361

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 ev'n the last!

A. But why insult the poor, affront the great ?
P. A knave's a knave to me, in ev'ry state :
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 ; 365 If on a pillory, or near a throne, He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.

Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Sappho can tell you how this man was bit ; This dreaded sat’rist Dennis will confess

370 Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress : So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor. Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply? Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's lie. 375

To Ver. 355. A friend in exile,] The Bishop of Rochester, Dr. Atterbury.

VER. 363. Sporus at court,] In former editions, Gloncus af

Court.

Ver. 368. in the MS.

Once, and but once, his heedless youth was bit,
And like that dang'rous thing, a female wit :
Safe as he thought, tho' all the prudent chid ;.
He writ no libels, but my lady did :
Great odds in am'rous or poetic game,
Where woman's is the sin, and man's the shame.

To please his mistress, one aspers'd his life,
He lash'd him not, but let her be his wife :
Let Budgel charge low Grubstreet on his quill,
And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his Will ;
Let the two Curlls of town and court, abuse 380
His father, mother, body, soul, 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 ! 385
Unspotted names, and memorable long !
If there be force in virtue, or in

song
Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause,
While yet in Britain honour had applause)
Each parent sprung - A. What fortune, pray?

390 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 through his age.

No

P. Their own,

VER. 378. Let Budgel] Budgel, in a weekly pamphlet called the Bee, bestowed much abuse on him., in the imagination that he Writ some things about the Last Will of Dr. Tindal, in the Grube street Journal; a paper wherein he never had the least hand, direction, or supervisal, nor the least knowledge of its author.

Ver. 379. except bis.Will;] Alluding to Tindal's will: by which, and other indirect practices, Budgel, to the exclusion of the next heir, a nephew, got to himself almost the whole fortuns of a man entirely unrelated to him,

396

No courts hè, saw, no suits would ever trý,
Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie.
Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By nature honest, by experience wise,

400
Healthy by temp'rance, and by exercise ;
His life, tho' long, to sickness past unknown,
His death was instant, and without a groan.
O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die !

404 Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.

O friend ! may each domestic bliss 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, 410 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, cheerful, and serene, And just as rich as when he serv'd a QUEEN.

A. Whether

416

After ver. 405. in the MS.

And of myself, too, something must I say?
Take then this verse, the trifle of a day,
And if it live, it lives but to commend
The man whose heart has ne'er forgot a friend,
Or head, on author; critic, yet polite,
And friend to learning, yet too wise to write.

A. Whether that blessing be deny'd or giv'n,
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.

VÆR. 417. And just as ricb, &c.) After the death of Queen Anne, Arbuthnot removed from St. James's-street to Dover-street, probably not in so good circumstances, or such extensive practice, as before.