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To shew the strength and infamy of pride,
By all 'tis follow'd, and by all deny'd.
What numbers are there which at once pursue
Praise, and the glory to contemn it too ?

140 Vincenna knows self-praise betrays to shame, And therefore lays a stratagem for fame; Makes his approach in Modesty's disguise, To win applause, and takes it by surprise. To err," says he," in small things is my fate." You know your answer, He's exact in great. “ My style,” says he," is rude and full of faults," « But, oh! what sense! what energy of thoughts!". That he wants algebra he must confess; " But not a soul to give our arms success. 150 " Ah! that's an hit indeed," Vincenna cries; " But who in heat of blood was ever wise ? “ I own 'twas wrong when thousands callid me back, To make that hopeless, ill-advis'd attack; “ All say 'twas madness, nor dare I deny: “ Sure never fool so well deserv'd to die."! Could this deceive in others, to be free, It ne'er, Vincenna! could deceive in thee, Whose conduct is a comment to thy tongue, So clear the dullest cannot take thee wrong: 1бо Thou on one sleeve wilt thy revenue wear, And haunt the court, without a prospect there. Are these expedients for renown? confess Thy little sell, that I may scorn thee less.

Be wise, Vincenna, and the court forsake;
Our fortunes there nor thou, nor I, shall make.
Ev'n men of merit, ere their point they gain,
In hardy service make a long campaign;
Most manfully besiege their patron's gale,
And oft' repuls'd, as oft' attack the great

170
With painful art, and application warm,
And take at last some little place by storm,
Enough to keep two shoes on Sunday clean,
And starve upon discreetly in Sheer-lane.
Already this thy fortune can afford,
Then starve without the favour of my Lord.
'Tis true great fortunes some great men confer,
But often, ev'n in doing right, they err:
From caprice, not from choice, their favour come;
They give, but think it toil to know to whom: 180
The man that's nearest, yawning, they advance:
'Tis inhumanity to bless by chance.
If Merit sues, and Greatness is so loath
To break its downy trance, I pity both.

I grant at court Philander, at his need, (Thanks to his lovely wife) finds friends indeed : Of ev'ry charm and virtue she's possessid: Philander thou art exquisitely bless'd: The public envy! Now, then, 'tis allow'd The man is found who may be justly proud: 190 But, see! how sickly is Ambition's taste ? Ambition feeds on trash, and loathes a feast;

Young.)

For, lo! Philander, of reproach afraid,
In secret loves his wife, but keeps her maid.

Some nymplis sell reputation, others buy,
And love a market where the rates run high.
Italian music's sweet, because 'ris dear;
Their vanity is tickled, not their ear:
Their tastes would lessen if the prices fell,
And Shakespeare's wretched stuff do quite as well:
Away the disenchanted fair would throng,
And own that English is their mother. tongue.

To shew how much our northern tastes refine,
Imported nymphs our peeresses outshine:
While tradesmen starve, these Philomels are gay;
Fur gen'rous lords had rather give than pay.

Behold the masquerade's fantastic scene!
The legislature join'd with Drury-lane !
When Britain calls, th’ embroider'd patriots run,
And serve iheir country---if the dance is done. 216

" Are we not then allow'd to be polite?"
Yes, doubtless; but first set your notions right.
Worth of politeness is the neediul ground;
Where that is wanting, this can ne'er be found.
Triflers not ev'o in trifles can excel;
'Tis solid bodies only polish well.

Great, chosen Prophet! for these latter days,
To turn a willing world from righteous ways!
Well, H-- -r, dost thou thy master serve;
Well has he seen his servant should not starve:

220

Thou to his name hast splendid temples rais'd,
In various forms of worship seen him prais'd;
Gaudy devotion, like a Roman, shown,
And sung sweet anthems in a tongue unknown.
Inferior off'rings to thy god of vice
Are duly paid, in fiddles, cards, and dice;
Thy sacrifice supreme an hundred maids !
That solemn rite of midnight masquerades!
If maids the quite exhausted Town denies,
An hundred head of cuckolds may suffice. 230
Thou smil'st, well pleas'd with the converted land,
To see the fifty chúrches at a stand.

And that thy minister may never fail,
But what thy hand has planted still prevail,
Of minor prophets, a succession sure,
The propagation of thy zeal secure.

See Commons, Peers, and Ministers of State,
In solemn council met, and deep debate!
What godlike enterprise is taking birih?
What wonder opens on th’expecting earth? 240
'Tis done! with loud applause the council rings!
Fix'd is the fate of whores and fiddle-strings !

Tho'bold these truths, thou, Muse! with truths like Wilt none offend whom 'tis a praise to please : [these Let others flatter to be flatter'd, thou, Like just tribunals, bend an awful brow. How terrible it were to common sense To write a satire which gave none offence?

Ard since from life I take the draughts you see,
If men dislike them, do they censure me,?

250
The fool and knave 'ois glorious to offend,
And godlike an attempt the world to mend;
The world, where lucky throws to blockheads fall,
Knaves know the game, and honest men pay all.

tiow hard for real worth to gain its price?
A man shall make his fortune in a trice,
If bless'd with pliant, tho? but slender sense,
Feign'd modesty, and real impudence,
A supple knee, smooth tongue, an easy grace,
A curse within, a smile upon his face.

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A beauteous sister, or convenient wife,
Are prizes in the lottery of life;
Genius and virtue they will soon defeat,
And lodge you in the boşom of the great.
To merit is but to provide a pain,
From men's refusing what you ought to gain.

May Dodington! this maxiın fail in you, Whom my presaging thoughts already view By Walpole's conduct fir’d, and friendship grac'd, Seill higher in your prince's favour plac'd, 270 And lending, here, those awful councils aid, Which you abroad with such success obey'd: : Bear this from one who holds your friendship dear: What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.

End of Satire Tbird.

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