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Give Virtue scandal, Innocence a fear,
Or from the soft-ey'd Virgin steal a tear !
But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
Insults fallen Worth, or Beauty in distress,
Who loves a Lye, lame fander helps about,
Who writes a Libel, or who copies out :
That fop, whose pride affects a patron's name,
Yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame :
Who can your merit selfijnly approve,
And show the sense of it without the love;
Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Yet wants the honour, injur’d, to defend;
Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say,
And, if he lye not, must at least betray:
Who to the Dean, and silver bell can swear,
And fees at Cannons what was never there;
Who reads, but with a lust to misapply,
Make Satire a Lampoon, and Fiction Lye.
A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,
But all such babbling blockheads in his stead.

Let Sporus tremble--A. What? that thing of filk,
Sporus, that mere white curd of Ass's milk?
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings;
Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne’er enjoys :.
So well-bred spaniels civilly delight
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite..


Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way,
Whether in florid impotence he speaks,
And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks;
Or at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,
Half froth. half venom, fpits hin self abroad,
In puns, or politics or tales, or lies,
Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies.
His wit all fee-faw, between that and this,
Now high, now low, now master up, now miss,
And he himself one vile Antithesis.
Amphibious thing! that acting either part,
The trifling head, or the corrupted heart,
Fop at the toilet. Hatt'rer at the board,
Now trips a Lady, and now struts a Lord.
Eve's temper thus the Rabbins have expreft,
A Cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.
Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust,
Wit that can creep, and Pride that licks the dust.

Not Fortune's worshipper, nor Fashion's fool,
Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor fervile; be one Poet's praise,
That, if he pleas’d, he pleas’d by manly ways:
That Flattery, even to Kings, he held a fhame,
And thought a lie in verse or prose the fame,
That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his song:
That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end,
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half-approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;

Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had,
The dul!, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;
The distant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv’d, the lye fo oft o’erthrown,
Th’ imputed trash, and dulness not his own ;
The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape,
The libeld person, and the pictur'd shape ;
Abuse, on all he lov’d, or lov'd him, spread,
A friend in exile, or a father dead;
The whisper, that to greatness still too near,
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his Sov’reign's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue ! all the past :
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome even the last !

A. But why insult tho poor, affront the great ? P. A knave's a knave, to me,


Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail,
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail,
A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire;
If on a pillory, or near a Throne,
He gain his Prince's car, or lose his own.

Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit,
S.appho can tell you how this, man was bit:
This dreaded Sat’rist Dennis will confess
Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress :
So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door,
Has drunk with Gibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor.
Full ten years slander’d, did he once reply?
Three thousand iuns went down on Weljted's lye.

To please a Mistress one aspers'd his life;
He lath'd him not, but let her be his wife:
Let Budgel charge low Grulfireet on his quill,
And write whate'er he pleas’d, except his Will;
Let the two Curls of town and court, abuse
His father, mother, body, foul, and muse.
Yet why? that Father held it for a rule,
It was a sin to call our neighbour fool :
That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore :
Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore !
Urspotted names, and memorable long !
If there be force in Virtue, or in Song.

Of gentle blood (part Ihed in Honvur's cause,
While yet in Britain Honour had applause)
Euch parent sprung----A. What fortune, pray -

P. Their own
And better got, than Bestia's from the throne.
Born to no Pride, inheriting no strife,
Nor marrying Discord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walk'd innoxious thro' his age.
No Courts he saw, no fuits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lye.
Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's fubtile art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
· By Nature honest, by Experience wise,
Healthy by temperance, and by exercise ;
His life, tho' long, to sickness paft unknown,
His death was instant, and without a groan.

O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die!
Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than 1.
O Friend!


each domestic bless be thine ! Be no unpleasing Melancholy mine : Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing Age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make Languor smile, and smooth the bed of Death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky! On cares like these if length of days attend, May heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend, Preserve him social, chearful, and serene,

And just as rich as when he serv'd a QUEEN. A. Whether that blessing be deny'd or giv’n, Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'a.



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