The rich and great are understood
To be of course both wife and good.
Confult then int'reft more than pride,
Difcreetly take the stronger fide;
Defert in time the fimple few,
Who Virtue's barren path pursue ;
Adopt my maxims-follow me-
To Baal bow the prudent knee;
Deny thy God, betray thy friend,
At Baal's altars hourly bend;
So fhalt thou rich and great be feen;
To be great now, you must be mean.

Hence, Tempter, to fome weaker foul,
Which fear and intereft controul;
Vainly thy precepts are addrefs'd,
Where Virtue fteels the fteady breaft.
Thro' meannefs wade to boafted pow'r,
Thro' guilt repeated ev'ry hour;
What is thy gain, when all is done,
What mighty laurels haft thou won?
Dull crowds, to whom the heart's unknown,
Praife thee for virtues not thy own;

But will, at once man's fcourge and friend,
Impartial Confcience too commend?.
From her reproaches can't thou fly
Can't thou with worlds her filence buy
Believe it not her ftings fhall fad
A paffage to thy coward mind.
There shall the fix her sharpeft dart,
There fhew thee truly, as thou art,
Unknown to those by whom thou'rt priz'd ;
Known to thyself to be despis'd.

The man who weds the facred Mufc,
Difdains all mercenary views,

And he who Virtue's throne would rear,
Laughs at the phantoms rais'd by fear.
Tho' Folly, rob'd in purple, fhines,
Tho' Vice exhaufts Peruvian mines,
Yet shall they tremble, and turn pale,
When Satire wields her mighty flail ;
Or fhould they, of rebuke afraid,
With Melcombe feek hell's deepest shade,
Satire, ftill mindful of her aim,
Shall bring the cowards back to shame.
Hated by many, lov'd by few,
Above each little private view,
Honeft, tho' poor, (and who fhali dare
To difappoint my boafting there?)
Hardy and refolute, tho' weak,
The dictates of my heart to speak,
Willing I bend at Satire's throne;
What pow'r I have, be all her own.
Nor fhall yon' lawyer's fpecious art,
Confcious of a corrupted heart,
Create imaginary fear,

To damp us in our bold career.

Why should we fear? and what? The laws?
They all are arm'd in Virtue's caufe;

And aiming at the self-fame end,
Satire is always Virtue's friend :

Nor fhall that Mufe, whofe honeft rage,

In a corrupt degen'rate age,
(When dead to ev'ry nicer sense,
Deep funk in vice and indolence,
The fpirit of old Rome was broke
Beneath the tyrant fiddler's yoke)
Banifh'd the rofe from Nero's cheek,
Under a Brunswick fear to fpeak.

Drawn by Conceit from Reason's plan,
How vain is that four creature, Man!
How pleas'd is ev'ry paltry elf
To prate about that thing himself!
After my promife made in rime,
And meant in earnest at that time,
To jog, according to the mode,
In one dull pace, in one dull road,
What but that curfe of heart and head
To this digreffion could have led,
Where plung'd, in vain I look about,
And can't stay in, nor well get out.
Could I, whilft Humour held the quilh
Could I digress with half that skill,
Could I with half that fkill return,
Which we fo much admire in Sterne;
Where each digreffion feeming vain,
And only fit to entertain,

Is found on better recollection,
To have a juft and nice connection,
To help the whole with wond'rous art
Whence it seems idly to depart;
Then fhould our readers ne'er accufe
Thefe wild excurfions of the Muse.
Ne'er backward turn dull pages o'er
To recollect what went before;
Deeply imprefs'd, and ever new,
Each image past should start to view,
And we to Dullman now come in,
As if we ne'er had abfent been.

