In fimple manner utter fimple lays,
And take, with fimple penfions, fimple praise.
Waft me fome Mufe to Tweed's infpiring ftream,
Where all the little loves and graces dream,
Where flowly winding the dull waters creep,
And feem themselves to own the power of fleep,
Where on the furface lead, like feathers, fwims,
There let me bathe my yet unhallow'd limbs,
As once a Syrian bath'd in Jordan's flood,
With off my native stains, correct that blood
Which mutinies at call of English pride,
And, deaf to prudence, rolls a patriot tide.
From folemn thought which overhangs the brow
Of patriot care, when things are-God knows
how;
From nice trim points, where Honour, flave to
rule,
In compliment to Folly, plays the fool;
From thofe gay scenes where Mirth exalts his pow'r,
And eafy Humour wings the laughing hour;
From thofe foft better moments, when defire
Beats high, and all the world of man's on fire,
When mutual ardours of the melting fair
More than repay us for whole years of care,
At friendship's fummons will my Wilkes retreat,
And fee, once feen before, that ancient feat,
That ancient feat, where majefty display'd
Her enfigns, long before the world was made!
Mean narrow maxims, which enflave mankind,
Ne'er from its bias warp thy fettled mind.
Not dup'd by party, nor opinion's flave,
Thofe faculties which bounteous Nature gave,
Thy honeft fpirit into practice brings,
Nor courts the fmile, nor dreads the frowns
kings.
Let rade licentious Englishmen comply
If, mean in want, and infolent in pow'r,
They only fawn'd more furely to devour,
Rous'd by fuch wrongs fhould Reafon take alarm,
And e'en the Mufe for public fafety arm;
But if they own ingenious Virtue's sway,
And follow where true Honour points the way,
If they revere the hand by which they're fed,
And blefs the donors for their daily bread,
Or by vaft debts of higher import bound,
Are always humble, always grateful found,
If they, directed by Paul's holy pen,
Become difcreetly all things to all men,
That all men may become all things to them,
Envy may hate, but Justice can't condemn.
"Into our places, ftates, and beds they creep ;"
They've fenfe to get, what we want fenfe to
keep.
Once, be the hour accurs'd, accurs'd the place,
I ventur'd to blafpheme the chofen race.
Into thofe traps, which men call'd Patriots laid,
By fpecious arts unwarily betray'd.
Madly I leagu'd against that facred earth,
Vile parricide! which gave a parent birth.
But fhall I meanly Error's path pursue,
When heavenly Truth prefents her friendly clue,
Once plung'd in ill, fhall I go farther in?
To make the oath was rash, to keep it, fin.
Backward I tread the paths I trod before,
And calm reflection hates what paffion swore.
Converted, (bleffed are the fouls which know
Those pleasures which from true converfion flow,
Whether to reafon, who now rules my breaft,
Or to pure faith, like Lyttleton and Welt)
of Patt crimes to expiate, be my present aim
To raise new trophies to the Scottish name,
To make (what can the proudeft Mufe do more?)
With tumult's voice, and curfe they know not E'en Faction's fons her brighter worth adore,
Unwilling to condemn, thy foul difdains
To wear vile faction's arbitrary chains,
And ftrictly weighs, in apprehenfion clear,
Things as they are, and not as they appear.
With thee Good-Humour tempers lively Wit,
Enthron'd with Judgment, Candour loves to fit,
And Nature gave thee, open to diftress,
A heart to pity, and a hand to bleís.
Oft have I heard thee mourn the wretched lot
Of the poor, mean, defpis'd, infulted Scor,
Who, might calm reafon credit idle tales,
By rancour forg'd where prejudice prevails,
Or ftarves at home, or practifes, thro' fear
Of starving, arts which damn all confcience here.
When Scribblers, to the charge by int'rest led,
The fierce North-Briton foaming at their head,
Pour forth invectives, deaf to candour's call,
And injur'd by one alien, rail at all;
On Northern Pilgah when they take their stand,
To mark the weakness of that Holy Land,
With needless truths their libels to adorn,
And hang a nation up to public fcorn,
Thy gen'rous foul condemns the frantic rage,
And hates the faithful but ill-natur'd page.
The Scots are poor, cries furly English pride;
True is the charge, nor by themfelves deny'd.
Are they not then in ftricteft reafon clear,
Who wifely come to mend their fortunes here?
