So very full of foppery, and whim,

So gentle, yet so brisk; so wondrous sweet,
So fit to prattle at a lady's feet;

Who looks as he the Lord's rich vineyard trod,
And by his garb appears a man of God?
Trust not to looks, nor credit outward show;
The villain lurks beneath the cassock'd beau;
That's an informer; what avails the name?
Suffice it that the wretch from Sodom came.
His tongue is deadly-from his presence run,
Unless thy rage would wish to be undone.
No ties can hold him, no affection bind,
And fear alone restrains his coward mind;
Free him from that, no monster is so fell,
Nor is so sure a blood-hound found in hell.
His silken smiles, his hypocritic air,
His meek demeanour, plausible and fair,
Are only worn to pave Fraud's easier way,
And make gull'd Virtue fall a surer prey.
Attend his church-his plan of doctrine view-
The preacher is a Christian, dull, but true;
But when the hallow'd hour of preaching's o'er,
That plan of doctrine's never thought of more;
Christ is laid by neglected on the shelf,
And the vile priest is Gospel to himself.

By Cleland tutor'd, and with Blacow bred,

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381

383 John Cleland, the son of Colonel Cleland, who was a friend of Pope's, and the Will Honeycomb of the Spectator, was the author of an infamously licentious publication, rendered the more dangerous and seductive by its elegance of language and assumed decency of expression, and which he sold for 20 guineas to a bookseller, who cleared above £10,000 by the sale of it. Mr. Cleland having been summoned before the privy council for this work, pleaded poverty as his

(Blacow, whom, by a brave resentment led,
Oxford, if Oxford had not sunk in fame,
Ere this, had damn'd to everlasting shame)
Their steps he follows, and their crimes partakes;
To virtue lost, to vice alone he wakes,

Most lusciously declaims 'gainst luscious themes,
And whilst he rails at blasphemy, blasphemes. 390
Are these the arts which policy supplies?

Are these the steps by which grave churchmen rise?
Forbid it, Heaven; or, should it turn out so,
Let me and mine continue mean and low.
Such be their arts whom interest controls;
Kidgell and I have free and modest souls:
We scorn preferment which is gain'd by sin,
And will, though poor without, have peace within.

excuse, upon which Lord Granville very nobly settled an annuity of £100 per annum upon him, on condition of his refraining from so immoral a style of writing. This annuity he enjoyed until his death in 1789, at the age of 82. He had been educated at Westminster school, where he was contemporary with Lord Mansfield, and was for a short time consul at Smyrna.

383 In the year 1747, a riot happened at Oxford, during which some of the students cried out repeatedly in the streets, King James for ever! Prince Charles! God bless the great King James the Third! Mr. Blacow complained to the Vice-Chancellor of this, and made the most strenuous exertions against the offenders. The Vice-Chancellor, imputing their misbehaviour to intoxication. endeavoured to waive the inquiry, but at length inflicted some trifling punishment on the delinquents. At last the Duke of Newcastle took cognizance of the offence; a prosecution was commenced in the Court of King's Bench, against Mr. Dawes and Mr. Whitmore, two of the students, who being found guilty, were sentenced to walk through Westminster-hall with a paper on their foreheads stating their crime, to pay a fine of five nobles each, be imprisoned for two years, and to find security for their good behaviour for seven years more.

town.

THE CONFERENCE.

HIS Poem was published by our Author in November 1763, soon after his elopement with Miss Carr had become a general topic of remark. In it he endeavours to separate his private from his public conduct, and in the bitterness of his soul contrasts the deviousness of the one with the rectitude of the other. Churchill and Wilkes were now at the height of their popularity. They were the "observed of all observers;" all their actions were keenly watched by enemies as well as friends; and their irregularities, exaggerated by report, were the common talk of the Their immorality and reckless disregard of public opinion were as universally condemned as they were notorious. In The Conference, Churchill anticipated the displeasure of the public, and by confessing the pain his errors had caused him, softened the indignation which was felt at his dissipated and vicious course of life. But though Churchill acknowledged his own faults he could not see those of his friend. There is something very touching in his friendship for Wilkes. Passages in Churchill's letters to Wilkes show that the rough and surly poet loved him almost with the tenderness of a woman. Such an affection is an honour to its object. There must have been something noble in Wilkes to inspire so pure a friendship.

THE CONFERENCE.

RACE said in form, which sceptics must

agree,

When they are told that grace was said
by me;

The servants gone, to break the scurvy jest
On the proud landlord, and his threadbare guest;
The King gone round, my Lady too withdrawn,
My Lord, in usual taste, began to yawn,
And, lolling backward in his elbow-chair,
With an insipid kind of stupid stare,
Picking his teeth, twirling his seals about-
"Churchill, you have a poem coming out:
You've my best wishes; but I really fear
Your Muse, in general, is too severe;
Her spirit seems her interest to oppose,
And where she makes one friend makes twenty foes."
C. Your Lordship's fears are just; I feel their force,
But only feel it as a thing of course.

The man whose hardy spirit shall engage
To lash the vices of a guilty age,

At his first setting forward ought to know
That every rogue he meets must be his foe;
That the rude breath of satire will provoke
Many who feel, and more who fear the stroke;
But shall the partial rage of selfish men

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From stubborn justice wrench the righteous pen? Or shall I not my settled course pursue,

Because my foes are foes to virtue too?

L. What is this boasted Virtue, taught in schools, And idly drawn from antiquated rules? What is her use? point out one wholesome end: Will she hurt foes, or can she make a friend? When from long fasts fierce appetites arise, Can this same Virtue stifle Nature's cries? Can she the pittance of a meal afford,

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Or bid thee welcome to one great man's board?
When northern winds the rough December arm
With frost and snow, can Virtue keep thee warm?
Canst thou dismiss the hard unfeeling dun
Barely by saying thou art Virtue's son ?
Or by base blundering statesmen sent to jail,
Will Mansfield take this Virtue for thy bail?
Believe it not, the name is in disgrace;
Virtue and Temple now are out of place.

Quit then this meteor, whose delusive ray
From wealth and honour leads thee far astray.
True virtue means, let Reason use her eyes,
Nothing with fools, and interest with the wise.
Wouldst thou be great, her patronage disclaim,
Nor madly triumph in so mean a name:
Let nobler wreaths thy happy brows adorn,
And leave to Virtue poverty and scorn.
Let Prudence be thy guide; who doth not know
How seldom Prudence can with Virtue go?
To be successful try thy utmost force,
And virtue follows as a thing of course.

Hirco, who knows not Hirco? stains the bed Of that kind master who first gave him bread;

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