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Starve pretty talking! but I fain would view
That man, that honeft man, would do it too.
Hence to yon mountain which outbraves the sky,
And dart from pole to pole thy ftrengthen'd eye,
'Thro' all that space you fhall not view one man,
Not one, who dares to act on fuch a plan.
Cowards in calms will fay, what in a ítorm
The brave will tremble at, and not perform.
Thine be the proof, and, fpite of all you've faid,
You'd give your honour for a cruft of bread.

C. What proof might do what hunger might
fect,

What famifh'd Nature, looking with neglect
On all the once held dear, what fear, at itrife
With fainting Virtue for the means of life,
Might make this coward flesh, in love with breath,
Shudd'ring at pain, and fhrinking back from death,
In treafon to my foul, defcend to bear,
Truiting to Fate, I neither know nor care.

Once, at this hour thofe wounds afresh I feel,
Which nor profperity nor time can heal,
Thofe wounds, which Fate feverely hath decreed,
Mention'd or thought of, muft for ever bleed,
Those wounds, which humbled all that pride

man,

Which brings fuch mighty aid to Virtue's plan;
Once, aw'd by Fortune's most oppreffive frown,
By legal rapine to the earth bow'd down,
My credit at laft gafp, my state undone,
Trembling to meet the fhock I could not shun,
Virtue gave ground, and black despair prevail'd;
Sinking beneath the ftorm, my fpirits fail'd,
Like Peter's faith; 'till one, a friend indeed,
May all diftrefs find fuch in time of need,
One kind good man, in act, in word, in thought,
By Virtue guided, and by Wisdom taught,
Image of him whom Chriftians should adore,

ef

of

From the indulgence of the Public rife ;
All private patronage my foul defies.

By candour more inclin'd to fave, than damn,
A gen'rous PUBLIC made me what I am.
All that I have, they gave; just Mem'ry bears
The grateful ftamp, and what I am is theirs.

L. To feign a red-hot zeal for Freedom's caufe,
To mouth aloud for liberties and laws,
For public good to bellow all abroad,
Serves well the purposes of private fraud.
Prudence by public good intends her own;
If you mean otherwife, you stand alone.
What do we mean by Country and by Court?
What is it to Oppofe, what to Support?
Mere words of course, and what is more abfurd
Than to pay homage to an empty word ?
Majors and Minors differ but in name,
Patriots and Ministers are much the fame;
The only diff'rence, after all their rout,
Is, that the one is in, the other out.

Explore the dark receffes of the mind, In the foul's honeft volume read mankind, And own, in wife and fimple, great and small, The fame grand leading principle in all. Whate'er we talk of wisdom to the wife, Of goodness to the good, of public ties Which to our country link, of private bands Which claim moft dear attention at our hands, For parent and for child, for wife and friend, Our firft great Mover, and our latt great End, Is one, and, by whatever name we call The ruling tyrant, Self is all in all. This, which unwilling Faction fhall admit, Guided in diff'rent ways a Bute and Pitt, Made Tyrants break, made Kings observe the law, And gave the world a Stuart and Naffau.

Hath Nature (ftrange and wild conceit of pride)

Stretch'd forth his hand, and brought me fafe to Diftinguifh'd thee from all her fons befide?

fhore.

Since, by good fortune into notice rais'd,
And for fome little merit largely prais'd,
Indulg'd in fwerving from prudential rules,
Hated by rogues, and not belov'd by fools,
Plac'd above want, fhall abject thirst of wealth
So fiercely war 'gainft my foul's dearest health,
That, as a boon, I fhould base fhackles crave,
And, born to freedom, make myself a slave;
That I fhould in the train of those appear,
Whom Honour cannot love, nor Manhood fear?
That I no longer fkulk from street to street,
Afraid left duns affail, and bailiffs meet;
That I from place to place this carcafe bear,
Walk forth at large, and wander free as air;
That I no longer dread the aukward friend,
Whofe very obligations must offend,

