Not Fortune's worshipper, nor Fashion's fool,
Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor fervile; be one Poet's Praife,
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways:
That Flattery, e'en to Kings, he held a fhame,
And thought a Lie in verfe or profe the fame;
That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But ftoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his fong:
That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end,
He ftood the furious for, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Laugh'd at the lofs of friends he never had,
The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad ;
The diftant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv'd, the lie fo oft o'erthrown,
Th' imputed trash, and dullness not his own;
The morals blacken'd when the writings 'fcape,
The libei'd perfon, and the pictur'd fhape;
Abufe, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread,
A friend in exile, or a father dead;
The whifper, that, to greatness still too near,
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his Sovereign's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the paft:
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome e'en the laft!
Let the two Curlls of Town and Court, abuse 380 335 His father, mother, body, foul and mufe.
et why? that Father held it for a rule, It was a fin to call our neighbour fool: That harr defs Mother thought ne wife a whore: Hear this, and ipare his family janes Moore! 385 340 Urfotted names, and memorable iong! If there be force in Vertue, or in Song.
The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.
No Courts he faw, no fuits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lie.
Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
355 No language, but the language of the heart.
By Nature honeft, by Experience wife!
Healthy by temperance, and by exercise;
His life, though long, to sickness past unknown,
His death was inftant, and without a groan.
3600 grant me thus to live, and thus to die!
Who fprung from Kings fhall know less joy than I.
O Friend! may each domestic blifs be thine!
Be no unpleafing Melancholy mine:
365 Me, let the tender office long engage,
To rock the cradle of repofing Age,
With lenient arts extend a Mother's breath,
Make Languor fmile, and fmooth the bed of Death,
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
A. But why infult the poor, affront the great?
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in every state:
Alike my fcorn, if he fucceed or fail,
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail;
A hireling fcribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the poft corrupt, or of the fhire;
If on a Pillory, or near a Throne,
He gain his Prince's ear, or lose his own,
Yet foft by nature, more a dupe than wit,
Sappho can tell you how this man was bit:
This dreaded Sat'rift Dennis will confefs
For to his pride, but friend to his difirefs:
So humble, he has knocked at Thibbald's door,
Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor.
Full ten years flander'd, did he once reply?
Three thousand funs went down on Welfted's lie.
To please hie miftrefs, one afpers'd his life;
He lafh'd him not, but let her be his wife:
Let Budgell charge low Grug-ftreet on his quill,
And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his Will
370 And keep a while one parent from the sky!
On cares like thefe if length of days attend,
May Heaven, to blefs thofe days, preferve my friend,
Preferve him focial, chearful, and ferene,
And just as rich as when he ferv'd a Queen!
A Whether that bleffing be deny'd or given,
Thus far was right, the reft belongs to Heaven.
HERE are (I fcarce can think it, but am Fair to expofe myself, my foes, my friends;
told)
There are, to whom my Satire feems too bold:
Scarce to wife Peter complaifant enough,
And fomething faid of Chartres much too rough.
The lines are weak, another pleas'd to say,
Lord Fanny fpins a thousand fuch a day.
Timorous by nature, of the Rich in awe,
I come to Council learned in the Law:
You'll give me, like a friend both fage and free,
Advice; and (as you use) without a Fee.
P. Not write? but then I think,
And for my foul I cannot fleep a wink.
I nod in company, I wake at night,
Fools rush into my head, and fo I write.
I love to pour out all myself, as plain
As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne :
In them, as certain to be lov'd as feen,
The Soul flood forth, nor kept a thought within;
In me what spots (for fpots I have) appear,
Will prove at least the Medium must be clear.
In this impartial glafs, my Mufe intends
Publish the prefent age; but where my text
Is Vice too high, referve it for the next:
My foes fhall with my life a longer date,
And every friend the lefs lament my fate.
5My head and heart thus flowing through my quill,
Verfman or Profeman, term me what you will,
Papift or Proteftant, or both between,
Like good Erafmus in an honeft mean,
In moderation placing all my glory,
While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Satire 's my weapon, but I'm too difreet
To run a-muck, and tilt at all I meet;
F. You could not do a worse thing for your life.
Why, if the nights feem tedious-take a wife:
Or rather truly, if your point be rest,
Lettuce and cowflip wine; "Probatum eft."
