And then for mine obligingly mistakes That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end, The first lampoon Sir Will or Bisbo makes. He stood the furious foe, the timid friend, Poor guiltless 1! and can I choose but finile, The damning critic, half-approving wit, When ev'ry coxcomb knows me by my sizle? Thc coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;

Curst be the verse, how well foe'er it flow, Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had, That tends to make one worthy man my foe, The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad; Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear,

The diftant threats of vengeance on his head, Or from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tcar! The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed; But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, The tale reviv'd, the lie fu oft o'erthrown, Insults fallen worth, or beauty in diftress; Th’imputed trash and dulness not his own; Who loves a lie, lame Nander helps about, The morals blacken'd when the writings 'fcape, Who writes a libel, or who copies out;

The libell’d person, and the pictur’d thape; That fop whose pridc affects a patron's name, Abuse on all he lov’d, or lov'd him, spread; Yet absent wounds an author's honest fame; A friend in exile, or a father dead; Who can your merit selfshly approve,

The whisper that, to greatness still too pear, And shew the sense of it without the love; Perhaps yet vibrates on his Sov'reign's earWho has the vanity to call you Friend, Welcome for thee, fair Virtue ! all the patt; Yet wants the honour injur'd to defend ; For thce, fair Virtue! welcome even the last ! Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, A. But why insult the poor, affront the great. And, if he lie not, must at least betray:

P. A knave 's a knave to me in ev'ry stare : Who to the dean and silver bell can swear, Alike my scorn if he succeed or fail, And fees at Cannons what was never there; Sporns at court, or Japhet in a jail, Who reads but with a lust to misapply, A hireling scribbler, or a bircling peer, Make satire a lampoon, and fiction lic- Knight of the post corrupt, or of the thire; A lash like mine no honest man Ihall dread, If on a Pillory, or near a Throne, But all such babbling block heads in his stead. He gain his Prince's car, or lose his own. Let Sporas tremblc.-A. What! that thing of Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wits hik?

Sappho can tell you how this man was bit: Sporus, that mere white curd of afs's milk? This dreaded Sat'rist Dennis will confels Satire or feníc, alas ! can Sporus feel?

Foe to his pride, but friend to his diftress : Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

So humble, he has knock'd at Tibuld's door, P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhymd for This painted child of dirt, that stinks and frings; Moor, Whole buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Full ten ycars flander’d, did he once reply? Yet wie ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : Three thousand funs went down on Wchied's lie: So well-bred spaniels civilly delight

To please a Mistress, one afpers'd his life ; In munbling of the game they dare not bite. He lath'd him not, hut let her be his wife: Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,

Let Bulgel charge low Grubifrcet on his quill, As Thallow streams run dimpling all the way. And write whate'er he pleas’d, except his Willi Whether in florid impotence he Ipeaks,

Let the two Curls of Town and Court abule And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks; His father, mother, body, soul, and mule. Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad,

Yet why that Father held it for a rule, Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, It was a sin to call our neighbour Fool: In puns, or politics, or talcs, or lies,

That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore: Or fpite, or finut, or rhymes or blasphemies. Hear this, and fpare his family, frimes Moor ! His wit all see-saw, between ibat and ibis ; Unspotted names, and memorable long ! Now high, now low, now master up, now miss, If there be force in Virtue or in Song. And he himself one vile antithesis.

Of gentle blood (part shed in Honour's cause, Amphibious thing! that acting either part, While yet in Britain Honour had applause) The trifling head, or the corrupted heart; Each parent sprung.-A. What fortune, pray :Fop at the toilet, fatt'rer at the board,

P. Their own; Now trips a lady, and now struts a lord. And better got than Beftia's from the throne, Eve's tempter thus the rabbins have express'd; Born to no Pride, inheriting no Strife, A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.

Nor marrying Discord in a noble wife;
Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Stranger io civil and religious rage,
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust. The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.