Have you not feen, when danger's near,
The coward cheek turn white with fear?
Have you not feen, when danger's fled,
The felf-fame cheek with joy turn red?
Thefe are low fymptoms which we find
Fit only for a vulgar mind,

Where honeft features, void of art,
Betray the feelings of the heart:
Our Dullman with a face was blefs'd
Where no one paffion was exprefs'd;
His eye, in a fine ftupor caught,
Imply'd a plenteous lack of thought;
Nor was one line that whole face feen in,
Which could be juftly charg'd with meaning.
To Avarice by birth ally'd,
Debauch'd by marriage into pride,
In age grown fond of youthful fports,
Of pomps, of vanities, and courts,
And by fuccefs too mighty made
To love his country as his trade,
Stiff in opinion (no rare cafe
With blockheads in or out of place)
Too weak, and infolent of foul,
To fuffer Reafon's juft controul,
But bending, of his own accord,
To that trim tranfient toy, My Lord;
The dupe of Scots (a fatal race,
Whom God in wrath contriv'd to place,
To fcourge our crimes, and gall our pride,
A conftant thorn in England's fide;
Whom first, our greatnefs to oppofe,
He in his vengeance mark'd for foes;
Then, more to serve his wrathful ends,
And more to curfe us, mark'd for friends)
Deep in the State, if we give credit
To him, for no one elfe e'er faid it i
Sworn friends of great ones not a few,
Tho' he their titles only knew,

And thofe (which envious of his breeding
Book-worms have charg'd to want of reading)
Merely to shew himself polite,

He never would pronounce aright;
An Orator with whom a host

Of those which Rome and Athens boaft,
In all their pride might not contend ;
Who, with no pow'rs to recommend,
Whilft Jackey Hume, and Billy Whitehead,
And Dickey Glover fat delighted,
Could speak whole days in Nature's spite,
Just as thofe able Verse-men write,
Great Dullman from his bed arose-
Thrice did he fpit-thrice wip'd his nose-
Thrice ftrove to fmile-thrice ftrove to frown-
And thrice look'd up-and thrice look'd down-
Then filence broke-Crape, who am I?
Crape bow'd, and smil'd an arch reply.
Am I not, Crape-I am, you know,
Above all those who are below.
Have I not knowledge? and for wit,
Money will always purchase it;
Nor, if it needful should be found,
Will I grudge ten, or twenty pound,
For which the whole ftock may be bought
Of scoundrel wits not worth a groat.
But left I fhould proceed too far,
I'll feel my friend the Minifter,

(Great men, Crape, muft not be neglected)
How he in this point is affected;
For, as I ftand a magistrate,

To ferve him first, and next the State.
Perhaps he may not think it fit
To let his magiftrates have wit.

Boaft I not, at this very hour,

Thofe large effects which troop with pow'r ?
Am I not mighty in the land?

Do not I fit, whilft others ftand?

Am I not with rich garments grac'd,
In feat of honour always plac'd?
And do not Cirs of chief degree,
Tho' proud to others, bend to me?

Have I not, as a Juftice ought,

The laws fuch wholesome rigour taught,
That Fornication, in difgrace,
Is now afraid to fhew her face,
And not one whore these walls approaches,
Unless they ride in our own coaches?
And fhall this Fame, an old poor ftrumpet,
Without our licence found her trumpet,
And, envious of our City's quiet,
In broad day-light blow up a riot ?
If infolence like this we bear,
Where is our state? our office where ?
Farewell all honours of our reign,
Farewell the neck-ennobling Chain,
Freedom's known badge o'er all the globe,
Farewell the folemn-ipreading Robe,
Farewell the Sword-farewell the Mace,
Farewell all Title, Pomp, and Place.
Remov'd from men of high degree,
(A lofs to them, Crape, not to me)
Banish'd to Chippenham, or to Frome,
Dullman once more fhall ply the Loom.