Nor, all too forward, with impatience burn,
At fuff'ring favours which I can't return;
That, from dependence and from pride secure,
I am not plac'd fo high to fcorn the poor,
Nor yet fo low, that I my Lord fhould fear,
Or hesitate to give him fneer for fueer;
That, whilft fage Prudence my pursuits confirms,
I can enjoy the world on equal terms;
That, kind to others, to myfelf most true,
Feeling no want, I comfort those who do,
And with the will have power to aid distress:
Thefe, and what other bleffings I poffefs,

Doth virtue in thy bofom brighter glow,
Or from a spring more pure doth action flow?
Is not thy foul bound with those very chains
Which shackle us; or is that Self, which reigns
O'er kings and beggars, which in all we fee
Moft ftrong and fov'reign, only weak in thee?
Fond man, believe it not; experience tells
'Tis not thy virtue, but thy pride rebels.
Think (and for once lay by thy lawless pen)
Think, and confefs thyfelf like other men ;
Think but one hour, and to thy confcience led
By Reafon's hand, how down and hang thy head;
Think on thy private life, recal thy youth,
View thyself now, and own with strictest truth,
That Self hath drawn thee from fair Virtue's

way

Farther than Folly would have dar'd to stray,
And that the talents lib'ral Nature gave
To make thee free, have made thee more a flave.
Quit then, in prudence quit, that idle train
Of toys, which have fo long abus'd thy brain,
And captive led thy pow'rs; with boundless will
Let Self maintain her state and empire still,
But let her, with more worthy objects caught,
Strain all the faculties and force of thought
To things of higher daring; let her range
Thro' better pastures, and learn how to change;
Let her, no longer to weak faction tied,
Wifely revolt, and join our stronger fide.

C. Ah! what, my Lord, hath private life to do
With things of public nature? Why to view
Would you thus cruelly thofe fcenes unfold,
Which, without pain and horror to behold,
Muft fpeak me fomething more or less than man;
Which friends may pardon, but I never can?
Look back! a thought which borders on despair,
Which human nature muft, yet cannot bear.
'Tis not the babbling of a bufy world,
Where praise and cenfure are at random hurl'd,
Which can the meanest of my thoughts controul,
Or shake one fettled purpose of my foul.
Free and at large might their wild curses roam,
If all, if all, alas! were well at home.
No 'tis the tale which angry Conscience tells,
When the with more than tragic horror fwells
Each circumftance of guilt; when stern but true,
She brings bad actions forth into review ;
And, like the dread hand-writing on the wall,
Bids late Remorfe awake at Reafon's call;
Arm'd at all points bids fcorpion Vengeance pass,
And to the mind holds up Reflection glass ;
The mind, which starting, heaves the heart-felt
groan,

And hates that form the knows to be her own.
Enough of this-let private forrows reft-
As to the Public I dare stand the test;
Dare proudly boaft, I feel no wish above
The good of England, and my Country's love.
Stranger to party-rage, by Reason's voice,
Unerring guide, directed in my choice,
Not all the tyrant pow'rs of earth combin'd,
No, nor of hell, shall make me change my mind.
What! herd with men my honeft soul disdains,
Men who, with fervile zeal, are forging chains
For Freedom's neck, and lend a helping hand,
To spread deftruction o'er my native land.
What! fhall I not, e'en to my latest breath,
In the full face of danger and of death,
Exert that little ftrength which Nature gave,
And boldly ftem, or perish in the wave?

L. When I look backward for fome fifty years,
And fee protefting Patriots turn to Peers ;
Hear men most loofe, for decency declaim,
And talk of character without a name ;
See infidels affert the cause of God,

And meek divines wield perfecution's rod;
See men transform'd to brutes, and brutes to men,
See Whitehead* take a place, † Ralph change his
pen,

I mock the zeal, and deem the men in sport,
Who rail at Minifters, and curse a Court.
Thee, haughty as thou art, and proud in rime,
Shall fome preferment, offer'd at a time
When Virtue fleeps, fome facrifice to pride,
Or fome fair victim, move to change thy fide.
Thee shall these eyes behold, to health reftor'd,
Ufing, as Prudence bids, bold Satire's (word,
Galling thy prefent friends, and praifing those,
Whom now thy frenzy holds thy greatest foes.

