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A simple quaker, or a quaker's wife,
Outdo Landaffe in doctrine, -yea in life:
Let humble ALLEN, with an aukward shame, 135
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Virtue may choose the high or low degree,
'Tis just alike to virtue, and to me ;
Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king,
She's still the same, belov'd, contented thing. 140
Vice is undone, if she forgets her birth,
And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth:
But 'tis the fall degrades her to a whore;
Let greatness OWN HER, and she's mean no more,
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess,
Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless ;
In golden chains the willing world she draws, 147
And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws,
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,
And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead. 150

Lo!.

Ver. 129. This calls the church to deprecate our sin,] Warburton says, this alludes to the Forms of Prayer composed in the times of public calamity and distress ; where the fault is generally laid upon

The people.

VER. 130. Gin.] A spirituous liquor, the exorbitant use of which had almost destroyed the lowest rank of the people, till it was restrained by an act of parliament in 1736.

Ver. 131. Let modest Foster,] An eminent dissencing preacher.

VER. 133. A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,] The Quaker's wife was Mrs. Drummond.

VER. 134. Outdo Landaffel A prelate of irreproachable character, who is said never to have offended Pope; and whose son is no small ornament to his profession, Dr. Harris of Doctors Commons.

Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car,
Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
Dragg'd in the dust! his arms hang idly round,
His flag inverted trails along the ground !
Our youth, all liv'ry'd o'er with foreign gold, 155
Before her dance : behind her, crawl the old !
See thronging millions to the pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or son !
Hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim,
That NOT TO BE CORRUPTED IS THE SHAME. 160
In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow'r,
'Tis av'rice all, ambition is no more !
See, all our nobles begging to be slaves ;
See all our fools aspiring to be knaves !
The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore, 165
Are what ten thousand envy and adore :
All, all look

with reverential awe,
At crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law :
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry-
“ Nothing is sacred now but villainy."

up,

Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain) Show, there was one who held it in disdain.

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EPILOGUE

TO THE

SATIRE S.

DIALOGUE II.

Fr. 'TIS all a libel-Paxton (Sir) will say.

P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow 'faith And for that very cause I print to-day.

[it may ; How should I fret to mangle ev'ry line, In rev'rence to the sins of thirty-nine ?

5 Vice with such giant strides comes on amain, Invention strives to be before in vain ; Feign what I will, and paint it e’er so strong, Some rising genius sins up to my song:

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash; 10 Ev'n Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash.

Spare VER. I. Paxton] Late solicitor to the Treasury.

VER. 11. Ev’n Gutbry) The Ordinary of Newgate, who publishes the Memoirs of the Malefactors, and is often prevailed upon to be so tender of their reputation, as to set down no more than the initials of their name.

16

20

Spare then the person, and expose

the vice. P. How, Sir! not damn the sharper, but the dice? Come on then, Satire! gen'ral, unconfin'd, Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind. Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all ! Ye tradesmen, vile, in army, court, or hall! Ye rev'rend atheists. F. Scandal! name them, Who?

P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.. Who starv'd a sister, who forswore a debt, I never nam'd; the town's enquiring yet. The pois'ning dame- F. You mean -P. I don't.

F. You do. P. See, now I keep the secret, and not you ! The bribing statesman-F. Hold, too high you go.

P. The brib'd elector-F. There you stoop too low.

P: I fain would please you, if I knew with what'; Tell me, which knave is lawful

game,

which not? Must great offenders, once escap'd the crown, Like royal harts, be never more run down? Admit your law to spare the knight requires,

30 As beasts of nature may we hunt the squires ? Suppose I censure you know what I mean To save a bishop, may I name a dean?

F. A dean, Sir? No: his fortune is not made, You hurt a man that's rising in the trade. 35

P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day, Much less the 'prentice who to

morrow may. Down, down, proud Satire! though a realm be spoil'd, Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild;

Or,

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