If by low fupple arts fuccessful grown,
They fapp'd our vigour to increase their own,
VOL. VII.
To make her glories ftamp'd with honeft rimes,
In fulleft tide roll down to latest times.
"Prefumptuous wretch! and fhall a Mufe like
thine,
"An English Mufe, the meanest of the nine,
"Attempt a theme like this? Can her weak
❝ ftrain
"Expect indulgence from the mighty Thane ?
"Should he from toils of government retire,
"And for a moment fan the poet's fire,
"Should he, of fciences the moral friend,
"Each curious, each important fearch suspend,
"Leave unaffifted Hill of herbs to tell,
"And all the wonders of a cockle-fhell,
"Having the Lord's good grace before his eyes,
"Would not the Home ftep forth, and gain the-
"prize?
"Or if this wreath of honour might adorn
"The humble brows of one in England born,
"Prefumptuous ftill thy daring must appear ;
"Vain all thy tow'ring hopes, whilst I am here."
Thus fpake a form, by filken fmile and tone
Dull and unvaried, for the Laureat known.
Folly's chief friend, Decorum's eldest fon,
In ev'ry party found and yet of none.
This airy fubflance, this fubftantial shade,
Abafh'd I heard, and with respect obey'd.
From themes too lofty for a bard fo mean,
Difcretion beckons to an humbler scene.
The reftlefs fever of ambition laid,
Calm I retire, and feek the sylvan shade.
Ꭰ
Now be the Mufe difrob'd of all her pride,
Be all the glare of verse by Truth supplied,
And if plain Nature pours a fimple strain,
Which Bute may praife, and Offian not disdain,
Offian, fublimeft, fimpleft bard of all,
Whom English infidels Macpherson call,
Then round my head thall honour's enfigns wave,
And penfions mark me for a willing flave.
Two boys, whose birth beyond all question fprings From great and glorious, tho' forgotten, kings, Shepherds of Scottish lineage, born and bred On the fame bleak and barren mountain's head, By niggard Nature doom'd on the same rocks To fpin out life, and starve themselves and flocks, Fresh as the morning, which, enrob'd in mift, The mountain's top with ufual dulnefs kifs'd, Jockey and Sawney to their labours rofe; Soon clad I ween, where Nature needs no cloaths, Where, from their youth enur'd to winter-fkies, Drefs and her vain refinements they defpife.
Jockey, whofe manly high-bon'd cheeks to crown With freckles fpotted flam'd the golden down, With mikle art could on the bagpipes play, E'en from the rifing to the setting day; Sawney as long without remorfe could bawl Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal. Oft at his ftrains, all natural tho' rude, The Highland lafs forgot her want of food, And, whilft the fcratch'd her lover into rest, Sunk pleas'd, tho' hungry, on her Sawney's breaft.
Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen, Earth, clad in ruffet, fcorn'd the lively green. The plague of locufts they fecure defy, For in three hours a grashopper must die. No living thing, whate'er its food, feafts there, But the Cameleon, who can feaft on air. No birds, except as birds of paffage, flew, No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo. No ftreams as amber fmooth, as amber clear, Were feen to glide, or heard to warble here. Rebellion's fpring, which through the country ran, Furnish'd with bitter draughts, the steady clan. No flow'rs embalm'd the air, but one white rofe, Which on the 10th of June by instinct blows, By instinct blows at morn, and, when the fhades Of drizzly eve prevail, by inftinct fades.
One, and but one poor folitary cave, Too fparing of her favours, Nature gave; That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!) Shelter at once for man and beaft fupplied. Their fnares without entangling briers spread, And thiftles, arm'd against the invader's head. Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose, Thiftles now held more precious than the rose. All creatures which, on Nature's earliest plan, Were form'd to loath, and to be loath'd by man, Which ow'd their birth to naftiness and spite, Deadly to touch, and hateful to the fight, Creatures, which when admitted in the ark, Their Saviour fhunn'd, and rankled in the dark, Found place within: marking her noisome road With poifon's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad} There webs were pread of more than common fize, And half-ftarv'd.fpiders prey'd on half-ftarv'd flies; In queft of food, efts ftrove in vain to crawl; Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, fmear'd the flimy wall;
The cave around with hiffing ferpents rung i
On the damp roof unhealthy vapours hung;
And FAMINE, by her children always known,
As proud as poor, here fix'd her native throne.
