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For Poets open Table kept,
But ne'er consider'd where they Nept:
Himself, as rich as fifty Jews,
Was easy, tho' they wanted Shoes ;
And, crazy Congreve scarce could spare
A Shilling to discharge his Chair ;
Till Prudence taught him to appeal
From Pæan's Fire to Party Zeal;
Not owing to his happy Vein
The Fortunes of his latter Scene ;
proper Principles to thrive ; ;
And so might ev'ry Dunce alive.
Thus, Steel who own'd what others writ,
And Aourishid by imputed Wit,
From Perils of a hundred Jayls,
Withdrew to starve, and die in Wales.
Thus, Gay the * Hare with
Twice sev'n long Years the Court attends ;
Who, under Tales conveying Truth,
To Virtue form’d a ** princely Youth:
Who paid his Courtship with the Crowd,
As far as modest Pride allow'd ;
Rejects a servile User's Place,
And leaves St. James's in Disgrace.
Thus, Addison, by Lords carest,
Was left in foreign Lands diftreft;
Forgot at home, became for Hire,
A trav'ling Tutor to a Squire.
But, wisely lefc the Muses Hill ;
To Bus’ness shap'd the Poet's Quil I:
Let all his barren Laurels fade;
himself the Courtier's Trade:
And, grown a Minister of State,
Saw Poets at his Levee wait.
Hail! happy Pope, whose gen'rous Mind,
Detesting all the Statesman Kind!
Contemning Courts, at Courts unseen,
Refus'd the Visits of a
A Soul with ev'ry Virtue fraught,
By Sages, Priests, or Poets taught :
Whose filial Piety excels
Whatever Grecian Story tells ;
A Genius for all Stations fit,
Whose meanest Talent is his Wit:
His Heart too great, though Fortune little,
To lick a Rascal Statesman's Spittle ;
Appealing to the Nation's Taste,
Above the Reach of Want is plac't:
By Ilomer dead was taught to thrive,
Which Homer never cou'd alive,
And, fits aloft on Pindus' Head,
Despising Slaves that cringe for Bread.
True Politicians only pay
For solid Work, but not for Play;
Nor ever chuse to work with Tools
Forgʻd up in Golleges and Schools.
Consider how much more is due
To all their Journeymen, than you,
At Table you can Horace quote;
They at a Pinch can bribe a Vote :
You shew your Skill in Grecian Story;
But, they can manage Whig and Tory:
You, as a Critick, are so curious
To find a Verse in Virgil spurious ;
But, they can smoak the deep Designs,
When Bolingbroke with Pultney dines,
Besides; your Patron may upbraid ye,
you have got a Place already :
An Ofice for your Talents fit,
To flatter, carve, and shew your Wit ;
To snuff the Lights, and stir the Fire.
And get a Dinner for your Hire. .
What Claim have you to Place, or Pension?
He overpays in Condescension.
But, Reprend Doctor, you, we know,
Cou'd never condescend so low :
The Vice-Roy, whom you now attend,
Wou'd, if he durft, be more your Friend ;
Nor will in you those Gifts despise,
By which himself was taught to rise :
When he has Virtue to rețire,
He'll grieve he did not raise you higher,
And place you in a better Station,
Although it might have pleas'd the Nation.
This may be true
be truefubmitting still
To Wle's more than Royal Will.
And what Condition can be worse?
He comes to drain a Beggar's Purse:
He comes to tye our Chains on faster,
And shew us, E-d is our Master:
Caressing Knaves, and Dunces wooing,
To make them work their own undoing.
What has he else to bait his Traps,
Or bring his Vermin in, but Scraps?
The Offals of a Church distrest,
A hungry Vicarage at best;
Or, fome remote inferior Post,
With Forty Pounds a Year at most.
But, here again you interpose:
Your favourite Lord is none of those,
Who owe their Virtues to their Stations,
And Characters to Dedications
For keep him in, or turn him out,
His Learning none will call in doubt :
His Learning, though a Poet said it,
Before a Play, wou'd lose no Credit :
Nor Pope wou'd dare deny him Wit,
Although to praise it Pbps writ.
I own, he hates an Action base,
His Virtues battling with his Place;
Nor wants a nice discerning Spirit,
Betwixt a true and spurious Merit:
Can sometimes drop a Voter's Claim,
And give up Party to his Fame.
I do the most that Friendship can;
I hate the Vice-Roy, love the Man.
But, You, who till
Must be a Sweet'ner by your Trade,
Shou'd swear he never meant us ill;
We suffer fore against his Will ;
That, if we could but see his Heart,
He wou'd have chose a milder Part:
We rather should lament his Case,
Who must obey or lose his Place.
SINCE this Reflection flipt your Pen,
Insert it when you write agen:
And, to illustrate it, produce
This Simile for his Excuse.
" So to destroy a guilty Land, “ An Angel sent by Heav’n’s Command, “ While he obeys Almighty Will,
Perhaps, may feel Compasion still " And wish the Talk had been affign'd " To Spirits of less gentle Kind.
But I, in Politicks grown old,
Whose Thoughts are of a diff'rent Mold,
Who, from my Soul, fincerely hate
Boch and Ministers of Stale :
Who look on Courts with stricter Eyes,
To see the Seeds of Vice arisę,