Crape, lifting up his hands and eyes, Dullman-the Loom-at Chippenham-cries, If there be Pow'rs which greatness love, Which rule below, but dwell above,

Thofe Pow'rs united all shall join
To contradict the rash defign.
Sooner fhall ftubborn Will lay down
His oppofition with his gorun,
Sooner fhall Temple leave the road
Which leads to Virtue's mean abode,
Sooner fhall Scots this country quit,
And England's foes be friends to Pitt,
Than Dullman from his grandeur thrown,
Shall wander out-caft, and unknown,
Sure as that cane (a cane there stood
Near to a table, made of wood,
Of dry fine wood a table mide,
By fome rare artist in the trade,
Who had enjoy'd immortal praise
If he had liv'd in Homer's days)
Sure as that cane, which once was feen,
In pride of life all fresh and green,
The banks of Indus to adorn ;
Then, of its leafy honours fhorn,
According to exactest rule,

Was fashion'd by the workman's tool,
And which at prefent we behold
Curiously polish'd, crown'd with gold,
With gold well-wrought; fure as that cane
Shall never on its native plain
Strike root afresh, shall never more
Flourish in tawny India's fhore,
So Sure fhall Dullman and his race
To latest times this ftation grace.
Dullman, who all this while had kept
His eye-lids clos'd as if he slept,
Now looking fted faftly on Crape,
As at fome God in human fhape-
Crape, I proteft, you feem to me
To have difcharged a prophecy;
Yes-from the firft it doth appear,
Planted by Fate, the Dullmans here
Have always held a quiet reign,

And here fhall to the laft remain.

Crape, they're all wrong about this Ghoft Quite on the wrong fide of the postBlockheads, to take it in their head To be a meffage from the dead, For that by million they defign, A word not half fo good as mine, Crape-here it is-start not one doubtA plot-a plot-I've found it out.

O God!-cries Crape, how bleft the nation,
Where one fon boafts fuch penetration!
Crape, I've not time to tell you now
When I difcover'd this, or how;
To Stentor go-if he's not there,
His place let Bully Norton bear-
Our Citizens to council call--
Let all meet-'tis the caufe of all.
Let the three witnesses attend
With allegations to befriend,

To fwear just fo much, and no more,
As we inftruct them in before.

Stay-Crape-come back-what, don't you fee Th' effects of this discovery? Dullman all care and toil endures→→→ The profit, Crape, will all be yours. A Mitre (for, this arduous talk Perform'd, they'll grant what'er I afk) A Mitre (and perhaps the best) Shall thro' my interest make thee blek. Ga

And at this time, when gracious Fate
Dooms to the Sest the reins of State,
Who is more fit (and for your ufe
We could fome instances produce)
Of England's Church to be the Head,
Than you, a Prefbyterian bred?
But when thus mighty you are made,
Unlike the brethren of thy trade,
Be grateful, Crape, and let me not,
Like old Newcastle, be forgot.

But an affair, Crape, of this fize
Will ask from Conduct vait fupplies;
It must not, as the vulgar fay,
Be done in lugger-mugger way.
Traitors indeed (and that's difcreet)
Who hatch the plot, in private meet;
They fhould in public go, no doubt,
Whofe bufinefs is to find it out.

To-morrow-if the day appear
Likely to turn out fair and clear-
Proclaim a grand Procefficnade-
Be all the City pomp difplay'd,

Let the Train-bands-Crape fhook his head-
They heard the trumpet and were fled-
Well-cries the Knight-if that's the cafe,
My fervants fhall fupply their place-
My fervantsine alene--no more
Than what my fervants did before-
Doit not remember, Crape, that day,
When, Dullman's grandeur to display,
As all too fimple, and too low,
Our City friends were thruit below,
Whilft, as more worthy of our love,
Courtiers were entertain'd above?
Tell me, who waited then? and how?
My fervants-mine-and why not now?
In hafte then, Crape, to Stentor go-
But fend up Hart, who waits below;
With him, till you return again,
(Reach me my fpectacles and cane)
I'll make a proof how I advance in
My new accomplishment of dancing,

Not quite fo fast as lightning flies,
Wing'd with red anger, thro' the skies;
Not quite fo faft as, fent by Jove,
Iris defcends on wings of Love;
Not quite fo faft as Terror rides,

When he the chafing winds bestrides ;

Crape hobbled-but his mind was good

Cou'd he go faster than he cou'd ?