Not Fortune's worshipper, nor Fashion's fool, No Courts he law, no Suits would ever try,
Nou Lucre's inadman, nor Ambition's tool, Nor dai'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lie.
Not prond, nor servile; be one Poet's praise, Unlearn'd, he knew yo schoolman's fubtle art;
Thai, if he picas'il, he pleas d by manly ways : Vo language but the language of the hcart.
That Aatt'ry ev'n to Kings he held a thame, By Nature honcft, by Experience wise,
And thought a lie in verie or prose the fame : Healthy by tcmp'rance, and by exercise ;
That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long, His life, tho' long, to fickness pass'd unknown,
But ftoop'd to Truch, and moraliz'd his song: His death was instant, and without a groan.

O grant

}

SATIRE I.

P.

O grant me thus to live, and thus to die ! Abuse the city's best good men in metre,
Who sprung from Kings thall know less joy And laugh at peers that put their trust in Peter.
than I.

Ev’n thule you touch not, hate you.
O Friend! may cach domestic bliss be thine !

P. What should ail them!
Be no unpleasing Melancholy mine :

F. A hundred smart in Timon and in Balaam. Me let the tender office long engage,

The fewer still you name, you wound the more ;
To rock the cradle of reposing Age;

Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score.
With lcnient arts extend a Mother's breath, P. Each mortal has his pleasure : none deny
Makc languor smile, and smooth the bed of death; Scarsdale his bottle, Darty his ham-pye ;
Explre the thought, explain the asking eye, Ridotta sips and dances, till the fee
And kecp awhile one parent from the lky! The doubling luftres dance as fast as she;
On cares like these, if length of days attend, F- loves the fenate, Hockleyhole his brother,
May Heaven, to bless those days,preferve my friend, Like in all elfe as one egg to another.
Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene, 'I love to pour out all myself, as plain
And just as rich as when he serv'd a Queen. As downright Shippen, or as old Montaigne :

A. Whether that bietling be denied or given, In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen,
Thus far was right, the reit belongs to Heaven. The foul food forth, nor kept a thought

within:

In me what spots (for spots I have) appear,
s 20. Satires aud Epiftles of Horace imitated. Pope. Will prove at least the medium must be clear.

In this impartial glass my Muse intends
To Mr. Fortescue.

Fair to expose myself, my foes, my friends ;

Publish the present age ; but where my text
THERE are (I scarce can think it, but am tola) is vice too high, referve it for the next :

There are to whom my Satire scems too bold; My foes thall with my life a longer date,
Scarce to wife Peter complaisant enough, And ev'ry friend the less lament my fate.
And something faid of Chartres much too rongh. My head and heart thus flowing thro' my quill,
The lines are weak, another 's pleas'd to say; Verseman or Proreman, term me which

you will,
Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day. Papist or Protestant, or both between,
Tim'rous by nature, of the rich in awe, Like good Erasinus, in an honest mean,
I come to counsel learned in the law :

In moderation placing all my glory,
You 'll give me, like a friend both sage and free, While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Advice; and (as you use) without a fee.

Satire 's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
F. I'd write no more.

To run a-muck, and tilt at all I meet;
P. Not write? but then I think; I only wear it in a land of hectors,
And for my soul I cannot sleep a wink. Thieves, supercargoes, sharpers, and directors.
1 nod in company, I wake at night;

Save but our army! and let Jove incrust
Fools rush into my head, and so I write. Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!

F. You could not do a worse thing for your life. Peace is my dear delight-not Fleury's more:
Why, if the nights seem tedious, take a wife : But touch me, and no minifter so sore.
Or rather truly, if your point be rcft,

Whoe'er offends, at some unlucky time
Lettuce and cowslip wine-probatum efl. Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme;
But talk with Celfus, Celsus will advise Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
Hartshorn, or something that shall clofe your eyes. And the sad burthen of some merry ng.
Or, if

you needs must write, write Cæsar's praile; Slander or poison dread from Delia's rage ;
You'll gain at least a knighthood, or the bays. Hard words, or hanging, if your judge be Page :
P. What! like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough, From furious Sappho scarce a milder face,
and fierce,

(the verle, P-x'd by her love, or libellid by her hate. With arms, and George, and Brunswick crowd Its proper pow'r to hurt, each creature feels; Rend with tremendous found your ears afunder, Bulls aim their horns, and asses lift their heels; With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss, and ris a bear's talent not to kick, but hug; thunder?