But talk with Celfus, Celfus will advise
Hartshorn, or fomething that shall clofe your eyes.
Or, if you needs must write, write Cæfar's Praise,
You'll gain at least a Knighthood, or the Bays.
P. What? like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough and
fierce,
With Arms and George and Brunswick crowd the
verfe,
Rend with tremendous found your ears afunder,
With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbus,
Or nobly wild, with Budgell's fire and force,
Paint Angels trembling round his falling Hoife?
F. Then all your Mufe's fofter art display,
Let Carolina fmooth the tuneful lay,
Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine,
And sweetly flow through all the Royal Line.
I only wear it in a land of Hectors,
Thieves, Supercargoes, Sharpers, and Directors.
Save but our army! and let Jöve incruft
Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!
Peace is my dear delight-not Fleury's more: 75
But touch me, and no minifter fo fore.
Whoe'er offends, at fome unlucky time
Slides into verfe, and hitches-in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the fad burthen of fome merry fong
Slander or Poifon dread from Delia's rage;
Hard words or hanging, if your Judge be Page.
From furious Sappho fcarce a milder fate,
P.x'd by her love, or libell'd by her hate.
Its proper power to hurt, each creature feels: 85
Bulls aim their horns, and Affes lift their heels;
'Tis a Bear's talent not to kick, but hug;
And no man wonders he 's not ftung by Pug.
and So drink with Walters, or with Chartres eat,
They'll never poifon you, they'll only cheat. 90
Then, learned Sir! (to cut the matter thort)
Whate'er my fate, or well or ill at Court;
Whether Old-age, with faint but chearful ray,
30 Attends to gild the Evening of my day.
P. Alas! few verfes touch their nicer ear;
They scarce can bear their Laureate twice a year;
And justly Cæfar fcorns the Poet's lays,
It is to Hiftory he trufts for Praife.
F. Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still,
Than ridicule all Tafte, blafpheme Quadrille,
Abuse the City's best good men in metre,
And laugh at Peers that put their trust in Peter.
Lv'n thofe you touch not, hate you.
P. What should ail 'em?
F. A hundred smart in Timon and in Balaam :
The fewer ftill you name, you wound the more;
Bond is but one, but Harpax is a feore.
P. Each mortal has his pleasure: none deny
Scarfdale his Bottle, Darty his Ham-pye;
Ridotta fips and dances, till the
The doubling Luftres dance as fast as the:
Floves the Senate, Hockleyhole his brother,
Like in ail elfe, as one Egg to another.
Could Laureate Dryden Pimp and Friar engage,
Yet neither Charles nor James be in a rage?
And I not trip the gilding off a Knave,
Unplac'd, unpenfion'd, no man's heir or flave?
I will, or perish in the generous caufe:
Hear this, and tremble! you, who 'fcape the
Laws.
Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave
Shall walk the World, in credit, to his grave.
To Virtue only and her friends a Friend,
The World befide may murmur, or commend.
Know, all the diftant din that world can keep,
Rolls o'er my Grotto, and but fooths my fleep.
There, my retreat the best Companions grace,
Not when a gilt Buffet's reflected pride
Turns you from found Philofophy afide;
Not when from plate to plate your eye-balls roll,
And the brain dances to the mantling bowl.
Heat Bethel's Sermon, one not vers'd in fchools,
But frong in fenfe, and wife without the rules. 10
Go work, hunt, exercife! (he thus began)
Then fcorn a homely dinner, if you can.
Your wine lock'd up, your Butler flroll'd abroad,
Or fifh deny'd (the river yet unthaw'd),
If then plain bread and milk will do the feat,
The pleasure lies in you, and not the meat.
Preach as I pleale, I doubt our curious men
Will choose a pheasant ftill before a hen;
Yet hens of Guinea full as good I hold,
Except you eat the feathers green and gold.