Near to that Tow'r, which, as we're told,
The mighty Julius rais'd of old,
Where to the block by justice led,
The rebel Scot hath often bled,
Where arms are kept fo clean, fo bright,
"Twere fin they should be foil'd in fight,
Where brutes of foreign race are fhewn
By brutes much greater of our owun ;
Faft by the crowded Thames, is found
An ample fquare of facred ground,
Where artless Eloquence prefides,
And Nature ev'ry fentence guides.

Here Female Parlaments debate
About Religion, Trade, and State;
Here ev'ry Naiad's patriot's foul,'
Difdaining foreign bafe controul,
Defpifing French, defpiting Erje,
Fours forth the plain old English curfe,

And bears aloft, with terrors hung,
The honours of the vulgar tongue.

Here Stentor, always heard with awe,
In thund'ring accents deals out law.
Twelve furlongs off each dreadful word
Was plainly and diftinctly heard,
And ev'ry neighbour hill around
Return'd and fwell'd the mighty found.
The loudest Virgin of the ftream,
Compar'd with him, would filent seem;
Thames, (who enrag'd to find his course
Oppos'd, rolls down with double force,
Against the Bridge indignant roars,
And lathes the refounding fhores)
Compar'd with him, at lowest tide,
In fofteft whispers feems to glide.

Hither directed by the noise,
Swell'd with the hope of future joys,
Thro' too much zeal and hafte made lame,
The rev'rend flave of Dullman came.
Stentor-with fuch a ferious air,
With fuch a face of folemn care,
As might import him to contain
A nation's welfare in his brain-
Stentor cries Crape-I'm hither fent
On bufinefs of most high intent,
Great Dullman's orders to convey;
Dullman commands, and I obey.

Big with thofe throes which patriots feel,
And lab'ring for the common weal,
Some fecret which forbids him reft,
Tumbles and toffes in his breaft,
Tumbles and toles to get free;
And thus the chief commands by me.
To-morrow, if the day appear
Likely to turn out fair and clear-
Proclaim a grand Proceffionade-
Be all the City pomp difplay'd-
Our Citizens to council call-
Let all mect-'tis the caufe of all.

C

NOXCOMBS, who vainly make pretence To fomething of exalted fenfe 'Bove other men, and, gravely wife, Affect thofe pleasures to defpife, Which, merely to the eye confin'd, Bring no improvement to the mind, Rail at all pomp: They would not go For millions to a puppet-show, Nor can forgive the mighty crime Of countenancing pantomime; No, not at Covent-Garden, where, Without a head for play or play'r. Or, could a head be found most fit, Without one play'r to second it, They muft, obeying Folly's call, Thrive by mere show, or not at all.

With thefe grave fops, who (bless their brains)

Moft cruel to themfelves, take pains

For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wifer than a wife man ought
For his own happiness to be;

Who, what they hear, and what they fee,
And what they fmell, and tafte, and feel,
Diftruit, till Reafon, fets her feal,
And, by long trains of confequences
Enfur'd, gives fanction to the Senfes ;
Who would not, Heav'n forbid it! wafte
One hour in what the world calls Tafte,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whofe fyftem seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The Eye of Man is understood
As for no other purpose good

Than as a door, thro' which of course
Their paflage crouding objects force,
A downright ufher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit,
(Good Gravity, forbear thy fpleen,
When I fay Wit, I Wifdem mean)
Where (fuch the practice of the Court,
Which legal precedents support)

Not one idea is allow'd

To pafs unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the Chief in congregation
Muft stand a frist examination.

Not fuch as thofe, who Phyfic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from ev'ry curl;
Who prove, with all becoming ftate,
Their voice to be the voice of Fate;
Prepar'd with Effence, Drop, and Pill,
To be another Ward, or Hill,
Before they can obtain their ends,

To fign death-warrants for their friends,
And talents vaft as their's employ,
Secundem artem to destroy,

Muit pafs (or laws their rage reftrain)
Before the Chiefs of Warwick-Lane.
Thrice happy Lane, where uncontroul'd,
In pow'r and lethargy grown old,
Moft fit to take, in this bleft land,

The reins which fell from Wyndham's hand,
Her lawful throne great Dullness rears,
Still more herself as more in years;
Where the (and who shall dare deny

Her right, when Reeves and Chauncy's by)
Calling to mind, in ancient time,
One Garth who err'd in wit and rime,
Ordains from henceforth to admit
None of the rebel Sons of Wit,
And makes it her peculiar care
That Schomberg never fhall be there.

