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Or WYNDHAM, juft to freedom and the throne, The mafter of our paffions, and his own. Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain, Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with their train ; 91

And if yet higher the proud lift should end,
Still let me fay! no follower, but a friend.
Yet think not, friendship only prompts my lays;
I follow Virtue; where the fhines, I praise :
Point the to priest or elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's beaver caft a glory.
I never (to my forrow I declare)


Din'd with the MAN of Ross, or my LORD MAY'R
Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not grave,)
Have ftill a fecret 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 fo few commended?


P. Not fo fierce; Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verfe. But random praise---the task can ne'er be done; Each mother asks it for her booby fon,


Ver. 88. Wyndham] Sir William Wyndham, chancellor of the exchequer under Queen Anne, made early a confiderable figure; but fince a much greater both by his ability and eloquence, joined with the utmoft judgment and temper.

Ver. 92. And if yet higher, &c.] He was at that time honoured with the efteem and favour of his Royal Highness

the Prince.

Ver 99. my Lord May'r.] Sir John Bernard, Lord Mayor in the year of the poem, 1738. A citizen eminent for his virtue, public fpirit, and great talents in parliament. An excellent man, magiftrate, and fenator. In the year 1747, the city of London, in memory of his many and fingal fervices to his country, erected a ftatue to him. But his image had been placed long before in the heart of every good man.



Each widow afks it for the best of men,
For him the weeps, and him the weds agen.
Praise cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground;
The number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for half the greatest of these days,
To 'fcape my cenfure, not expect my praise.
Are they not rich? what more can they pretend?
Dare they to hope a poet for their friend? 115
What RICHLIEU wanted, Louis fcarce could gain,
And what young Ammon wish'd, but wish'd in vain.
No pow'r the Mufe's friendship can command;
No pow'r when Virtue claims it, can withstand:
To Cato, Virgil paid one honeft line;
O let my country's friends illumine mine!
---What are you thinking? F. 'Faith the thought's
no fin,


I think

your friends are out, and would be in. P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, The way they take, is ftrangely round about. 125 F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow? P. I only call thofe Knaves who are so now. Is that too little? Come then, I'll comply--Spirit of Arnall! aid me while I lie. COBHAM'S a coward, POLWARTH is a flave, And LYTTLETON a dark, defigning knave, St. Joan has ever been a wealthy fool--But let me add, Sir ROBERT's mighty dull, Has never made a friend in private life, And was, befides, a tyrant to his wife.





Ver. 129. Spirit of Arnall!] Look for him in his place, Dunc. book ii. ver. 315.

Ver. 130. Polwarth] The Hon. Hugh Hume, fon of Alexander Earl of Marchmont, grandíon of Patrick Earl of Marchmont, and diftinguished, like them, in the caufe of Liberty,


But pray, when other's praise him, do I blame? Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name? Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine, Oh, all-accomplish'd St JoHN! deck thy fhrine ? What? fhall each fpurgall'd hackney of the day, When Paxton gives him double pots and pay, 141 Or each new-penfion'd fycophant, pretend To break my windows if I treat a friend; Then wifely plead, to me they meant no hurt, But 'twas my guest at whom they threw the dirt? Sure, if I fpare the minifter, no rules Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools; Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid His faws are toothless, and his hatchets lead. It anger'd TURENNE, once upon a day, To fee a footman kick'd that took his pay: But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave, Knew one a man of honour, one a knave; The prudent gen'ral turn'd it to a jest, And begg'd, he'd take the pains to kick the rest: Which not at prefent having time to do--- 156 F. Hold Sir! for God's fake where's th' affront to you? Against your Worship when had S--k writ?. Or P---ge pour'd forth the torrent of his wit? Or grant the bard whose distich all commend 160 [In pow'r a fervant, out of pow'r a friend]



Ver. 136. do I blame? Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name? The leaders of parties, be they as florid as they will, generally do their bufinefs by a fingle rule of rhetoric, which they may have learned of Quintilian, or perhaps of a much older fophift, "Si nihil quod nos adjuvet, erit, quæramus quid adverfarium lædat."

Ver. 160. the bard] A verfe taken out of a poem, to Sir



To W---le guilty of fome venial fin;
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?

The priest whofe flattery bedropt the crown,
How hurt he you? he only ftain'd the gown. 165
And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,
Whose speech you took, and gave it to a friend?
P. 'Faith it imports not much from whom it came;
Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame,
Since the whole houfe did afterwards the fame.
Let courtly wits to wits afford fupply,
As hog to hog in huts of Weftphaly;
If one, thro' Nature's bounty or his Lord's,
Has what the frugal dirty foil affords,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin, 175
As pure a mess almost as it came in;
The bleffed benefit, not there confin'd,

Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind; From tail to mouth, they feed and they caroufe: The last full fairly gives it to the Houfe. 180

F. This filthy fimile, this beaftly line Quite turns my stomach--

P. So does Flatt'ry mine; And all your courtly civet-cats can vent, Perfume to you, to me is excrement. But hear me further---Japhet, 'tis agreed 185 Writ not, and Chartres fcarce could write or read,


Ver. 164. The priest, &c.] Spoken not of any particular prieft, but of many priests.

Ver. 166. And how did, &c.] This feems to allude to a complaint made ver 71. of the proceding Dialogue.

Ver. 185.Japhet--Chartres] See the epistle to Lord Bathurst.


Ver. 185. in the MS.

I grant it, Sir: and further, 'tis agreed,
Japhet writ not, and Chartres fcarce could read.


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In all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite;
But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write;
And muft no egg in Japhet's face be thrown,
Because the deed he forg'd was not my own? 190.
Muft never patriot then declame at gin,
Unless, good man! he has been fairly in!
No zealous paftor blame a failing spouse,
Without a flaring reason on his brows?
And each blafphemer quite escape the rod,
Because the infult's not on man, but God?
Afk you what provocation I have had?
The ftrong antipathy of good to bad.
When truth or virtue an affront endures,
Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours,
Mine, as a foe profefs'd to false pretence,
Who think a Coxcomb's honour like his Sense;
Mine, as a friend to ev'ry worthy mind;
And mine as Man, who feel for all mankind.
F. You're ftrangely proud.




P. So proud, I am no flave: So impudent, I own myfelf no knave: So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God, afraid of me: Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, 210 Yet touch'd and sham'd by ridicule alone.

O facred weapon! left for Truth's defence, Sole dread of Folly, Vice, and Infolence! To all but heav'n-directed hands deny'd, The Muse may give thee, but the Gods must guide:


Ver. 204. And mine as Man, who feel for all mankind.] From Terence: "Homb fum: humani nihil a me alienum puto."


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