Of carps and mullets, why prefer the great,
(Though cut in pieces ere my Lord can eat)
Yet for fmall Turbots such esteem profels?
my Becaufe God made thefe large, the other lefs>
Oldfield, with more than Harpy throat endued, 25
Cries, "Send me, Gods! a whole Hog barbe-
Chiefs out of war, and Statesmen out of place.
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowi
The Feaft of Reafon and the Flow of foul:
And He, whofe lightning pierc'd th' Iberian Lines,
Now forms my Quincunx, and now ranks
Vines;
Or tames the Genius of the ftubborn plain,
Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain,
Envy must own, I live among the Great,
No Pimp of pleasure, and no Spy of state;
With eyes that pry not, tongue that ne'er repeats;
Fond to spread friendships, but to cover-heats;
To help who want, to forward who excel ;
This, all who know me, know, who love
tell;
Oh blast it, South-winds! till a stench exhale
Rank as the ripeness of a rabbit's tail.
By what Criterion do you eat, d'ye think,
If this is priz'd for fweetnefs, that for stink?
When the tir'd glutton labours through a treat,
He finds no relish in the sweetest meat,
He calls for fomething bitter, fomething four,
And the rich feaft concludes extremely poor:
Cheap eggs, and herbs, and olives, ftill we fee; 35
140 Thus much is left of old Simplicity!
The Robin-red-breast till of late had rest,
And children facred held a Martin's neft,
Till Beccaficos fold fo dev'lifh dear
And who unknown defame me, let them be
Scribblers or Peers, alike are Mob to me.
This is my Plea, on this I rest my cause-
What faith my Council, learned in the laws?
F. Your Plea is good; but still I fay, beware!
Laws are explain’d by men—so have a care.
It stands on record, that in Richard's times
A man was hang'd for very honeft rhymes;
Confult the Statute, " quart." I think, it is,
"Edwardi fext." or "prim. et quint. Eliz."
See Libels, Satires-here you have it--read.
P. Libels and Satires! lawlers things indeed!
But grave Epiftles, bringing Vice to light,
Such as a King might read, a Bishop write,
Such as Sir Robert would approve--
The Cafe is alter'd-you may then proceed;
In fuch a cafe the Plaintiff will be hifs'd,
My Lords the judges laugh, and you're dismiss'd.
To one that was, or would have been, a Peer. 40
Let me extol a Cat, on oysters fed,
I'll have a Party at the Bedford-head;
Or ev'n to crack live Crawfish recommend;
I'd never doubt at Court to make a friend.
'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother
About one vice, and fall into the other:
Between Excefs and Famine lies a mean;
Plain, but not fordid; though not fplendid, clean.
Avidien, or his Wife, (no matter which
For him you 'il call a dog, and her a bitch)
Sell their prefented partridges, and fruits,
And humbly live on rabbits, and on roots:
One half-pint bottle ferves them both to dine,
And is at once their vinegar and wine.
At fuch a feaft, old vinegar to fpare,
Is what two fouls fo generous cannot bear :
Oil, though it ftink, they drop by drop impart,
But fowfe the cabbage with a bounteous heart. 60
He knows to live, who keeps the middle state,
And neither leans on this fide, nor on that;
Nor ftops, for one bad cork, his butler's pay,
Swears, like Albutius, a good cook away;
Nor lets, like Nævius, every error pass,
THAT, and how great, the Virtue and the The mufty wine, foul cloth, or greafy glass.
Where bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar,
And all the man is one intestine war)
Remembers oft the School-boy's fimple fare,
The temperate fleeps, and fpirits light as air.
How pale, each Worshipful and Reverend guest
Rife from a Clergy, or a City feaft!
What life in all that ample body, say?
What heavenly particle infpires the clay?
The Soul fubfides, and wickedly inclines
To seem but mortal, ev'n in found Divines.
And who stands fafeft? tell me, is it he
That fpreads and fwells in puff'd Profperity,
Or bleft with little, whofe preventing care
In peace provides fit arms against a war?
Thus BETHEL fpoke, who always fpeaks his
thought,
And always thinks the very thing he ought:
His equal mind I copy what I can,
And as I love, would imitate the Man.