Here, for the fullen fky was overcaft,
And summer shrunk beneath a wint'ry blaft,
A native blaft, which, arm'd with hail and rain,
Beat unrelenting on the naked fwain,
The boys for fhelter made; behind the sheep
Of which thofe fhepherds every day take keep,
Sickly crept on, and with complainings rude,
On Nature feem'd to call, and bleat for food.
Full forely may we all lament that day; For all were lofers in the deadly fray.
Five brothers had 1, on the Scottish plains,
Well doft thou know were none more hopeful fwains;
Five brothers there I loft, in manhood's pride,
Two in the field, and three on gibbets died :
A filly fwains, to follow war's alarms!
Ah! what hath shepherd's life to do with arms!
Mention it not-There faw I ftrangers clad
In all the honours of our ravish'd plaid,
Saw the Ferrara too, our nation's pride,
Unwilling grace the aukward victor's fide.
There fell our choiceft youth, and from that day
Mate never Sawney tune the merry lay;
Blefs'd those which fell! curs'd those which still fur-
vive,
To mourn Fifteen renew'd in Forty-five.
There, like the Sons of Ifrael, having trod,
For the fix'd term of years ordain'd by God,
A barren defert, we fhall feize rich plains,
Where milk with honey flows, and plenty reigns.
With fome few natives join'd, fome pliant few,
Who worship int'reft, and our track pursue,
There shall we, tho' the wretched people grieve,
Ravage at large, nor afk the owners leave.
For us, the earth fhall bring forth her increase;
For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece;
Fat beeves fhall yield us dainties not our own,
And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown;
For our advantage fhall their harvests grow,
And Scotfmen reap what they difdain'd to fow;
For us, the fun thall climb the eastern hill;
For us, the rain shall fall, the dew diftil;
When to our wifhes Nature cannot rife,
Art fhall be tafk'd to grant us fresh fupplies.
His brawny arm fhall drudging Labour strain,
And for our pleasure fuffer daily pain;
Trade fhall for us exert her utmoft pow'rs,
Her's all the toil, and all the profit, our's;
Thus plain'd the Boys, when from her throne of For us, the oak fhall from his native steep
With boils embofs'd, and overgrown with fcurf,
Vile humours, which, in life's corrupted well,
Mix'd at the birth, not abftinence could quell,
Pale FAMINE rear'd the head: her eager eyes,
Where hunger e'en to madness seem'd to rife,
Speaking aloud her throes and pangs of heart,
Strain'd to get loofe, and from their orbs to start;
Her hollow cheeks were each a deep-funk cell,
Where wretchedness and horror lov'd to dwell;
With double rows of useless teeth supplied,
Her mouth, from ear to ear, extended wide,
Which, when for want of food her entrails pin'd,
She op'd, and curfing swallow'd nought but wind;
All shrivell'd was her skin, and here and there,
Making their way by force, her bones lay bare:
Such filthy fight to hide from human view,
O'er her foul limbs a tatter'd plaid she threw.
Ceafe, cried the goddess, ceafe, despairing swains,
And from a parent hear what Jove ordains!
Pent in this barren corner of the isle,
Where partial fortune never deigned to smile;
Like Nature's baftards, reaping for our share
What was rejected by the lawful heir;
Unknown amongst the nations of the earth,
Or only known to raise contempt and mirth;
Long free, because the race of Roman braves
Thought it not worth their while to make us flaves;
Then into bondage by that nation brought,
Whose ruin we for ages vainly fought;
Whom ftill with unslack'd heat we view, and still,
The pow'r of mischief loft, retain the will;
Confider'd as the refuse of mankind,
A mafs till the last moment left behind,
Which frugal Nature doubted, as it lay,
Whether to ftamp with life, or throw away;
Which, form'd in hafte, was planted in this nook,
But never enter'd in Creation's book;
Branded as traitors, who for love of gold
Would fell their God, as once their King they fold;
Long have we borne this mighty weight of ill,
Thefe vile injurious taunts, and bear them still,
But times of happier note are now at hand,
And the full promife of a better land :
Defcend, and fearless travel thro' the deep;
The fail of Commerce for our ufe unfurl'd,
Shall waft the treasures of each diftant world;
For us, fublimer heights fhall Science reach,
For us, their Statesmen plot, their Churchmen
preach ;
Their noblest limbs of counfel we'll disjoint,
And, mocking, new ones of our own appoint;
Devouring War, imprison'd in the north,
Shall, at our call, in horrid pomp break forth,
And, when, his chariot wheels with thunder hung,
Fell Difcord braying with her brazen tongue,
Death in the van, with Anger, Hate, and Fear,
And Defolation stalking in the rear.
