Have you less pity for the needy cheat, The poor and friendless villain, than the great? 45 Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe. To tax directors, who (thank God!) have plums; May pinch ev'n there-Why, lay it on a king. 50 P. Must Satire then nor rise nor fall? Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all. F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow. 55 P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years ago; Who now that obsolete example fears? F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad; You make men desp'rate, if they once are bad : 60 Else might he take to virtue some years henceP. As S-k, if he lives, will love the prince. F. Strange spleen to S-k! P. Do I wrong the man? God knows, I praise a courtier where I can. 65 When I confess, there is who feels for fame, And melts to goodness, need I Scarb’row name? Pleas'd let me own, in Esher's peaceful grove, (Where Kent and Nature vie for Peiham's love) the master, op'ning to my view, I sit and dream I see my Craggs anew! The scene, 70 Ev'n in a bishop I can spy desert; But does the Court a worthy man remove? 75 80 I study'd Shrewsbury, the wise and great : Carleton's calm sense and Stanhope's noble flame, Compar'd, and knew their gen'rous end the same: How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour! How shin'd the soul, unconquer'd, in the Tow'r! How can I Pult'ney, Chesterfield, forget, 86 While Roman spirit charms, and Attic wit! train ; And if yet higher the proud list should end, 95 Yet think not friendship only prompts my lays; I follow Virtue; where she shines, I praise: Point she to priest or elder, Whig or Tory, Or round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory. I never (to my sorrow I declare) 100 Din'd with the Man of Ross, or my Lord May❜r. Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not grave) Have still a secret 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 so few commended? P. Not so fierce ; 106 Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse. 110 For him she weeps, for him she weds agen. vain. 120 No pow'r the Muse's friendship can command; I think your friends are out, and would be in. 125 P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out, The way they take it strangely round about. F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow? P. I only call those knaves who are so now. 130 Is that too little? come then, I'll complySpirit of Arnall! aid me while I lic. Cobham's a coward, Polwarth is a slave, And Lyttleton a dark, designing knave, St. John 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, besides, a tyrant to his wife. 135 140 But pray, when others praise him do I blame? Call Verres, Wolsey, any odious name? Why rail they then if but a wreath of mine, Oh all-accomplish'd St. John! deck thy shrine ? What! shall each spur-gall'd hackney of the day, 145 When Paxton gives him double pots and pay, Of honor bind me not to maul his tools; 150 To see a footman kick'd that took his pay; 135 But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave, 160 F. Hold, Sir! for God's sake; 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 (In pow'r a servant, out of pow'r a friend) To W-le guilty of some venial sin, What's that to you, who ne'er was out nor in? 165 The priest whose flattery bedropp'd the crown, How hurt he you? he only stain'd the gown. And how did, pray, the florrid youth offend, 169 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, 175 180 |