Not fuch as thefe, whom Folly trains
To letters, tho' unbless'd with brains;
Who deftitute of pow'r and will
To learn, are kept to learning still;
Whose heads, when other methods fail,
Receive instruction from the tail,
Because their fires, a common cafe
Which brings the children to difgrace,
Imagine it a certain rule,
They never could beget a fool,
Muft pafs, or must compound for, ere
The Chaplain, full of beef and pray's,

Will give his reverend permit,
Announcing them for Orders fit,
So that the Prelate (what's a name?
All Prelates now are much the fame)
May with a confcience fate and quiet,
With holy hands lay on that fiai,
Which doth all faculties difpenfe,
All fanctity, all faith, all jerse,
Makes Madan quite a faint appear,
And makes an oracle of Cheere.

Not fuch as in that folemn feat,
Where the Nine Ladies hold retreat,
The Ladies Nine, who, as we're told,
Scorning thofe haunts they lov'd of old,
The banks of Ifis now prefer,

Nor will one hour from Oxford stir,
Are held for form; which Balaam's afs
As well as Baleam's felf might pafs,
And with his mafter take degrees,
Could he contrive to pay the recs.

Men of found part, who, deeply read,
O'erload the storehoufe of the head
With furniture they ne'er can ufe,
Cannot forgive our rambling Mufe
This wild excursion; cannot fee
Why Phyfic and Divinity,

To the furprize of all beholders,

Are lugg'd in by the head and fhoulders;
Or how, in any point of view,
Oxford hath any thing to do;

But men of nice and fubtle learning,
Remarkable for quick difcerning,
Thro' fpectacles of critic mould,
Without instruction, will behold
That we a method here have got,
To fhew what is, by what is not,
And that our drift (parenthesis
For once apart) is briefly this.

Within the Brain's most fecret cells
A certain Lord Chief Justice dwells
Of fov'reign pow'r, whom one and all,
With common voice, we Reafon call
;
Tho' for the purpose of satire,
A name in truth is no great matter,
Jefferies or Mansfield, which you will,
It means a Lord Chief Justice still.
Here, fo our great projectors fay,
The Senfes all must homage pay;
Hither they all must tribute bring,
And proftrate fall before their King.
Whatever unto them is brought,
Is carry'd on the wings of Thought
Before his throne, where, in full state,
He on their merits holds debate,
Examines, cross-examines, weighs
Their right to cenfure or to praise ;
Nor doth his equal voice depend
On narrow views of foe and friend;
Nor can or flattery or force
Divert him from his steady courfe;
The channel of enquiry's clear,
No fham examination's here.

He, upright Jufticer, no doubt, Ad libitum puts in and out, Adjusts and fettles in a trice What virtue is, and what is vice, What is perfection, what defect, What we muit chufe, and what reject;

He takes upon him to explain
What pleasure is, and what is pain;
Whilft we, obedient to the whim,
And refting all our faith on him,
True members of the Stoic weal,
Muft learn to think, and ceafe to feel.
This glorious fyftem form'd, for Man
To practife when and how he can,
If the five Senfes in alliance
To Reafon hurl a proud defiance,
And, tho' oft conquer'd, yet unbroke,
Endeavour to throw off that yoke,
Which they a greater flav'ry hold,
Than Jewish bondage was of old;
Or if they, fomething touch'd with shame,
Allow him to retain the name
Of Royalty, and, as in sport,
To hold a mimic formal court;
Permitted, no uncommon thing,
To be a kind of Puppet King,
And fuffer'd by the way of toy,
To hold the globe, but not employ;
Our fyftem-mongers, ftruck with fear,
Prognofticate deftruction near;
All things to anarchy must run;
The little world of Man's undone.