And no man wonders he's not ftung by pug. Or nobly wild, with Budgel's fire and force, So drink with Waters, or with Chartres eat ; Paint angels trembling round his falling horse? They 'll never poison you, they 'll only cheat.

F. Then all your Muse's sofrer art display, Then, learned Sir! (to cut the matter Phort)
Let Carolina finooth the tuneful lay,

Whate'er my fate, or well or ill at Court,
Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine, Whether old age, with faint but cheerful ray,
And 1weetly flow thro' all the royal line. Attends to gild the ev'ning of my day;

P. Alas! few verses touch their nicer ear; Or death's black wing already be display'd,
They scarce can bear their Laurcate twice a year; To wrap me in the universal shade;
And justly Cæsar scorns the poet's lays ; Whether the darkcn'd room to muse invite,
It is te biftory he trusts for praise.

Or whiten'd wall provoke the skewer to write :
F. Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it fill, In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint,
Than ridicule all taste, blasphemne quadrille, Like Lee or Budgel, I will rhyme and print.

F. Alas,

F. Alas, young inan! your days can ne'er be(A doctrine fage, but truly none of mine),
In flow'r of age you perish for a long! [long; Let's talk, my friends, but talk before we dine.
Plums and directors, Shylock and his wife, Not when a gilt buffet's reflected pride
Will club their testers now to take your life! Turns you from found philosophy afide ;
P. What? arm'd for virtue when I point the Not when from plate to plate your eye-balls roll,
pen,

And the brain dances to the mantling bowl.
Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men; Hear Bethel's Serinon, one not vers d in schools,
Daih the proud gameter in his giided car; But strong in lense, and wife without the rules.
Bare the mean heart t'at lurks beneath a liar ; Go work, hunt, exercise ! (he thus began)
Can there be wanting, to defend her cause, Then scorn a homely dinner if you can.
Lights of the churcı, or guardians of the laws? Your wjue lock'd up, your butler stroll'd abroad,
Could perfon'd Boi'cau lath in honest strain Or fith denied (the river yet unthaw'd),
Flatt'rers and bigots even in Louis' reign? If then plain bread and milk will do the feat,
Could Laureate Dryden pimp and friar engage, The pleasure lies in you, and not the meat.
Yet neither Charles nor James be in a rage ? Preach as I please, I doubt our curious men
And I not ftrip the gilding off a knave, (Vill choose a pheasant till before a hen;
Unplac'd, unpenfion'd, no man's heir or llave? Yet hens of Guinea full as good I hold,
I will, or perish in the gen'rous caule:

Except you eat the feathers green and gold. Hear this, and tremble' you who 'scape the laws. Of carps and mullets why prefer the great Yes, while I live, no rich or noble kuave (Tho'cut in pieces ere my Lord can cat), Shall walk the world in credit to his grave. Yet for small turbots such esteem profess? To'virtue only and her friends a friend, Because God made these large, the other less. The world belide inay murmur or commend. Oldfield, with more than harpy throat endued, Know, all the diftant din that world can keep, Cries, “ Send me, Gods! a whole hog barbecued!" Rolls o'er my grotto, and but fooths my feep. Oh blast it, fouth winds, till a stench exhale There, my retreat the best companions grace, Rank as the ripeness of a rabbit's tail! Chiefs out of war, and statelinen out of place. By what criterion do you eat, d'ye think, There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl If this is priz'd for sweetness, that for stink? The feast of reason and the flow of soul: When the tir'd glutton labours thro' a treat, And he, whose lightning pierc'd th' Iberian lines, He finds no relith in the sweetest mcat ; Now forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines; lle calls for something bitter, something four, Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain, And the rich feast concludes extremely poor : Almof as quickly as he conquer'd Spain. Cheap eggs, and herbs, and olives still we see ; Envy must own, I live among the great,

