Imatges de pÓgina
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Hail! happy Pope, whose gen'rous Mind,
Detesting all the Statesman Kind !
Contemning Courts, at Courts unseen,
Refus'd the Visirs 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 meanejt Talent is bis 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 Homer dead was taught to thrive,
Which Homier never cou'd alive :
And, fits aloft on Pindus Head,
Despifing Slaves that cringe for Bread.

True Politicians only pay
For solid Work, but not for Play;
Nor ever chuse to work with Tool:
Forg’d up in Colleges and Schools.

S 2



Consider how much more is due
To all their Journey-men, 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 W big and Torp :
You, as a Critick, are so curious
To find a Verse in Virgil spurious;
But, they can smoak the deep Designs,
When Boling broke with Pult'ney dines.

Besides; your Patron may upbraid ye,
got a Place already:

An Office for your Talents fit,
To flatter, carve, and shew your Witz
To snuff the Lights, and stir the Fire,

get a Dinner for your Hire.
What Claim have you to Place, or Penfon?
He overpays in Condescenfion.

But, Rev’rend Doctor, you, we know,
Cou'd never condescend fo low :
The Vice-Roy, whom you now attend
Wou'd, if he durst, be more your Friend;

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Nor will in


those Gifts despise,
By which himself was taught to rise:
When he has Virtue to retire,
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-submitting still
ToW-le's more than Royal Will,
And what Condition can be worse?
He comes to drqin a Beggar's Purse:
He comes to tye pur Chains on faster,
And shew us, Ę d is our Master :
Carefsing Knaves, and Dunces wooing,
To make them work their owp undoing.
What has he else tp bạit his Traps,
Or bring his Vermin in, but Scraps?
The Offals of a Churcb distress't,
A hungry Vicarage at best;
Or, some remote inferior Poft,
With Forty Pounds a Year at moft.

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 PH-PS writ.
I own, he hates an Ą&tion base,
His Virtues battling with his Place;
Nor wants a nice discerning Spirit,
Betwixt a true and fpurious 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 your Fortune's made
Must be a Sweet'ner by your Trade,
Shou'd swear he never meant us ill;
We fuffer 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 Cafe,
Who must obey, or lose his Place.

Since this Reflection slipt your Pen,
Insert it when you write agen:
And, to illustrate it, produce
This Simile for his Excuse.

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“ So, to destroy a guilty Land, “ An Angel sent by Heav'n's Command, “ While he obeys Almighty Will, “ Perhaps, may feel Compassion ftill; “ And wish the Task 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

and Ministers of State:
Who look on Courts with stricter Eyes,
To see the Seeds of Vice arise,
Can lend you an Allufion fitter,
Though flattring Knaves may call it bitter :

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