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Yet Speech, e'en there, submissively withdraws From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause: Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy
laws. Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, What favourites gain, and what the nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose. The country wit, religion of the town, The courtier's learning, policy o’the' gown, Are best by thee express’d, and shine in thee alone, The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry, Lord's quibble, critic's jest; all end in thee; All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally,
EARL OF DORSET.
Though Artemisia talks by fits
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
And wear a cleaner smock.
Are oddly join'd by Fate:
That lies and stinks in state.
All white and black beside : Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, Her voice theatrically loud,
And masculine her stride.
All flutter, pride, and talk.
PHRYNE. Phryne had talents for mankind; Open she was and unconfined,
Like some free port of trade: Merchants unloaded here their freight, And agents from each foreign state
Here first their entry made. Her learning and good breeding such, Whether the Italian or the Dutch,
Spaniards or French, came to her; To all obliging she'd appear; 'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer,
'Twas S'il vous plait, Monsieur. Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes, Still changing names, religions, climes,
At length she turns a bride: In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades, She shines the first of batter'd jades,
And flutters in her pride. So have I known those insects fair (Which curious Germans hold so rare)
Still vary shapes and dyes ; Still gain new titles with new forms; First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms,
Then painted butterflies.
THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON.
PARSON, these things in thy possessing
He that has these may pass his life,
TO DR. ARBUTHNOT.
BEING THE PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES.
Advertisement. This paper is a sort of bill of complaint, hegun many years
since, and drawn up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of rank and fortune (the authors of · Verses to the Imitator of Horace,' and of an. Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court'] to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings (of which, being public, the public is judge) but my person, morals, and family; whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between the necessity to say something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake so awkward a task, I thought it the shortest way to put the last hand to this epistle. If it have any thing pleasing, it will be that by which I am most desirous to please, the truth and the sentiment: and if any thing offensive, it will be only to those I am least sorry to
offend, the vicious or the ungenerous. Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a
circumstance but what is true ; but I have, for the most part, spared their names, and they may escape being
laughed at if they please. I would have some of them know, it was owing to the request
of the learned and candid friend, to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as free use of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage and honour on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can possibly be done by mine, since a nameless character can never be found out but by its truth and likeness.
P. SHUT, shut the door, good John! (fatigued,
The dog-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt
Is there a parson much bemused in beer,
scrawls With desperate charcoal round his darken'd walls? All fly to Twit’nam, and in humble strain Apply to me to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause : Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. Friend to my
life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What drop or nostrum can this plague remove? Or wbich must end me, a fool's wrath or love? A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped; If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead. Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I! Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.