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If that a juf offence to Mareus gave, 70 Say, Marcus, which art thou a Fool, or knave?

On buying books Lorenzo long was bent,
But found at length that it reduced his rent;
His farms were flown; when lo! a fale comes on,
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A choice collection! what is to be done?
He fells his laft; for he the whole will buy;
Sells ev'n his houfe; nay, wants whereon to lie:
So high the generous ardour of the man
For Romans, Greeks, and Orientals ran.
When terms were drawn, and brought him b
the clerk,

Lorenzo fign'd the bargain—with his mark.
Unlearned men of books affume the care,
As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair.
Not in his authors' liveries alone

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85

90

ls Codrus' erudite ambition fhown:
Editions various, at high prices bought,
Inform the world what Codrus would be thought;
And to this coft another muft fucceed
To pay a fage, who says that he can read;
Who titles knows, and indexes has seen;
But leaves to Chesterfield what lies between ;
Of pompous books who fhuns the proud expence,
And humbly is contented with their fenfe.

O Stanhope, whofe accomplishments make good
The promife of a long-illuftrious blood,
In arts and manners eminently grac'd,
The ftricteft bonour! and the finest tafte!
Accept this verfe if Satire can agree
With fo confummate an humanity.

By your example would Hilario mend; How would it grace the talents of my friend, Who, with the charms of his own genius fmit, Conceives all virtues are compriz'd in wit! But time his fervent petulence may cool; For though he is a wit, he is no fool. In time he'll learn to use, not wafe his sense; Nor make a frailty of an excellence.

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He fpares nor friend nor foe; but calls to mind, Like doom's-day, all the faults of all mankind. 110

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For all but fuch with caution I forbore ;
That thou waft either, I ne'er knew before;
I know thee now, both what thou art, and who;
No mask fo good, but Marcus muft fhine
through:

False names are vain, thy lines their author tell;
Thy beft concealment had been writing well:
But thou a brave neglect of fame haft fhown,
Of others' fame, great genius! and thy own.
Write on unheeded; and this maxim know,
The man who pardons, disappoints his foe.

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Moft barbarously tell you-" He's a wit."
Poor negroes, thus, to fhow their burning spite,
To cacodemons, fay, there're devilish white.

Lampridius, from the bottom of his breast,
Sighs o'er one child; but triumphs in the rest.
How juft his grief! one carries in his head 155
A lefs proportion of the father's lead;
And is in danger; without fpecial grace,
To rife above a juftice of the peace.
The dunghill-breed of man a diamond scorn,
And feel a paflion for a grain of corn;
Some ftupid, plodding, money loving wight,
Who wins their hearts by knowing black from
white,

Who with much pains, exerting all his fenfe,
Can range aright his fhillings, pounds, and pence.
The booby father craves a booby fon, 165
And by Heaven's bleffing thinks himself undone.
Wants of all kinds are made to fame a plea;
One learns to lifp; another, not to see :
Mifs D, tottering, catches at your hand :
Was ever thing so pretty born to stand?

Whilft thefe, what nature gave, difown, through

pride,

Others affect what nature has deny❜d;

What nature has deny'd, fools will pursue:
As apes are ever walking upon two.

Craffus, a grateful fage, our awe and sport! Supports grave forms, for forms the fage fup

port.

a

176 He hems; and cries, with an important air, "If yonder clouds withdraw, it will be fair :" Then quotes the Stagyrite to prove it true; And adds, "The learn'd delight in fomething

newv."

180 Is 't not enough the blockhead scarce can read, But must he wifely look, and gravely plead ? A,

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These all their care expend on outward fhow For wealth and fame; for fame alone, the beau. Of late at White's was young Florello feen! How blank his look! how difcompos'd his mien! So hard it proves in grief fincere to feign! 215 Sunk were his fpirits; for his coat was plain,

Next day his breast regain'd its wonted peace; His health was mended with a filver lace. A curious artift, long inur'd to toils Of gentler fort, with combs, and fragrant oils, Whether by chance, or by fome God infpir'd, So,touch'd his curls, his mighty foul was fir'd. The well-fwoln ties an equal homage claim, And either fhoulder has its fhare of fame; His fumptuous watch-cafe, though conceal'd it lies,

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Like a good confcience, folid joy fupplies.
He only thinks himself (fo far from vain !)
Stanhope in wit, in breeding Deloraine.
Whene'er, by feeming chance, he throws his eye
Ou mirrors that reflect his Tyrian dye,
With how fublime a transport leaps his heart!
But fate ordains that dearest friends must
part.
In active meafures, brought from France, he
wheels,

And triumphs, confcious of his learned heels.

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Dance on the bank, as if infpir'd by fame, Fond of the pretty fellow in the fiream.

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Morofe is funk with fhame, whene'er furpriz'd In linen clean, or peruke undi'guis'd. No fublunary chance his veftments fear; Valued, like leopards, as their pots appear. A fam'd furtout he wears, which once was blue, And his foot fwims in a capacious fhoe; One day his wife (for who can wives reclaim?) Level'd her barbarous needle at his fame. But open force was vain; by night he went, And, while he flept, furpris'd the darling rent: Where yawn'd the frieze is now become a doubt;

"And glory, at one entrance, quite fhut out"."