In South-fea days not happier, when furmis'd
80 The Lord of thousands, and if now Excis'd;
On morning wings how active springs the Mind In foreft planted by a Father's hand,
That leaves the load of yesterday behind!
How eafy every labour it pursues !
How coming to the Poet every Muse!
Not but we may exceed, fome holy time,
Than in five acres now of rented land.
Content with little 1 can piddle here
On brocoli and mutton, round the year;
85 But ancient friends (though poor, or out of play)
That touch my bell, I cannot turn away.
'Tis true, no Turbots dignify my boards,
But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords:
To Hounflow-leath 1 point, and Banfted-down,
90 Thence comes your mutton, and thefe chicks my
Or tir'd in fearch of Truth, or fearch of Rhyme;
Ill health fome juft indulgence may engage;
And more the fickness of long life, Old age;
For fainting Age what cordial drop remains,
If our intemperate Youth the vessel drains?
Our fathers prais'd rank Ven'son.
pofe,
Perhaps, young men ! our fathers had no nofe.
Not fo: a Buck was then a week's repaft,
And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it laft ;
More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could
Than eat the fweeteft by themselves at home.
Why had not I in thefe good times my birth,
Ere coxcomb pyes or coxcombs were on earth?
Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear,
That sweetest music to an honest ear;
(For 'faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong,
The world's good word is better than a fong)
Who has not learn'd, fresh furgeon and ham-pye
Are no rewards for want, and infamy!
When Luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf,
Curs'd be thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyfelf,
To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame,
Think how pofterity will treat thy name;
And buy a rope, that future times may tell
Thou haft at least beftow'd one penny well.
"Right, cries his Lordship, for a rogue
need
"To have a tafte, is infolence indeed:
"In me 'tis noble, fuits my birth and state,
"My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great.'
Then, like the Sun, let Eounty fpread her
And fhine that fuperfluity away.
From yon old walnut-tree & shower shall fall; 145
And grapes, long-lingering on iny only wall,"
And figs from ftandard and efpalier join;
The devil is in you if you cannot dîne :
Then chearful healths (your Mistress shall have
place);
And, what's more rare, a Poet fhall fay Grace. 150
Fortune not much of humbling me can boaft:
Though double tax'd, how little have I loft!
My Life's amusements have been just the fame,
Before, and after Standiug Armies came.
My lands are fold, my father's houfe is gone; 155
I'll hire another's? is not that my own,
And yours, my friends? through whofe free opening
None comes too early, none departs too late; (For I, who hold fage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, fpeed the going gueft.) 160 "Pray heaven it laft! (cries Swift) as you go on; "I wifh to God this houfe had been your own: Pity to build, without a fon or wife; in "Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life." Well, if the ufe be mine, can it concern one, 165 Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon? What 's Property? dear Swift you fee it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter ; Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's fhare; 115 Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir; Or in pure equity (the cafe not clear) The Chancery takes your rents for twenty year: At beft, it falls to fome ungracious fon, Who cries, "My father's damn'd, and all 's my "own."
Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy ftore,
How dar'ft thou let one worthy man be poor?
Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall?
Make Quays, build Bridges, or repair Whitehall:
Or to thy Country let that heap be lent,
As M**o's was, but not at five per cent.
Who thinks that Fortune cannot change
mind,
Prepares a dreadful jeft for all mankind.
Shades, that to Bacon, couid retreat afford,
Become the portion of a booby Lord;
And Hemfley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
her Slides to a Scrivener, or a City Knight.
Let lands and houfes have what lords they will,
Let Us be fix'd, and our own master's still.
T. JOHN, whofe love indulg'd my labours paft,
Matures my pre love, all by und uns part:
Why will you break the fabbath of my days?
Now fick alike of Envy and of Praife.
Public too long, ah let me hide my Age!
See modeft Cibber now has left the Stage:
Our Generals now, retir'd to their Eftates,
Hang their Old Trophies o'er the Garden gates,
In Life's cool Evening fatiate of Applaufe,
Nor fond of bleeding, ev'n in BRUNSWICK's caufe.
A voice there is, that whispers in my ear,
(Tis Reafon's voice, which fometimes one can
hear)
Will cure the arrant'ft Puppy of his Pride.