Thus inuch is left of old Simplicity! No pimp of pleasure, and no fpy of state ; The Robin-red-brcast till of late had rest, With eyes that pry not, tongue that ne'er repeats, and children sacred hold a Martin's nett, Fond to spread friendships, but to cover heats; Till Becca-ficos sold fo dev'lish dear To help who want, to forward who excel; To one that was, or would have been, a Peer. This, all who know me, know; who love ine, tell; Let me extol a Cat on oysters fed, And who unknown defame me, let thein be I 'll have a party at the Bedford-head; Scribblers or peers, alike are mob to me. Or ev'n to crack live Crawfish recommend, This is my piea, on this I rest iny cause I'd never doubt at Court to make a friend. What faith my counfel, learned in the laws? 'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother

F. Your plea is good; but still I say, beware! | About one vice, and fall into the other : Laws are explain'd by men-so have a care. Between Excess and Famine lies a mean; It stands on record, that in Richard's times Plain, but not fordid; tho' not fplendid, clean. A man was hang'd for very honeft rhymes ! Avidien, or his Wife (no matter which, Consult the statute, quart. I think it is, For him you 'll call a dog, and her a bitch), Edwardi liat. or prim. et quint. Eliz.

Sell their presented partridges and fruits, Sec Liöcls, Satires-here you have ir-read. And humbly live on rabbits and on roots :

P. Likels and Satires! lawless things indeed! One half-piirt bottle serves them both to dine, But grave Epifiles, bringing vicc to light, And is at once their vinegar and wine. Such as a King might read, a bilhop write, But on some lucky day (as when they found Such as Sir Robert would approve

A loft Bank bill, or heard their son was drown'd)

F. Indeed? At such a feast, old vinegar to spare, The case is alter'd-you may then proceed ; Is what two fouls so gen'rous cannot bear : In such a cause the plaintiff will be biss’d, Oil, though it stink, they drop by drop impart; My lords the judges laugh, and you 're dismiss’d. But foule the cabbage with a bounteous heart.

He knows to live who keeps the middle state, SATIRE

And neither leaps on this side nor on that;

Nor stops for one bad cork his butler's pay ; To Mr. Bcibel.

Swears, like Albutius, a good cook away; WHAT, and how great, the virtue and the art Nor lets, like Nævius, ev'ry crror pass; To live on little with a cheerful heart, The musty wine, foul cloth, or grealy glass.

Now

11.

own:

Now hear what blessings Temperance can Or, blest with little, whose preventing care bring:

In peace provides fit arms againit a war? (Thus said our friend, and what he said I sing) Thus Bethel spuke, wlio always fpcaks his First Health : the stomach (crammd from ev'ry thought, dith,

And always thinks the very thing he ought: A tomb of boild and roast, and flesh and fish, His equal mind I copy what I can, Where bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar, And as I love, would imitate, the man. And all the man is one intestine war)

In South-sea days not happier, when surmis'd Remembers oft the school-boy's simple fare, The lord of thousands, than if now excis'd; The temp’rate sleeps, and spirits light as air. In forest planted by a father's hand,

How pale each worshipful and rev'rend guest Than in five acres now of rented land. Rise from a Clergy or a City feast !

Content with little, I can piddle here What life in all that ample body, say?

On broco. i and mutton round the

year; What heavenly particle inspires the clay ? But ancient friends (tho poor, or out of piay), The soul subsides, and wickedly inclines That touch my bell, I cannot turn away. To seein but mortal, even in found Divines. 'Tis true, no turcots dignify my boards ;

On morning wings how active springs the mind But zudgeons, founders, what my Thames affords. That leaves the load of yesterday behind ! To Hounslow heath I point, and B initcd-down; How easy ev'ry labour it pursues !

