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DEAR Colonel, Cobhain's and your country's You love a verse, take such as I can send. [friend! A Frenchman comes, presents you with his boy, Bows and begins-"This lad, Sir, is of Blois Observe his shape how clean, his locks how



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"My only son, I'd have him see the world:
"His French is pure; his voice too-you shall


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And certain laws, by suff'rers thought unjust,
Denied all posts of profit or of trust;
Hopes after hopes of pious Papist fail'd,
While mighty William's thund'ring arm pre-
For Right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd,
He stuck to poverty with
of mind;
And me the Muses help to undergo it;
Convict a Papist he, and I a Poct.
But (than to Homer!) since I live and thrive,
Indebted to no prince or peer alive,
Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,
If I would scribble rather than repose.




Sir, he's your slave for twenty pounds a-year. "Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with ease, "Your barber,cook,upholst'rer, what you please: "A perfect genius at an opera song — "To say too much, might do my honor wrong. "Take him with all his virtues, on my word; "His whole anibition was to serve a lord :


But, Sir, to you, with what would I not part?
Tho' faith, I fear, 'twill break his mother'sheart.
"Once (and but once) I caught him in a lie,
And then, unwhipp'd, he had the grace to cry:
"The fault he has I fairly shall reveal;
"(Could you o'erlook but that) it is, to steal."

If, after this, you took the graceless lad,
Could you complain, my friend, he prov'd so bad?
'Faith, in such case, if you should prosecute,
I think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit,
Who sent the thief, that stole the cash, away,
And punish'd him that put it in his way.

Consider then, and judge me in this light;
I told you, when I went, I could not write;
You said the same; and are you discontent
With laws to which you gave your own assent?
Nay worse, to ask for verse at such a time!
D'ye think mne good for nothing but to rhyme?

In Auna's wars, a soldier poor and old
Had dearly earn'd a little purse of gold:
Tir'd with a tedious march, one luckless night
He slept, poor dog! and lost it to a doit.
This put the man in such a desp'rate mind,
Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd,
Against the foe, himself, and all mankind,
He leap'd the trenches, scal'd a castle wall,
Tore down a standard, took the fort and all.
"Prodigious well!" his great commander cried;
Gave him much praise, and some reward beside.
Next pleas'd his excellence a town to batter;
(Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter)
"Go on, my friend (he cried) see yonder walls!
**Advance and conquer! go where glory calls!
"More honors, more rewards, attend the brave."
Don't you remember what reply he gave?
"D'ye think me, noble Gen'ral, such a sot?
"Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat."

Bred up at home, full early I begun To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' son. Besides my father taught me, from a lad, The better art to know the good from bad: (And little sure imported to remove, To hunt for truth in Maudlin's learned grove),The boys flock round him, and the people stare:

The man who, stretch'd in Isis' calm retreat,
To books and study gives seven years complete,
See! strew'd with learned dust, his nightcap on,
He walks, an object now beneath the sun!

But knottier points we knew not half so well
Depriv'd us soon of our paternal cell;

So stiff, so mute! some statue, you would swear,
Stept from its pedestal to take the air!



Years following years steal something ev'ry
At last they steal us from ourselves away;
In one our frolics, one amusements end,
In one a mistress drops, in one a friend;
This subtle thief of life, this paltry Time,
What will it leave me, if it snatch my rhyme?
If ev'ry wheel of that unwearied mill,
That turn'd ten thousand verses now stand still?
But, after all, what would you have me do,
When out of twenty I can please not two;
When this Heroics only deigns to praise,
Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays?
One likes the pheasant's wing, and one the leg:
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
Hard task! to hit the palate of such guests,
When Oldfield loves what Dartincuf detests.

But grant I may relapse, for want grace,
Again to rhyme: can London be the place?
Who there his Muse, or self, or soul attends,
In crowds and courts, law, business, feasts, and

My counsel sends to execute a deed :
A Poet begs me I will hear him read:
In Palace-yard at nine I'll find me there-
At ten for certain, Sir, in Bloomsbury-square-
Before the Lords at twelve my Cause comes on-
There's a Rehearsal, Sir, exact at one.
"Oh! but a Wit can study in the streets,
"And raise his mind above the mob he meets,"
Not quite so well however as one ought;
A hackney-coach may chance to spoil a thought;
And then a nodding-beam, or pig of lead,
God knows, may hurt the very ablest head.
Have you not seen, at Guildhall's narrow pass,
Two Aldermen dispute it with an Ass;
And Peers give way, exalted as they are,

Ev'n to their own S-r-v-nce in a car?