Be furious, envious, flothful, mad, or drunk,
Slave to a Wife, u Vaffal to a punk,
A Switz, a High-dutch, or a Low-dutch Bear;
All that we afk is but a patient Ear.
'Tis the firft Virtue, Vices to abhor;
And the first Wisdom, to be Fool no more.
But to the world no bugbear is fo great,
As want of figure, and a small Estate.
To either India fee the Merchant fly,
Scar'd at the spectre of pale Poverty!
See him, with pains of body, pangs of foul,
Burn through the Tropic, freeze beneath the Pole !
Wilt thou do nothing for a nobler end,
Nothing, to make Philosophy thy friend?
To ftop thy foolish views, thy long defires,
And eafe thy heart of all that it admires ?
15 Here Wisdom calls: "Seek Virtue firft, be bold!
As Gold to Silver, Virtue is to Gold."
There London's voice, "Get Money, Money ftill!
"And then let Virtue follow, if fhe will." 80
This, this the faving doctrine, preach'd to all,
From low St. James's up to high St. Paul!
From him whofe quills ftand quiver'd at his ear,
To him who notches fticks at Weftminster.
"Friend Pope! be prudent, let your Mufe take
"breath,
"And never gallop Pegafus to death;
"Left ftiff, and stately, void of fire or force,
"You limp, like Blackmore, on a Lord Mayor's
horfe."
Farewell then Verfe, and Love, and every Toy,
The Rhymes and Rattles of the Man or Boy;
What right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care-for this is All;
To lay this harvest up, and hoard with hafte,
What every day will want, and moft, the last.
But afk not, to what Doctors I apply?
Sworn to no Mafter, of no Sect am I:
As drives the ftorm, at any door I knock,
And house with Montagne now, or now
Locke:
Sometimes a Patriot, active in debate,
Mix with the World, and battle for the State,
Free as young Lyttelton, her cause pursue,
Still true to Virtue, and as warm as true :
Sometimes with Ariftippus, or St. Paul,
Indulge my candour, and grow all to all;
Back to my native Moderation flide,
And win my way by yielding to the tide.
Bernard in fpirit, fenfe, and truth abounds; 85 "Pray then, what wants he?" Fourfcore thoufand pounds?
25 A penfion, or fuch Harnefs for a slave with As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have. Bernard, thou art a Cit with all thy worth; But Bug and D*1, Their Honours, and fo forth. go Yet every child another fong will fing, "Virtue, brave boys! 'tis Virtue makes a King." 30 True, confcious Honour, is to feel no fin,
He's arm'd without that 's innocent within;
Be this thy Screen, and this thy Wall of Brafs; 95
Compar'd to this, a Minifter 's an Afs.
And fay, to which shall our applaufe belong,
Long, as to him who works for debt, the day, 35 This new Court jargon, or the good old fong?
Long as the Night to her whofe Love 's away,
Long as the Year's dull circle feems to run,
When the brifk Minor pants for twenty-one;
So flow th' unprofitable moments roll,
That lock up all the Functions of the foul;
That keep me from myfelf; and ftill delay
Life's inftant business to a future day :
That task, which as we follow, or despise,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wife:
Which done, the pooreft can no wants endure;
And which not done, the richest must be poor.
Late as it is, I put myself to school,
And feel fome comfort, not to be a fool.
Weak though I am of limb, and short of fight,
Far from a Lynx, and not a Giant quite :
I'll do what Mead and Chefelden advise,
To keep thefe limbs, and to preferve these eyes.
VOL. VI.
The modern language of corrupted Peers,
Or what was fpoke at CRESSY or POITIERS? 100 Who counfels beft? who whifpers, "Be but great, "With Praife or Infamy leave that to fate; "Get Place and Wealth, if poffible with grace; "If not, by any means, get Wealth and Place," For what? to have a Box where Eunuchs fing, 105 And foremost in the Circle eye a King. Or he, who bids thee face with steady view 45 Proud Fortune, and look fhallow Greatness
And, while he bids thee, fets th' Example too?
If fuch a Doctrine, in St. James's air,
Should chance to make the well dreft Rabble
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