Thence comes your mutton, and thicle clicks my How coming to the Poet ev'ry Muse! Not but we may exceed some holy time, From yon old walnut-tree a show'r fhall fall; Or tir'd in search of Truth, or search of Rhyme; And grapes, long ling'ring on my only wall, Ill health some just indulgence may engage,

Andings from standa'd and espalier join; And more, the fickness of long life, Old Age ; The devil is in you, if you cannot dine: [place); For fainting Age what cordial drop remains, Then cheerful healths (your mistress shall have If our intemp'rate Youth the vessel drains ? And, what 's more rare, a poet lhall say grace.

Our fathers prais'd rank Ven'fon. You suppose, Fortune not much of humvling me can boaft: Perhaps, young men! our fathers had no note. Tho'donble tax d, how little hare I loft! Not so: a Buck was then a week's repast, My life's amusements have been just the same And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it last; Before and after standing armies came. More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could My lands are sold, my father's houle is gone :

I'll hire another's ; is not that my own, [gate Than eat the sweetest by themselves at home. And yours, my friends ? thro' whose free op'ning Why had not I in those good times my birth, None comes too early, none departs too late; Ere coxcomb pyes or coxcombs were on earth : For I who hold fage Horner's rule the best,

Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest. That sweetest music to an honest ear

Pray Heaven it last! (cries Swift) as you go on;. (For, 'faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong: “ I wish to God this houle had been your own. The world's good word is better than a song), “ Pity! to build, without a fon or wife; Who has not learn'd, freth surgeon and ham-pye “ Why, you 'll enjoy it only all your

life.” Are no rewards for want and infamy?

Well, if the use be mine, cun it concern one, When luxury has lick’d up all thy pelf, Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon? Curs'd by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself; What 's property? dear Swift! you see it alter To friends, to fortune, to mankind a thame, From you to me, from me to Peter Walter; Think how pofterity will treat thy name ; Or, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's share ; And buy a rope, that future times may tell Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir; Thou hast at least bestow'd one penny well. Or in pure equity (the case not clear) “Right,"' cries his Lordship, “ for a rogue in need The Chancery takes your rents for twenty year: “ To have a taste, is infolence indeed :

At best, it falls to some ungracious fon, (own." “ In me 'tis noble, suits my birth and state, Who cries, “ My father's damn'd, and all's my

My wealth unwieldy, and my heap ton great. Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,
Then, like the Sun, let Bounty spread her ray, Become the portion of a booby lord;
And shine that superfluity away.

And Hemlley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy store, Slides to a scriv'ner, or a city knight.
How dar'st thou let one worthy man be poor? Let lands and houses have what lords they will,
Shall half the new-bụile churches round thee fall? Let us be fix'd, and our own masters ftill.
Make Quays, build Bridges, or repair Whitehall:
Or to thy Country let that heap be lent,

The Firft Epiple of the Firf Book of Horace. As M-o's was, but not at five per cent. Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind,

To Lord Boling broke. Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankind. And who stands fafest ? tell me, is it he ST. JOHN, whose love indulg'd my labours paft, That spreads and swells in puff'd prosperity ; Matures my.present, and thall bound my. latt!

Wby.

come,

E PISTLE

I.

Why will you break the Sabbath of my days? 'Tis the first Virtue, Vices to abhor;
Now fick alike of envy and of praise.

And the first Wisdom, to be Fool no more.
Public too long, ah let me hide my age ! But to the world no bugbear is to great
See, modest Cibber now has left the Srage ; As want of figure, and a small estate.
Our Gen’rals, now, retir'd to their estates, To either India see the Merchant fly,
Hang their old Trophies o'er the Garden gates; Scar'd at the spectre of pale Poverig
In Life's cool ev'ning, satiate of applaute, See him, with pains of body, pangs of soul,
Nor fond of bleeding even in Bruniwick's cause. Burn through the Tropic, freeze beneath the Pole!

A voice there is, that whispers in my ear, Wilt thou do nothing for a nobler end, ('Tis Rcalon's voice, which sometimes one can hear) Nothing, to make Philofophy thy friend?