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Go, lofty Poet! and in such a crowd
Sing thy sonorous verse - but not aloud,
Alas! to grottos and to groves we run;
To ease and silence ev'ry Muse's son:
Blackmore himself, for any grand effort,
Would drink and doze at Tooting or Earl's-court.
How shall I rhyme in this eternal roar? [before?
How match the bards whom none e'er inatch'd


And here, while town, and court, and city roars,
With mobs, and duns, and soldiers, at their doors,
Shall I in London act this idle part?
Composing songs, for fools to get by heart?

The Temple late two brother Serjeants saw,
Who deem'd each other Oracles of Law;
With equal talents, these congenial souls, [Rolls,
One lull'd th' Exchequer, and one stunn'd the
Each had a gravity would make
yon split,
And shook his head at Murray, as a wit.
'Twas, "Sir, your law"-and


Whereat the gentleman began to stareSir, your elo- My friends! he cried, p-x take you for your care, [bot's sense. That from a Patriot of distinguish'd note, Yours, Cowper's manners; and Yours, Tal-Have bled and purg'd me to a simple Vote. Thus we dispose of all poetic merit; Well, on the whole, plain prose must be myfate: Yours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's spirit. Wisdom, curse on it! will come soon or late. Call Tibbald Shakspeare, and he'll sweartheNine, There is a time when Poets will grow dull: Dear Cibber! never match'd one Ode of thine. [I'll e'en leave verses to the boys at school: Lord! how we strut thro' Merlin's Cave to see To rules of Poetry no more confin'd, No poets there but Stephen, you, and me. I'll learn to smooth and harmonize my mind; Walk with respect behind, while we at ease Teach ev'ry thought within its bounds to roll, Weave laurel Crowns, and take what names we And keep the equal measure of the soul. My dear Tibullus!" if that will not do,[please, "Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you : "Or, L'in content; allow me Dryden's strains, “And you shall rise up Otway for your pains." Much do I suffer, much to keep in peace This jealous, waspish, wrong-head, rhyming race; And much must flatter, if the whim should bite To court applause, by printing what I write : But, let the fit pass o'er, I'm wise enough To stop my ears to their confounded stuff.


Soon as I enter at my country door,
My mind resumes the thread it dropp'd before;
Thought which at Hyde-park corner I forgot,
Meet and rejoin me in the pensive Grot;
There all alone, and compliment. apart,
I ask these sober questions of my heart:

If, when the more you drink, the more you

In vain bad Rhymers all mankind reject, [spect:
They treat themselves with most profound re-
'Tis to small purpose that you hold your tongue;
Each, prais'd within, is happy all day long:
But how severely with themselves proceed
The men who write such Verse as we can read!
Their own strict Judges, not a word they spare
That wants or force, or light, or weight, or care.
Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place,
Nay tho' at Court (perhaps) it may find grace:
Such they'll degrade; and sometimes, in its stead,
In downright charity revive the dead;
Mark where a bold expressive phrase appears,
Bright thro' the rubbish of some hundred years;
Command old words that long have slept,t'awake,
Words that wise Bacon or brave Raleigh spake;
Or bid the new be English, ages hence,
(For Use will father what's begot by Sensey
Pour the full tide of eloquence along,
Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong,
Rich with the treasures of each foreign tongue :
Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine,
But show no mercy to an empty line :
Then polish all with so much life and ease,
You think 'tis Nature, and a knack to please:
But ease in writing flows from art, not chance;
"As those move easiest whohavelearn'dtodance."
If such the plague and pains to write by rule,
Better (say I) be pleas'd, and play the fool:
Call, if you will, bad rhyming a disease;
It gives men happiness or leaves thein case.
There liv'd in primo Georgii (they record)
A worthy member, no small fool, a Lord;


Who, tho' the House was up, delighted sate,
Heard, noted, answer'd, as in full debate:
In all but this, a man of sober life,
Fond of his Friend, and civil to his Wife;
Not quite a madman tho' a pasty fell,
And much too wise to walk into a well. [mur'd,
Him the dann'd Doctors and his Friends in-
They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd; in short,
they cur'd:


You tell the Doctor; when the more you have,
The more you want, why not with equal ease
Confess as well your Folly, as Disease?
The heart resolves this matter in a trice:
"Men only feel the Smart, but not the Vice."

