_A_. But why insult the poor, affront the great? 360

_P_. A knave's a knave, to me, in every state: Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail, Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail, A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer, Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire; If on a pillory, or near a throne, He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.

Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Sappho[111] can tell you how this man was bit: This dreaded satirist Dennis will confess 370 Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress: So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, Has drunk with Cibber, nay, has rhymed for Moore.

Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply?

Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's[112] lie.

To please a mistress one aspersed his life; He lash'd him not, but let her be his wife: Let Budgell[113] charge low Grub-street on his quill, And write whate'er he pleased, except his will;[114]

Let the two Curlls of town and court[115] abuse 380 His father, mother, body, soul, and Muse.

Yet why that father held it for a rule, It was a sin to call our neighbour fool: That harmless mother thought no wife a whore: Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore!

Unspotted names, and memorable long!

If there be force in virtue, or in song.

Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause, While yet in Britain honour had applause) Each parent sprung----

_A._ What fortune, pray?----

_P._ Their own, 390 And better got, than Bestia's from the throne.

Born to no pride, inheriting no strife, Nor marrying discord in a noble wife,[116]

Stranger to civil and religious rage, The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.

No courts he saw, no suits would ever try, Nor dared an oath,[117] nor hazarded a lie.

Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art, No language but the language of the heart.

By nature honest, by experience wise, 400 Healthy by temperance, and by exercise; His life, though long, to sickness pass'd unknown, His death was instant, and without a groan.

O grant me thus to live, and thus to die!

Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.

O friend! may each domestic bliss be thine!

Be no unpleasing melancholy mine: Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, 410 Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky!

On cares like these if length of days attend, May Heaven, to bless those days, preserve my friend, Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene, And just as rich as when he served a Queen.

_A_. Whether that blessing be denied or given, Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heaven.

VARIATIONS.

After VER. 20 in the MS.--

Is there a bard in durance? turn them free, With all their brandish'd reams they run to me: Is there a 'prentice, having seen two plays, Who would do something in his semptress' praise?

VER. 29 in the first edition--

Dear Doctor, tell me, is not this a curse?

Say, is their anger or their friendship worse?

VER. 53 in the MS.--

If you refuse, he goes, as fates incline, To plague Sir Robert, or to turn divine.

VER. 60 in the former edition--

Cibber and I are luckily no friends.

VER. 111 in the MS.--

For song, for silence, some expect a bribe; And others roar aloud, 'Subscribe, subscribe!'

Time, praise, or money, is the least they crave; Yet each declares the other fool or knave.

After VER. 124 in the MS.--

But, friend, this shape, which you and Curll[118] admire Came not from Ammon's son, but from my sire:[119]

And for my head, if you'll the truth excuse, I had it from my mother,[120] not the Muse.

Happy, if he, in whom these frailties join'd, Had heir'd as well the virtues of the mind.

After VER. 208 in the MS.--

Who, if two wits on rival themes contest, Approves of each, but likes the worst the best.

After VER. 234 in the MS.--

To bards reciting he vouchsafed a nod, And snuff'd their incense like a gracious god.

Our ministers like gladiators live, 'Tis half their bus'ness blows to ward, or give; The good their virtue would effect, or sense, Dies between exigents and self-defence.

After VER. 270 in the MS.--

Friendships from youth I sought, and seek them still; Fame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it will.

The world I knew, but made it not my school, And in a course of flattery lived no fool.

After VER. 282 in the MS.--

_P_. What if I sing Augustus, great and good?

_A_. You did so lately, was it understood?

_P_. Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound, As rumbling D----s or a Norfolk hound; With George and Fred'ric roughen every verse, Then smooth up all and Caroline rehearse.

_A_. No--the high task to lift up kings to god Leave to court-sermons, and to birthday odes.

On themes like these, superior far to thine, Let laurell'd Cibber and great Arnal shine.

_P_. Why write at all?

_A_. Yes, silence if you keep, The town, the court, the wits, the dunces weep.

VER. 368 in the MS.--

Once, and but once, his heedless youth was bit, And liked that dangerous thing, a female wit: Safe as he thought, though all the prudent chid.

He writ no libels, but my lady did: Great odds in amorous or poetic game, Where woman's is the sin, and man's the shame.

After VER. 405 in the MS.--

And of myself, too, something must I say?

Take then this verse, the trifle of a day.

And if it live, it lives but to commend The man whose heart has ne'er forgot a friend, Or head, an author: critic, yet polite, And friend to learning, yet too wise to write.