FriendPope! be prudent, let your Mufe take To Itop thy foolish views, thy long desires, “ And never gallop Pegatus to death; (breath, And ease thy heart of all that it admires ? “ Left ftiff and stately, void of fire or force, Here Wisdom calls: “ Seek Virtue firft, be bold! “ You limp, like Blackmore, on a Lord Mayor's" As Gold to Silver, Virtue is to Gold.” “ horse." There, London's voice:"Get money, money

full! Farewel then, Verse, and Love, and ev'ry toy, “ And then let Virtue follow, if she will." The rhymes and rattles of the man or boy ; This, this the faring doctrine preach'd to all, What right, what true, what for we justly call, From low St. James's up to high St Paul! Let this be all my care for this is All: From him whole quills stand quiver'd at his car, To lay this harvelt up, and hoard with hafte, To him who potches sticks at Westminster. What ev'ry day will want, and most, the last. Barnard in spirit, tense, and truth abounds; But ask not to what Dcitors I apply;

Pray then, what wants he?" Fourscore thousand Sworn to no master, of no sect am I :

pounds; As drives the storm, at any door I knock; A pension, or such harness for a slave And house with Montaigne now, or now with As Bug now has, and Dorimane would have. Sometimes a Patriot, active in debate, [Locke. Barnard, thou art a Cit, with all thy worth; Mix with the World, and battle for the State, But Bug and D I, their Honours and so forth. Free as young Lyttelton her cause pursue, Yet ev'ry child another song will fing: Sull true to Virtue, anıl as warm as true : “ Virtue, brave boys ! 'tis Virtue makes a King." Sometimes with Aristippus, or St. Paul, True, conscious Honour is to fcel no sin; Indulge my candour, and grow all to all; He's arm'd without that 's innocent within : Back to my native moderation slide,

Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of brats; And win my way by yielding to the tide. Compar'd to this, a Minister's an Ass.

Long, as to him, who works for debt, the day, And say, to which thall our applause belong, Long as the night to her whole Love 's away, This new Court jargon, or the good old song? Long as the year's dull circle seems to run The modern language of corrupted peers, When the brisk Minor pauts for twenty-one ; Or what was spoke at Cressy or Poitiers : So now th' unprofitable moments roll,

Who countels best? who whispers,“ Be but greal, That lock up all the functions of my soul; “ With praise or infamy, leave that to fate; That keep me from myself, and still delay “ Get Place and Wealth, if possible with grace ; Life's instant business to a future day: “ If not, by any means get Wealth and Place: That talk, which as we follow, or defpise, For what to have a box where Eunuchs fing, The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise :

And forcinost in the circle eye a KingWhich done, the poorest can no wants endure; Or he, who bids thee face with steady view And, which not done, the richest must be poor. ProudFortunc,and look ihallowGreatnessthro';

Late as it is, I put myself to school, And feel some comfort not to be a fool.

lf fuch a doctrine in St. James's air Weak tho' I am of limb, and short of light, Should chance to make the well-crest rabble stare ; Far from a Lynx, and not a Giant quite; If honcft $z take fcandal at a Spark I'll do what Mead and Cheselden advile, That lets admires the Palace than the Park, To keep these limbs, and to preserve these eyes. 'Faith I thall give the antwer Reynard gave : Not to go back, is somewhat to advance ; “ I cannot like, dread Sir, your Royal Cave; And men must walk at least before they dance. “ Because I see, by all the tracks about,

Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom move “ Full many a beast goes in, but none come out." With wretched Av'rice, or as wretched Love? Adicu to Virtue, if you 're once a Slave; Know,there are words and spells which can control, Send her to Court, you send her to her grave. Between the Fits, this Fever of the soul;

Well, if a King's a Lion, at the least Know, there are rhyines, which, fresh and fresh The people are a many-headed beast : applied,

Can they direct what measures to pursue, Will cure the arrant'st puppy of his pride. Who know themselves so little what to do? Be furious, en vious, Nothful, mad, or drunk, Alike in nothing but one luft of gold, Slase to a wife, or vassal to a punk,

Just half the land would buy, and half be fold; A Switz, a High Dutch, or a Low Dutch bear; Their country's wealth our mightier Mifers drain, All that we ask is but a patient ear.

Or cross, to plunder provinces, the main;

The