Revenge, by Juftice guided, in his train,
He drives impetuous o'er the trembling plain,
Shall, at our bidding, quit his lawful prey
And to meek, gentle, gen'rous Peace give way.
Think not, my fons, that this fo blefs'd estate
Stands at a distance on the roll of fate;
Already big with hopes of future fway,
E'en from this cave I fcent my deftin'd prey.
Think not, that this dominion o'er a race,
Whose former deeds fhall Time's laft annals grace,
In the rough face of peril muft, be fought,
And with the lives of thousands dearly bought;
No-fool'd by cunning, by that happy art
Which laugh's to fcorn the blundering hero's heart.
Into the fnare fhall our kind neighbours fall
With open eyes, and fondly give us all.
When Rome, to prop her finking empire, bore
Their choiceft levies to a foreign fhore,
What if we feiz'd, like a destroying flood,
Their widow'd plains, and fill'd the realm with blood.
Gave an unbounded loose to manly rage,
And scorning mercy, fpar'd nor fex nor age;
When, for our int'reft too mighty grown,
Monarchs of warlike bent poffefs'd the throne,
What if we ftrove divifions to foment,
And spread the flames of civil discontent,
Affifted thofe 'gainst their king made head,
And gave the traitors refuge when they fled;
When reftlefs Glory bad her fons advance,
And pitch'd her standard in the fields of France;
What if, difdaining oaths, and empty found, By which our nation never shall be bound, Bravely we taught unnuzzled war to roam
Nay, men of real worth can scarcely bear, So nice is Jealousy, a rival there.
Be wicked as thou wilt, do all that's bafe,
Thro' the weak land, and brought cheap laurels Proclaim thyfelf the monfter of thy race;
When the bold traitors leagu'd for the defence
Of Law, Religion, Liberty and Senfe,
When they against their lawful monarch rose,
And dar'd the Lord's Anointed to oppose,
What if we still rever'd the banish'd race,
And strove the Royal Vagrants to replace,
With fierce rebellions fhook th' unfettled ftate,
And greatly dar'd, tho' crofs'd by partial fate;
Thefe facts, which might, where wifdom held the fway,
Awake the very stones to bar our way,
There fhall be nothing, nor one trace remain
In the dull region of an English brain.
Blefs'd with that faith, which mountains can remove,
First they shall dupes, next faints, lait martyrs prove.
Already is this game of fate begun
Under the fanction of my darling fon :
That fon of nature royal as his name,
Is deftin'd to redeem our race from shame;
His boundless pow'r, beyond example great,
Shall make the rough way fmooth, the crooked
ftraight,
Shall for our cafe the raging floods reftrain,
And fink the mountain level to the plain.
Difcord, whom in a cavern under ground
With mafly fetters their late Patriot bound,
Where her own flesh the furious hag might tear,
And vent her curfes to the vacant air, -
Where, that she never might be heard of mare,
He planted Loyalty to guard the door,
For better purpose thall our Chief release,
Difguife her for a time, and call her Peace.
Lur'd by that name, fine engine of deceit,
Shall the weak English help themselves to cheat;
To gain our love, with honours fhall they grace
The old adherents of the Stuart race,
Who pointed out, no matter by what name,
Tories or Jacobites are still the fame,
To foothe cur rage, the temporifing brood
Shall break the ties of truth and gratitude,
Against their Saviour venom'd falfehoods frame,
And brand with calumny their William's name;
To win our grace, (rare argument of wit)
To our untainted faith fhall they commit
(Our faith which in extremeft perils tried,
Difdain'd, and ftill difdains, to change her fide)
That facred Majefty they all approve,
Who most enjoys, and best deserves their love,
Let Vice and Folly thy black foul divide,
Be proud with meannefs, and be mean with pride;
Deaf to the voice of faith and honour, fall
From fide to fide, yet be of none at all;
Spurn all thofe charities, thofe facred ties,
Which Nature in her bounty, good as wife,
To work our fafety, and enfure her plan,
Contriv'd to bind, and rivet man to man;
Lift against Virtue powr's oppreffive rod,
Betray thy country, and deny thy God;
And, in one gen'ral comprehensive line,
To group, which volumes fcarcely could define,
Whate'er of fin and dullness can be said,
Join to a F―'s heart a D———————————'s head ;
Yet may'st thou pafs unnotic'd in the throng,
And free from envy, fafely sneak along.