When golden Angels cease to cure the Evil,
You give all royal Witchcraft to the Devil;
When servile Chaplains cry that birth and place
Endue a Peer with honor, truth, and grace,
Look if that breast, most dirty D-! be fair;
Say, can you find out one such lodger there?
Yet still, not heeding what your heart can teach,
You go to church to hear these flatt'rers preach.

Indeed, could wealth bestow or wit or merit,
A grain of courage, or a spark of spirit,
The wisest man might blush, I must agree,
If D*** lov'd sixpence more than he.

If there be truth in Law, and Use can give
A Property, that's yours on which you live.
Delighted Abs-court, if its fields afford
Their fruits to you, confesses you its lord;
All Worldly's hens, nay partridge, sold to town,
His ven'son too, a guinca makes your own:
He bought at thousands what with better wit
You purchase as you want, and bit by bit;
Now, or long since, what diff'rence will be found?
You pay a penny, and he paid a pound.

Heathcote himself, and such large-acred men,
Lords of fat E'sham, or of Lincoln fen,
Buy ev'ry stick of wood that lends them heat
Buy ev'ry pullet they afford to cat.

Yet these are Wights who fondly call their own
Half that the Devil o'erlooks from Lincoln town,
The Laws of God, as well as of the land,
Abhor a Perpetuity should stand:

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Estates have wings, and hang in fortune's pow'r,
Loose on the point of ev'ry waving hour,
Ready, by force, or of your own accord,
By sale, at least by death, to change their lord.
Man? and for ever? wretch! what would'st thou
Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave. [have?
All vast possessions (just the same the case
Whether you call them Villa, Park, or Chase
Alas, my Bathurst! what will they avail?
Join Cotswood hills to Saperton's fair dale;
Let rising granaries and temples here,
Their mingled farms and pyramids appear;
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak;
Inclose whole towns in walls-'tis all a joke!
Inexorable Death shall level all,
And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall.

Gold, Silver, Iv'ry, Vases, sculptur'd high,
Paint, Marble, Gems, and robes of Persian dye,
There are who have not-and, thank Heaven!

With terrors round, can reason hd her throne,
Despise the known, nor trembleat' unknown?
Survey both worlds, intrepid and ctire,
In spite of witches, devils, dreamsand fire?
Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd toook behind,
And count each birth-day with a gateful mind?
Has life no sourness, drawn so nea its end?
Canst thou endure a foe, forgive a ·iend?
Has age but melted the rough partaway,
As winter fruits grow mild ere the decay?
Or will you think, my friend, your hsiness done,
When, of a hundred thorns, you ull out one?'

Learn to live well, or fairly mab your will;
You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, ad drank your
Walk sober off, before a sprightli age [till:
Comes titt'ring on, and shoves you om the stage;
Leave such to trifle with more grce and ease,
Whom folly pleases, and whose filies please.

there are,

Who if they have not, think not worth their care. § 21. Epilogues to the Satires. In wo Dialogues.
Talk what you will of Taste, my friend, you'll
Two of a face as soon as of a mind. [find,
Why, of two brothers, rich and restless one [sun;
Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to
The other slights, for women, sports, and wines,
All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's



Fr. Nor twice a twelvemonthyou appear in

And when it comes, the Court se nothing in't.
You grow correct, that once wit rapture writ;
And are, besides, too moral for aWit.
Decay of parts, alas! we all mu feel-
Why now, this moment, don't see you steal?
'Tis all from Horace; Horace, Ing before ye,
Said, "Tories call'd him Whip and Whigs a

Why one, like Bu-with pay and scorn content,
Bows, and votes on, in Court and Parliament;
One, driven by strong Benevolence of soul,
Shall fly, like Oglethorp, from pole to pole;
Is known alone to that Directing Pow'r
Who forms the Genius in the patal hour;
That God of Nature, who, within us still,
Inclines our action, not constrains our will:
Various of temper, as of face or frame,
Each individual; his great End the same.
Yes, Sir, how small soever be
my heap,
A part I will enjoy as well as keep.
My heir may sigh, and think it want of grace
A man so poor would live without a place:
But sure no statute in his favor says,
How free or frugal I shall pass my days;
I, who at some times spend, at others spare,
Divided between carelessness and care.
"Tis one thing madly to disperse my store;
Another, not to heed to treasure more;
Glad, like a boy, to snatch the first good day,
And pleas'd if sordid want be far away.

