F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow. 55 P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years ago; Who now that obsolete example fears? Ev'n Peter trembles only for his ears. F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad; 60 P. Do I wrong the man? God knows, I praise a courtier where I can. But does the Court a worthy man remove? 65 70 75 80 How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour! How shin'd the soul, unconquer'd, in the Tow'r! How can I Pult'ney, Chesterfield, forget, While Roman spirit charms, and Attic wit! 85 Argyle, the state's whole thunder born to wield, Names which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain, Yet think not friendship only prompts my lays; I follow Virtue; where she shines, I praise: Point she to priest or elder, Whig or Tory, Or round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory. I never (to my sorrow I declare) Din'd with the Man of Ross, or my Lord May❜r. 95 100 Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look nor grave) Have still a secret bias to a knave: To find an honest man I beat about, And love him, court him, praise him, in or out. F. Then why so few commended? P. Not so fierce; 106 Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse. But random praise---the task can ne'er be done; 110 Each widow asks it for the best of men, For him she weeps, for him she weds agen. 115 Praise cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground; 123 O let my country's friends illumine mine! ---What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's no [sin; I think your friends are out, and would be in. 130 135 But pray, when others praise him do I blame? call Verres, Wolsey, any odious name? 140 Why rail they then if but a wreath of mine, Oh all-accomplish'd St. John! deck thy shrine ? 145: What! shall each spur-gall'd hackney of the day, When Paxton gives him double pots and pay, Or each new-pension'd sycophant pretend To break my windows, if I treat a friend; Then wisely plead to me they meant no hurt, But 'twas my guest at whom they threw the dirt? Şure if I spare the minister, no rules Of honour bind me not to maul his tools; 150 Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be said, His saws are toothless, and his hatchets lead. To see a footman kick'd that took his pay; But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave, 155 Knew one a man of honour, one a knave, The prudent gen'ral turn'd it to a jest, And begg'd he'd take the pains to kick the rest; 159 F. Hold, Sir! for God's sake; where's th' affront to Against your Worship when had S---k writ? [you? Or P---ge pour'd forth the torrent of his wit? Or grant the bard whose distich all commend (In pow'r a servant, out of pow'r a friend) To W--le guilty of some venial sin, What's that to you, who ne'er was out nor in? 165 The priest whose flattery bedropp'd the crown How hurt he you? he only stain'd the gown. And how did, pray, the florrid youth offend, 169 Whose speech you took, and gave it to a friend? P. Faith, it imports not much from whom it came; Whoever borrow'd, could not be to blame, Since the whole H. use did afterwards the same. Let courtly wits to wits afford supply, As hog to hog in huts of Westphaly: 175 From him the next receives it, thick or thin, 183 The blessed benefit, not there confin'd, Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind; F. This filthy simile, this beastly line, 186 Quite turns my stomach---P. So does flatt'ry mine ; But hear me further---Japhet, 'tis agreed, When truth or virtue an affront endures, 193 195 200 Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be your's. |