930

He fcorns Florello, and Florello him; This hates the filthy creature, that the prim: Thus, in each other, both these fools defpife Their own dear felves, with undifcerning eyes; Their methods various, but alike their aim; 255 The floven and the fopling are the fame.

Ye whigs and tories! thus it fares with you, When party-rage too warmly you pursue ; Then both club-nonfenfe, and impetuous pride, And folly joins whom fentiments divide. 260 You vent your fpleen, as monkeys, when they pafs,

Scratch at the mimic monkey in the glasa;
While both are one: and henceforth be it known,
Fools of both fides fhall ftand for fools alone.
"But who art Thou?" methinks Florella

cries:

"Of all thy fpecies art Thou only wife?"
Since smallest things can give our fins a twitch,
As croffing straws retard a paffing witch,
Florello, thou my monitor fhalt be;
I'll conjure thus fome profit out of thee.
And, like ill hufbands, take no care at home:
O THOU myself! abroad our counfels roam,

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Thou too art wounded with the common dart, And love of Fame lies throbbing at thy heart; And what wife means to gain it hast thou chofe?

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Know, fame and fortune both are made of profe.
Is thy ambition sweating for a rhyme,
Thou unambitious fool, at this late time?
While I a moment name, a moment's paft:
I'm nearer death in this verfe, than the laft:
What then is to be done? Be wife with speed;
A fool at forty is a fool indeed.

And what fo foolish as the chace of fame?
How vain the prize! how impotent our aim!
For what are men who grafp at praise fublime,
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But bubbles on the rapid ftream of time,
That rife, and fall, that fwell, and are no more,
Born, and forgot, ten thousand in an hour?

* Milton.

SATIRE

SATIRE III.

то

THE RIGHT HON. MR. DODINGTON.

Some judge, their knack of judging wrong keep;

Some judge, because it is too foon to fleep.

Thus all will judge, and with one fingle aim, To gain themselves, not give the writer, fame. The very best ambitiously advise,

LONG, Dodington, in debt, I long have Half to ferve you, and half to pass for wife.

fought

To ease the burthen of my grateful thought; And now a poet's gratitude you fee:

1

5

ΙΩ

Grant him to favours, and he'll afk for three:
For whofe the prefent glory, or the gain?
You give protection, I a worthless train.
You love and feel the poet's facred flame,
And know the bafis of a folid fame;
Though prone to like, yet cautious to commend,
You read with all the malice of a friend;
Nor favour my attempts that way alone,
But, more to raise my verfe, conceal your own.
Au ill-tim'd modefty! turn ages o'er,
When wanted Britain bright examples more?
Her learning, and her genius too, decays;
And dark and cold are her declining days;
As if men now were of another caft,
They meanly live on alms of ages paft.

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Men fill are men; and they who boldly dare,
Shall triumph o'er the fons of cold despair;
Or, if they fail, they justly still take place
Of fuch who rue in debt for their difgrace;
Who borrow much, then fairly make it known,
And damn it with improvements of their own.
We bring fome new materials, and what's old 25
New caft with care, and in no borrow'd mould;
Late times the verfe may read, if these refufe;
And from four critics vindicate the Mufe.
"Your work is long "the critics cry. 'Tis true,
And lengthens ftill, to take in fools like you: 30
Shorten my labour, if its length you blame:
For, grow but wife, you rob me of my game;
As haunted bags, who, while the dogs purfue,
Renounce their four legs, and ftart up on avo.

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Like the bold bird upon the banks of Nile, That picks the teeth of the dire crocodile, Will I enjoy (dread feaft !) the critic's rage, And with the fell deftroyer feed my page. For what ambitious fools are more to blame, Than thofe who thunder in the critics name? Good authors damn'd,' have their revenge in this, To fee what wretches gain the praise they mifs. Balbutius, muffled in his fable cloak, Like an old Druid from his hollow oak, As ravens folemn, and as boding, cries, "Ten thousand worlds for the three unities!" Ye doctors fage, who through Parnaffus teach, Or quit the tub, or practife what you preach. One judges as the weather dictates; right The poem is at noon, and wrong at night: Another judges by a furer gage, An author's principles, or parentage; Since his great ancellors in Flanders fell, The poem doubtlefs must be written well. Another judges by the writer's look ; Another judges, for he bought the book; VOL. VI.

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Critics on verfe, as Squibs on triumphs wait, Proclaim the glory, and augment the ftate; Hot, envious, noify, proud, the scribling fry 65 Burn, hifs, and bounce, wafte paper, ftink, and

die.

