Does neither Rage inflame, nor Fear appal?
Not the black fear of death, that saddens all?
With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,
Despise the known, nor tremble at th' unknown?
Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire,
In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire?
Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind,
And count each birthday with a grateful mind?
Has life no sourness, drawn so near its end?
Canst thou endure a foe, forgive a friend?

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315

Has age but melted the rough parts away,
As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay?
Or will you think, my friend, your business done,
When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one?

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Learn to live well, or fairly make your will; You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, and drunk your fill: Walk sober off; before a sprightlier age

Comes titt'ring on, and shoves you from the stage: 325 Leave such to trifle, with more grace and ease,

Whom Folly pleases, and whose Follies please.

[1737]

EPILOGUE TO THE SATIRES

IN TWO DIALOGUES

WRITTEN IN MDCCXXXVIII

Dialogue I

Fr. Nor twice a twelve-month you appear in Print,
And when it comes, the Court see nothing in't.
You grow correct, that once with Rapture writ,

And are, besides, too moral for a Wit.
Decay of Parts, alas! we all must feel-

5

Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal? 'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye Said, "Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs a Tory"; And taught his Romans, in much better metre, "To laugh at Fools who put their trust in Peter."

10

15

But Horace, Sir, was delicate, was nice; Bubo observes, he lash'd no sort of Vice: Horace would say, Sir Billy serv'd the Crown, Blunt could do busness, H-ggins knew the Town; In Sappho touch the Failings of the Sex, In rev'rend Bishops note some small Neglects, And own, the Spaniard did a waggish thing, Who cropt our Ears, and sent them to the King. His sly, polite, insinuating style Could please at Court, and make AUGUSTUS smile: An artful Manager, that crept between His Friend and Shame, and was a kind of Screen. But 'faith your very Friends will soon be sore; Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no moreAnd where's the Glory? 'twill be only thought

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25

Go see Sir ROBERT!

The Great man never offer'd you a groat.

P. See Sir ROBERT! -hum

And never laugh-for all my life to come?
Seen him I have, but in his happier hour
Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchang'd for Pow'r;
Seen him, uncumber'd with a Venal tribe,
Smile without Art, and win without a Bribe.
Would he oblige me? 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, I dare laugh out.

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35

F. Why yes: with Scripture still you may be free; A Horse-laugh, if you please, at Honesty;

حمر

A joke on JEKYL, or some odd old Whig
Who never chang'd his Principle, or Wig:
A Patriot is a Fool in ev'ry age,

Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage:
These nothing hurts; they keep their Fashion still,
And wear their strange old Virtue, as they will.

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45

If any ask you, "Who's the Man, so near His Prince, that writes in Verse, and has his ear?"

Why, answer, LYTTELTON, and I'll engage
The worthy Youth shall ne'er be in a rage:
But were his Verses vile, his Whisper base,
You'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's case.
Sejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest FLEURY,
But well may put some Statesmen in a fury.
Laugh then at any, but at Fools or Foes;
These you but anger, and you mend not those.
Laugh at your Friends, and, if your Friends are

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sore,

55

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 agen.
Judicious Wits spread wide the Ridicule,
And charitably comfort Knave and Fool.

P. Dear Sir, forgive the Prejudice of Youth:
Adieu Distinction, Satire, Warmth, and Truth!
Come, harmless Characters that no one hit;
Come, Henley's Oratory, Osborne's Wit!
The Honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,
The Flow'rs of Bubo, and the Flow of Y-ng!
The gracious Dew of Pulpit Eloquence,

And all the well-whipt Cream of Courtly Sense,

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65

70

That First was H-vy's, F-'s next, and then
The S-te's, and then H-vy's once agen.
O come, that easy, Ciceronian style,
So Latin, yet so English all the while,
As, tho' 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 blest!

So-Satire is no more-I feel it die-
No Gazetteer more innocent than I-

And let, a God's-name, ev'ry Fool and Knave
Be grac'd thro' Life, and flatter'd in his Grave.

F. Why so? if Satire knows its Time and Place,

You 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.

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80

85

90

Silent and soft, as Saints remove to Heav'n,
All Tyes dissolv'd, and ev'ry 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 Nepenthe of a Court;

95

There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's disgrace Once break their rest, or stir them from their Place: 100

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 Heav'n forbid, that I should blast their glory,

Who know how like Whig Ministers to Tory,
And when three Sov'reigns dy'd, could scarce be vext,
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?

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110

Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
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,

115

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?

120

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,

125

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.

130

Let modest FOSTER, if he will, excel
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well;
A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's Wife,
Out-do Landaff in Doctrine,-yea, in Life:
Let humble ALLEN, with an awkward Shame,
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it Fame.

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