dance: behind her crawl the old !
See thronging millions to the pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or son !
Hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim,
That not to be corrupted is the shame.
In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow'r,
'Tis avarice all, ambition is no more!
See all our nobles begging to be slaves !
See all our fools aspiring to be knaves !
The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore :
All, all look up, with reverential awe,
At crimes that 'scape, or trinmph o'er the law :
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry-
"Nothing is sacred now but villainy.'

Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)
Show there was one who beld it in disdain.

DIALOGUE II.
Fr. 'Tis all a libel-Paxton', sir, will say.

P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow'faith it may;
And for that very cause I print to-day.
How should I fret to mangle every line
In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine?
Vice with such giant strides comes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain ;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rising genins sins up to my song.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty laslı ; Ev'n Guthry saves half Newgate hy a dash.

1 Solicitor to the Treasury.

Spare then the person, and expose the vice.

P. How, sir! not damn the sharper, but the dice? Come on then, satire ! general, unconfin'd, Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind. Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all ! Ye tradesmen, vile, in army, conrt, or hall! Ye reverend atheists! F.Scandal! name them, who

P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do. Who starv'd a sister, who forswore a debt, I never nam'd; the town's inquiring yet. The poisoning dame-F. You mean-P. I don't.

F. You do. P. See, now I keep the secret, and not you! The bribing statesman-F. Hold, too high you go. P. The brib'd elector-F. There you stoop too

low. P. I fain would please you, if I knew with wliat.

which knave is lawful game, which not? Must great offenders, once escap'd the crown, Like royal barts, be never more run down? Admit your law to spare the knight requires, As beasts of nature may we hunt the 'squires ? Suppose I censure--you know what I mean To save a bishop, may I name a dean?

F. A dean, sir? no: his fortune is not made; You hurt a man that's rising in the trade.

P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day, Much less the 'prentice who to-morrow may. Down,down,proud satire! though a realm be spoil'd, Arraign no mightier thief thau wretched Wild; Or, if a court or country's made a job, Go drench a pickpocket, and join the mob.

But, sir, I beg yon (for the love of vice !) The matter's weighty, pray consider twice:

Tell me;

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