Nay fhould the Eye, that niceft Senfe,
Neglect to send intelligence
Unto the Brain, distinct and clear,
Of all that paffes in her sphere;
Should the prefumptuous joy receive,
Without the Understanding's leave,
They deem it rank and daring treason
Against the monarchy of Reason,

Not thinking, tho' they're wond'rous wife,
That few have Reafon, moft have Eyes;
So that the pleasures of the Mind
To a small circle are confin'd,

Whilft those which to the Senfes fall,
Become the property of all.
Befides (and this is fure a cafe
Not much at present out of place)
Where Nature Reason doth deny,
No art can that defect supply;
But if (for it is our intent
Fairly to ftate the argument)

A Man fhould want an eye or two,
The remedy is fure, tho' new;
The cure's at hand-no need of fear-
For proof-behold the Chevalier-
As well prepar'd, beyond all doubt,
To put eyes in, as put them out.

But, argument apart, which tends
T'embitter foes and fep'rate friends,
(Nor, turn'd apoftate for the Nine,
Would I, tho 'bred up a divine,
And foe of course to Reafon's weal,
Widen that breach I cannot heal)
By his own fenfe and feelings taught,
In fpeech as lib'ral as in thought,
Let ev'ry Man enjoy his whim;
What's He to Me, or I to Him?
Might I, tho' never rob'd in ermine,
A matter of this weight determine,
No penalties should settled be
To force men to hypocrify,

To make them ape an aukward zeal,
And, feeling not, pretend to feel.

I would not have, might fentence reft
Finally fix'd within my breaft,
E'en Annet cenfur'd and confin'd,
Bec ufe we're of a diff'rent mind.
Nature, who in her act moft free,
Herfelf delights in Liberty,
Profufe in love, and, without bound,
Pours joy on ev'ry creature round;
Whom yet, was ev'ry bounty fhed
In double portions on our head,
We could not truly bounteous call,
If Freedom did not crown them all.
By Providence forbid to ftray,
Brutes never can mistake their way;
Determin'd still, they plod along
By instinct, neither right nor wrong;
But Man, had he the heart to use
His freedom, hath a right to chufe;
Whether he acts or well or ill,
Depends entirely on his will:

To her last work, her fav'rite Man,
Is giv'n on Nature's better plan
A privilege in pow'r to err.
Nor let this phrase refentment stir
Amongst the grave ones, fince indeed,
The little merit Man can plead
In doing well, dependeth ftill
Upon his pow'r of doing ill.

Opinions should be free as air;
No man, what'er his rank, whate'er
His qualities, a claim can found
That my opinion must be bound,

And fquare with his; fuch flavish chains
From foes the lib'ral foul difdains,
Nor can, tho' true to friendship, bend
To wear them even from a friend.
Let thofe, who rigid Judgment own,
Submiffive bow at Judgment's throne ;
And if they of no value hold
Pleasure, till pleasure is grown cold,
Pall'd and infipid, forc'd to wait
For Judgment's regular debate
To give it warrant, let them find
Dull fubjects fuited to their mind;
Their's be flow wisdom: Be my plan
To live as merry as I can,
Regardlefs as the fashions go,
Whether there's reafon for 't, or no ;
Be my employment here on earth
To give a lib'ral scope to mirth,
Life's barren vale with flow'rs t' adorn,
And pluck a rose from ev'ry thorn.
But if, by Error led aftray,

I chance to wander from my way,
Let no blind guide obferve, in fpite,
I'm wrong, who cannot fet me right.
That Doctor could I ne'er endure,
Who found difeafe, and not a cure ;
Nor can I hold that man a friend,
Whofe zeal a helping hand fhall lend
To open happy Folly's eyes,

And, making wretched, make me wife;
For next, a truth which can't admit
Reproof from Wisdom or from Wit,
To being happy here below,
Is to believe that we are so.

Some few in knowledge find relief,
I place my comfort in belief.