What is 't to me a passenger, (God wot)
Whether my vessel be first rate or not?
The ship itself may make a better figure,
But I that sail am neither less nor bigger;
I neither strut with ev'ry fav'ring breath,
Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth:
In pow'r, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd
Behind the foremost, and before the last.
"But why all this of avarice? I have none."
I wish you joy, Sir, of a tyrant gone;
But does no other lord it at this hour,
As wild and mad—the avarice of pow'r?
Does neither rage inflame, nor fear appall?
Not the black fear of death that saddens all?

And taught his Romans, in muh better metre,
"To laugh at fools who put thei trust in Peter."
But Horace, Sir, was delicate was nice;
Bubo observes, he lash'd no sor of Vice:
Horace would say, Sir Billy ser'd the Crown;
Blunt could do business, H-ggin knew the town;
In Sappho touch the Failings of the Sex,
In rev'rend Bishops note some mall neglects;
And own the Spaniard did a wiggish thing,
Who cropp'd our ears, and sent them to the King.
His sly, polite, insinuating styk

Could please at Court, and makeAugustus smile:
An artful manager, that crept letween
His friend and shame, and wasa kind of screen.
But, 'faith, your very friends wll soon be sore;
Patriots there are who wish you'd jest no more—
And where's the Glory? 'twil be only thought
The great man never offer'd hin a groat.
Go see Sir Robert-

P. See Sir Robert!-hum-
And never laugh for all my life to come?
Seen him I have, but in his hippier hour
Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchanged for Pow'r,
Seen him, uncumber'd with avenal tribe,
Smile without art, and win without a bribe.
Would he oblige ine? 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 -1 dare laugh out.
F. Why yes, with Scripture still you may be free;"
A horse-laugh, if you please, at Honesty ;

A joke

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A Joke on Jkyt, or some odd Old Whig,
Who never cang'd his principle, or wig;
A patriot is fool in ev'ry age,
Whom all Ird Chamberlains allow the stage:
These nothig hurts; they keep their fashion still,
And wear thir strange old virtue, as they will.
Who 's the man, so near
"His prince hat writes in verse, and has his ear?"
Why answe Lyttleton; and I'll engage
The worthy outh shall ne'er be in a rage:
But were hiverses vile, his whisper base,
You'd quicly find him in Lord Fanny's case.
Sejanus, Woey, hurt not honest Fleury;
But well maput some statesmen in a fury.

Laugh the at any but at fools or foes;
These you bu anger, and you mend not those.
Laugh at you friends; and, if your friends are


So much the etter, you may laugh the more.
To vice and fly to confine the jest,
Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest;
Did not the seer of more impartial men
At sense and irtue balance all again.
Judicious witspread wide the ridicule,
And charitabl comfort knave and fool,

P. Dear Si, forgive the prejudice of youth:
Adieu, distinciou, satire,. warinth, and truth!
Come, harmles characters that no one hit;
Come, Henleys oratory, Osborne's wit!
The honey droping from Favonio's tongue,
The flow'rs of Bubo, and the flow of Y-ng!
The gracious dw of pulpit eloquence,
And all the wel-whipp'd cream of courtly sense,
The first was Ivy's, F-'s next, and then
The S-te's, and then H-vy's once again.
O come,
that esy, Ciceronian style,
So Latin, yet sqEnglish all the while,
As, tho' the pile of Middleton and Bland,
All boys may rad, and girls may understand!
Then might Ing, without the least offence,
And all I sung should be the Nation's Sense;
Or teach the mancholy Muse to mourn,
Hang the sad vese on Carolina's uru,
And hail her pasage to the Realms of Rest,
All parts perforn'd, and all her children blest!
So Satire is no more I feel it die
No Gazetteer mire innocent than I-
And let, a-God's name, ev'ry fool and knave
Be grac'd thro' lfe, and flatter'd in his grave.

F.Why 90? if Satire knows his time and place,
You still may last 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 D-re.
Silent and soft as saints remov'd to heaven,
All ties dissoly'd, and ev'ry sin forgiven,
These may some gentle ministerial wing
Receive, and place for ever near a King! [sport,
There, where no passion, pride, or shame tran-
Lull'd with the sweet Nepenthe of a Court;
There, where no father's, brother's, friend's dis-


Once break theirrest,or stir them from their place.

