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There, where no Passion, Pride, or Shame transport,
Lull'd with the sweet Nepenthe of a Court,
There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's disgrace
Once break their rest, or stir them from their Place:
But past the Sense of human Miseries,
All Tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes ;
No cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,
Save when they lose a Question, or a Job.

P. Good Heaven forbid, that I should blast their glory,
Who know how like Whig Ministers to Tory,
And when three Sovereigns dy'd, could scarce be vext,
Considering what a gracious Prince was next.
Have I, in silent wonder, seen such things
As Pride in Slaves, and Avarice in Kings;
And at a Peer, or Peeress, shall I fret,
Who starves a Sister, or forfwears a Debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of Vice be lost?
Ye Gods! Thall Cibber's Son, without rebuke,

115 Swear like a Lord, or Rich outwhore a Duke? A Favourite's Porter with his Master vie, Be brib'd as often, and as often lie ? Shall Ward draw Contracts with a Statesman's fkill? Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a Will? Is it for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things) To pay their Debts, or keep their Faith, like Kings?




'VARIATION. Ver. 112. in some editions,

Who starves a Mother


Virtue may

If Blount dispatch'd himself, he play'd the man,
And so may'st thou, illuitrious Pafferan!
But shall a Printer, weary of his life,

Learn, from their Books, to hang himfelf and Wife?
This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear;
Vice thus abus'd, demands a Nation's care ;
This calls the Church to deprecate our Sin,
And hurls the Thunder of the Laws on Gin.

Let modeft Foster, if he will, excell Ten Metropolitans in preaching well; 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,

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 fame 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, 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! 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 livery'd o'er with foreign Gold,

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,
In Soldier, Churchman, Patriot, Man in Power,
'Tis Avarice 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 up, 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."

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

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I Sall a Libel-Paxton (Sir) will fay.
P. Not yet, my Friend ! to-morrow 'faith

it may ;


And for that very cause I print to-day.
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the Sins of Thirty-nine !

5 Vice with such Giant-strides com

omes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain ;
Feign what I will, and paint it e’er so strong,
Some rising Genius fins up to my Song.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash;
Even Guthry saves half Newgate by a Dash.
Spare then the Person, and expose the Vice.

P. How, Sir! not damn the Sharper, but the Dice?
Come on then, Satire! general, unconfin’d,
Spread thy broad wing, and souce on all the kind. 15
Ye Statesmen, Priests, of one Religion all!

Ye Tradesmen, vile, in Army, Court, or Hall!
Ye reverend Atheists. F. Scandal ! name them, Who?
P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.




Who starv'd a Sister, who foreswore a Debt,
I never nam’d; the Town's enquiring yet.
The poisoning 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 fave 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 spoild, Arraign no mightier Thief than Wretched Wild; Or, if a Court or Country's made a job,

40 Go drench a Pickpocket, and join the Mob.

But, Sir, I beg you (for the Love of Vice !) The matter 's weighty, pray consider twice ; Have


less pity for the needy Cheat, The poor and friendless Villain, than the Great ?

45 Alas! the small Discredit of a Bribe Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe,


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