The rigid faint, by whom no mercy's fhewn
To faints whofe lives are better than his own,
Shall fpare thy crimes; and Wit, who never once
Forgave a brother, thall forgive a dunce.
But should thy foul, form'd in fome luckless hour,
Vile int'reft fcorn, nor madly grafp at pow'r;
Should love of fame, in ev'ry noble mind
A brave disease, with love of virtue join'd,
Spur thee to deeds of pith, where courage, tried
In Reason's court, is amply juftified;
Or fond of knowledge, and averfe to ftrife,
Should't thou prefer the calmer walk of life;
Should't thou, by pale and fickly Study led,
Purfue coy Science to the fountain-head;
Virtue thy Guide, and Public Good thy end,
Should ev'ry thought to our improvement tend,
To curb the paffions, to enlarge the mind,
Purge the fick weal, and humanize mankind :
Rage in her eye, and malice in her breast,
Redoubled horror grinning on her crest,
Fiercer each fnake, and fharper ev'ry cart,
Quick from her cell fhall maddening Envy start.
Then fhalt thou find, but find alas! too late,
How vain is worth! how fhort is glory's date!
Then fhalt thou find, whilft friends with foes con-
spire
To give more proof than virtue would defire,
Thy danger chiefly lies in acting well;
No crime's fo great as daring to excel.
Whilft Satire thus difdaining mean controul,
Urg'd the free dictates of an honest soul,
Candour, who, with the charity of Paul,
Still thinks the beft, when'er the thinks at all,
With the fweet milk of human kindness blefs'd,
The furious ardour of my zeal reprefs'd.
Can't thou, with more than ufual warmth, the cry'd,
Thy malice to indulge, and feed thy pride,
Can'ft thou, fevere by Nature as thou art,
With all that wond'rous rancour in thy heart,
Delight to torture Truth ten thousand ways,
To fpin detraction forth from themes of praise,
WILLIAM HOGART H. To make Vice fit for purposes of ftrife,
MONGST the fons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own! Superior virtue and fuperior fenfe
To knaves and fools will always give offence ;
And draw the hag much larger than the life,
To make the good feem bad, the bad feem worse,
And reprefent our nature as our curfe?
Doth not humanity condemn that zeal
Which tends to aggravate and not to heal?
Doth not difcretion warn thee of difgrace,
And danger grinning ftare thee in the face;
Loud as the drum, which spreading terror round
From emptiness acquires the pow'r of found?
Doth not the voice of Norton ftrike thy ear,
And the pale Mansfield chill thy foul with fear?
Do'ft thou, fond man, believe thyself secure,
Because thou'rt honeft, and because thou'rt poor?
Do'st thou on law and liberty depend?
Turn, turn thy eyes, and view thy injur'd friend.
Art thou beyond the ruffian gripe of pow'r?
When Wilkes, prejudg'd, is fentenc'd to the Tow'r?
Do'st thou by privilege exemption claim,
When privilege is little more than name?
Or to prerogative (that glorious ground
On which state-fcoundrels oft have fafety found)
Do'st thou pretend, and there a sanction find,
Unpunish'd, thus to libel human kind ?
When poverty, the poet's conftant crime,
Compell'd thee, all unfit, to trade in rime,
Had not romantic notions turn'd thy head,
Had it thou not valu'd honour more than bread,
Had int'reft, pliant int'reft, been thy guide,
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And had not prudence been debauch'd by pride,
In flattery's stream thou would't have dipp'd thy
Applied to great, and not to honeft men,
Nor should conviction have seduc'd thy heart
To take the weaker tho' the better part.
What but rank folly, for thy curfe decreed,
Could into Satire's barren path mislead,
When, open to thy view, before thee lay
Soul-foothing Panegyric's flow'ry way ?