But, past the sense of human miseries,
All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;
No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,
Save when they lose a question, or a job.

P. Good Heaven forbid that I should blast
their glory,

Who know how like Whig Ministers to Tory,
And when three Sov'reigns died, could scarce be


Consid'ring 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?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty, hoast;
But shall the dignity of Vice be lost?
Ye Gods! shall Cibber's son, 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 lie?
Shall Ward draw contracts with a statesman's
Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a will? [skill?
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 bear;
Vice thus abus'd demands a nation's care:
This calls the church to deprecate our sin,
And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin.

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 find it fame.
Virtue 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 courts confess,
Chaste matrons praise her, and gravebishops bless;
In golden chains the willing world she draws,
And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws;
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,
Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
And sces pale Virtue carted in her stead.
Old England's Genius, rough with many a scar;
Dragg'd in the dust! his arms hang idly round,
His Hag inverted trains along the ground!
Our youth, all livery'd 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 thro' the land proclaim,
That not to be corrupted is the shame,
In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow'r,
"Tis av'rice all, ainbition 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 triumph o'er the law;
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry:
Nothing is sacred now but villany.'
Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)
Show there was one who held it in disdain.



F. 'Tis all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will say.' P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow, 'faith it And for that very cause I print to-day. [may How should I fret to mangle ev'ry 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 genius sins up to my song.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash; Even Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash. Spare then the person, and expose the viee :

P. How, Sir! not damn the sharper, but the Come on then, satire! gen'ral, unconfin'd [dice? Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind. Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all! Ye tradesmen, vile, in army, court, or hall! Ye rev'rend 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. F.The pois'ning dame, you mean.-P.I don't. F. You do.

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

P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what ;

Tell me which knave is lawful game, which not?
Must great offenders, once escap'd the Crown,
Like royal harts, 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 hart 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! tho' a realm be spoil'd, Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild, Or, if a court or country 's made a job, Go drench a pickpocket, and join the mob.

But, Sir, I beg you (for the love of vice!) The matter's weighty, pray consider twice: Have you less pity for the needy cheat, The poor and friendless villain, than the great? Alas! the small discredit of a bribe Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe.

Then better sure it Charity becomes

To tax Directors, who, thank God, have plums;
Still better Ministers; or, if the thing
May pinch even there- why lay it on a King.
F. Stop! stop!

P. Must satire, then, nor rise nor fall?
Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all.
F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow.
P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years


Who now that obsolete example fears?
Even Peter trembles only for his ears.

F. What always Peter? Peter thinks you mad; You make men desp'rate, if they once are bad : Else might he take to virtue some years henceP. As S-k, if he lives, will love the Prinoe. F. Strange spleen to S-k!

P. Do I wrong the man? God knows, I praise a Courtier where I can. When I confess, there is who feels for fame, And melts to goodness, need I Scarb'row name? Pleas'd let me own, in Esher's peaceful grove (Where Kent and nature vie for Pelham's love), The scene, the master, op'ning to my view, I sit and dream I see my Craggs anew!

Even in a Bishop I can spy desert; Secker is decent, Rundel has a heart: Manners with candor are to Benson given; To Berkley ev'ry virtue under heaven.

But does the Court a virtuous man remove? That instant, I declare, he has my love: I shun his zenith, court his mild decline; Thus Somers once and Halifax were mine. Oft, in the clear still mirror of retreat, I studied Shrewsbury, the wise and great; Carleton's calm sense and Stanhope's noble flame Compar'd, and knew their gen'rous end the same. How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour! How shin'd the soul, unconquer'd in the Tow'r? How can I Pult'ney, Chesterfield forget, While Roman spirit charms, and Attie wit? Argyle, the State's whole thunder born to wield, And shake alike the senate and the field: Or Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne, The master of our passions, and his own: Names which I long have lov'd,not lov'd in vain, Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with their train;

And if yet higher the proud list should end,
Still let me say, No follower, but a friend

Yet think not, friendship only prompts mylays;
I follow Virtue; where she shines, I praise;
Point she to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory.
I never (to my sorrow I declare)
Din'd with the Man of Ross, or my Lord Mayor.
Some in the choice of friends (nay, look not

Have still a secret bias to a knave:
To find an honest man, I beat about,
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
F. Then why so few commended ?
P. Not se fierce;
Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse.



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