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As love of pleafure into pain betrays, 50 So most grow infamous through love of praile. But whence for praise can fuch an ardof ric, When thole, who bring that incenfe. we deipife? For fuch the vanity of great and finall, Contempt goes round, and all men laugh at a'l. 55 Nor can ever Satire blame them; for 'tis true, They have moft ample caufe for what they do 2-L O fruitful

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See Tityrus, with merriment poffest, '
Is burft with laughter, ere he hears the jeft:
What need he stay? for when the jet is o'er,
His teeth will be no whirer than before.
Is there of thee, ye fair! fo great a dearth,
That you need purchate monkeys for your mirth!
Some, vain of paintings, bid the world admire;
Of boufes fome; nay, houfes that they bire: 130
Some (perfect wifdom !) of a beauteous wife;
And boast, like Cordeliers, a fcourge for life.
Sometimes, through pride, the fexes change

their airs';

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"To make that hopeless, ill-advis'd attack;
"All fay, 'twas madnefs; nor date I deny; 155
"fure never fool fo well deferv'd to die."
Could this deceive in others to be free,
It ne'er, Vincenna, could deceive in thee!
Whofe conde is a comment to thy tongue,
So clear, the dulleft cannot take thee wrong. 160
Thou on one fleeve wilt thy revenues wear;
And haunt the court, without a profpect there.
Are thefe expedients for renown? Confefs
Thy little felf, that I may scorn thee less.

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Of every charm and virtue fhe's poffeft:
The public envy! now then, 'tis allow'd,
Philander! thou art exquifitely bleft;
The man is found, who may be justly proud:
But, fee! how fickly is ambition's tatte!
Anbition feeds on trafh, and loaths a feaft;
For, lo! Philander, of reproach afraid,
In fecret loves his wife, but keeps her maid.

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Great, chofen prophet! for thefe latter days,
To turn a willing world from righteous ways!
Well, Heydegger, doft thou thy mafter ferve;
Well has he feen his fervant fhould not ftarve,
Thou to his name haft fplendid temples rais'd;
In various forms of wrip feen him prais'd,
Gaudy.devotion, like a Roman, fhown,
And fung fweet anthems in a tongue unknotun. ̧
Inferior offerings to thy god of vice
Are duly paid, in fiddles, cards, and dice;
Thy facrifice fupreme, an bundred maids !
170 That folemn rite of midnight masquerades

Be wife, Vincenna, and the court forfake; 165
Our fortunes there, nor tho, nor I, fhall make.
Even men of merit, ere their point they gain,
In hardy fervice make a long campaign;
Moit manfully befiege the patron's gate,
And øft repuls'd, as oft attack the great

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Are prizes in the lottery of life;

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Genius and Virtue they will foon defeat,
And lodge you in the bofom of the great.
To merit, is but to provide a pain
For mens' refufing what you ought to gain.
May, Dodington, this maxim fail in you,
Whom my prefaging thoughts already view
By Walpole's conduct fir'd, and friendship grac'd,
Still higher in your Prince's favour plac'd;
And lending, bere, thofe awful councils aid,
Which you, abroad, with fuch fuccefs obey'd!
Bear this from one, who holds your friendship
dear;

What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.

SATIRE IV.

TO THE

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So fweet the verse, th' ambitious verfe, should be,
(Q! pardon mine) that hopes fupport from thee;
Thee, Compton, born o'er fenates to prefide, 5
Their dignity to raife, their councils guide;
Deep to difcern, and widely to furvey,
And kingdoms fatés, without ambition, weigh;
Of diftant virtues nice extremes to blend,
The Crown's affertor, and the People's friend :
Nor dost thou fcorn, amid fublimer views,
To listen to the labours of the Muse;
Thy fmiles protect her, while thy talents fire,
And 'tis but half thy glory to infpire.
Vex'd at a public fame, fo juftly won,
The jealous Chremes is with fpleen undone;
Chremes, for airy penfions of renown,
Devotes his fervice to the State and Crown;
All schemes he knows, and, knowing, all im-
proves,

15

Though Britain's thankless, still this patriot loves:

20

But patriots differ; fome may fhed their blood,
He drinks his coffee, for the public good;
Confults the facred fteam, and there forefees
What ftorms, or fun-fhine, Providence decrees;
Knows, for each day, the weather of our fate; 25
A Quidnunc is an almanack of State.

You fmile, and think this statesman void of ufc3
Why may not time his fecret worth produce?
Since apes can roaft the choice Caftanian Nut,
Since feeds of genius art expert at Put ;
Since half the Senate "Not content" can fay,
Geefe nations fave, and puppies plots betray.

30

What makes him model realms, and counsel kings?

An incapacity for smaller things:

40

Poor Chremes can't conduct his own eftate, 35
And thence has undertaken Europe's fate.
Gehenno leaves the realm to Chremes' skill,
And boldly claims a province higher fill:
To raife a name, th' ambitious boy has got,
At once, a Bible and a foulder-knot;
Deep in the fecret, he looks through the whole,
And pities the dull rogue that faves his foul;
To talk with reverence you must take good heed,
Nor fhock his tender reafon with the Creed:
Howe'er well-bred, in public he complies
Obliging friends alone with blafphemies.

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Health chiefly keeps an Atheist in the dark; 55
A fever argues better than a Clarke:
Let but the logick in his pulfe decay,

The Grecian he'll renounce, and learn to pray;
While C- mourns, with an unfeigned zeal,

And breathes her fweets on the fupporting Th' apoftate youth, wao reason'd once fo well. 60

bine grows,

boughs:

C

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