There might the Mufe have faunter'd at her eafe,
And, pleafing others, learn'd herself to please ;
Lords fhould have liften'd to the fugar'd treat,
And ladies, fimp'ring, own'd it vastly sweet;
Rogues, in thy prudent verse with virtue grac'd,
Fuels, mark'd by thee as prodigies of taste,
Must have forbid, pouring preferment down,
Such Wit, fuch Truth as thine to quit the gown,
Thy facred brethren too (for they no lefs
Than laymen, bring their offerings to fuccefs)
Had hail'd thee good if great, and paid the vow
Sincere as that they pay to God, whilst thou
In lawn hadft whisper'd to a sleeping croud,
As dull as R, and half as proud.
Peace, Candour-Wifely had'ft thou faid, well,
Could int'reft in this breast one moment dwell,
Could the, with prospect of success, oppose
The firm refolves which from conviction rofe.
I cannot truckle to a fool of state,
Nor take a favour from the man I hate.
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Free leave have others by fuch means to shine
I fcorn their practice, they may laugh at mine.
But in this charge, forgetful of thyself,
Thou haft affum'd the maxims of that elf,
Whom God in wrath for man's dishonour fram'd,
Cunning in Heav'n, amongst us Prudence nam'd,
That fervile Prudence which I leave to those
Who dare not be my friends, can't be my foes.
Had I with cruel and oppreffive rimes
Purfu'd, and turn'd misfortunes into crimes;
Had I, when Virtue gasping lay and low,
Join'd tyrant Vice, and added woe to woe;
Had I made Modesty in blushes speak,
And drawn the tear down Beauty's facred cheek;
Had I (damn'd then) in thought debas'd my lays,
To wound that fex which honour bids me praife;
Had I, from vengeance by base views betray'd,
In endless night funk injur'd Ayliff's fhade;
Had I (which Satirits of mighty name,
Renown'd in time, rever'd for moral fame,
Have done before, whom Juftice shall pursue
In future verfe) brought forth to public view
A noble friend, and made his foibles known,
Because his worth was greater than my own ;
Had I fpar'd thofe (fo Pruderte had decreed)
Whom, God fo help me at my greatest need,
I ne'er will fpare, thofe vipers to their King,
Who smooth their looks, and flatter whilft they
fting.
Or had I not taught patriot zeal to boast
Of thofe, who flatter leaft, but love him most ;
Had I thus finn'd, my stubborn foul should bend
At Candour's voice, and take, as from a friend,
The deep rebuke; myself fhould be the firft
To hate myself, and ftamp my Mufe accurs'd.-
But shall my arm--forbid it manly pride,
Forbid it Reafon, warring on my fide-
For vengeance lifted high, the ftroke forbear,
And hang fufpended in the defart air,
Or to my trembling fide unnerv'd fink down,
Palfied, forfooth, by Candour's half-made frown?
When Juftice bids me on, fhall I delay
Because infipid Candour bars my way?
When the, of all alike the puling friend,
Would difappoint my Satire's nobleft end,
When the to villains would a fanction give,
And fhelter those who are not fit to live,
When she would fcreen the guilty from a blush,
And bids me fpare whom Reafon bids me crush,
All leagues with Candour proudly I refign;
She cannot be for honour's turn, nor mine.
Yet come, cold monitor, half foe, half friend, Whom Vice can't fear, whom Virtue can't commend,
Come Candour, by thy dull indiff'rence known,
Thou equal-blooded judge, thou lukewarm drone,
Who, fashion'd without feelings, dost expect,
We call that Virtue which we know Defect;
Come, and obferve the nature of our crimes,
The grofs and rank complexion of the times,
Obferve it well, and then review my plan,
and Praife if you will, or cenfure if you can.
Whilft Vice prefumptuous lords it as in sport,
And Piety is only known at court;
Whilft wretched Liberty expiring lies
Beneath the fatal burthen of Excife;
Whilft nobles act without one touch of fhame,
What men of humble rank would blush to name;
Whilft Honour's plac'd in highest point of view,
Worshipp'd by thofe, who juftice never knew;
Whilft bubbles of diftinction wafte in play
The hours of reft, and blunder thro' the day,
With dice and cards opprobrious vigils keep,
Then turn to ruin empires in their fleep;
Whilft fathers, by relentless paffion led,
Doom worthy injur'd fons to beg their bread,
Merely with ill-got, ill-fav'd wealth to grace
An alien, abject, poor, proud, upstart race;
Whilft Martin flatters only to betray,
And Webb gives up his dirty foul for pay;
Whilft titles ferve to hufh a villain's fears;
Whilft peers are agents made, and agents peers 3
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