C. May I (can worfe difgrace on manhood fall?)
Be born a Whitehead, and baptiz'd a Paul;
May I (tho' to his service deeply tied
By facred oaths, and now by will allied)

*Paul Whitehead.

James Ralph. See Lord Melcombe's " Diary."

With falfe feign'd zeal an injur'd God defend,
And use his name for fome base private end;
May I (that thought bids double horrors roll
O'er my fick fpirits, and unmans my foul)
Ruin the virtue which I held moft dear,
And still must hold; may I, thro' abject fear,
Betray my friend; may to fucceeding times,
Engrav'd on plates of adamant, my crimes
Stand blazing forth, whilst mark'd with envious blot,
Each little act of virtue is forgot;

Of all thofe evils which, to ftamp men curs'd,
Hell keeps in ftore for vengeance, may the worst
Light on my head, and in my day of woe,
To make the cup of bitterness o'erflow,
May I be fcorn'd by ev'ry man of worth,
Wander, like Cain, a vagabond on earth,
Bearing about a hell in my own mind,
Or be to Scotland for my life confin'd,
If I am one among the many known,
Whom Shelburne fled, and Calcraft blufh'd to own.
L. Do you reflect what men you make your foes?
C. I do, and that's the reafon I oppofe.
Friends I have made, whom Envy must commend,
But not one foe, whom I would with a friend.
What if ten thoufand Butes and Hollands bawl,
One Wilkes hath made a large amends for all.
'Tis not the title, whether handed down
From age to age, or flowing from the crown
In copious ftreams on recent men, who came
From ftems unknown, and fires without a name?
'Tis not the ftar, which our great Edward gave
To mark the virtuous, and reward the brave,
Blazing without, whilft a base heart within
Is rotten to the core with filth and fin;
'Tis not the tinfel grandeur, taught to wait,
At cuftom's call, to mark a fool of state
From fools of leffer note, that foul can awe
Whose Pride is Reafon, whofe defence is Law,

L. Suppofe (a thing scarce poffible in art,
Were it thy cue to play a common part ;)
Suppofe thy writings fo well fenc'd in law,
That Norton cannot find, nor make a flaw,
Haft thou not heard, that 'mongst our ancient tribes,
By party warpt, or lull'd afleep by bribes,
Or trembling at the ruffian hand of Force,
Law hath fufpended ftood, or chang'd its course?
Art thou affur'd, that, for destruction ripe,
Thou may'st not smart beneath the self-fame gripe?
What fanction haft thou, frantic in thy rimes,
Thy life, thy freedom to fecure?

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Life we might all refign to lawless pow'r,
Nor think it worth the purchase of an hour:
But Envy ne'er fhall fix fo foul a stain
On the fair annals of a Brunfwick's reign.
If, flave to party, to revenge, or pride,
If, by frail human error drawn afide,
I break the Law, ftrict rigour let her wear;
'Tis her's to punish, and 'tis mine to bear ;
Nor by the voice of Justice doom'd to death,
Would I ask mercy with my latest breath.
But, anxious only for my Country's good,
In which my King's, of courfe, is understood;
Form'd on a plan with fome few patriot friends,
Whilft by just means I aim at nobleft ends,
My fpirits cannot fink; tho' from the tomb
Stern Jeffries fhould be plac'd in Mansfield's room;
Tho' he should bring, his bafe designs to aid,
Some black Attorney, for his purpose made,
And fhove, whilft Decency and Law retreat,
The modeft Norton from his maiden feat;
Tho' both, in ill confed'rates, fhould agree,
In damned league, to torture law and me,
Whilft George is King, I cannot fear endure;
Not to be guilty, is to be fecure.

But when, in after-times, (be far remov'd
That day) our monarch, glorious and belov'd,
Sleeps with his fathers, fhould imperious Fate,
In vengeance, with fresh Stuarts curse our state;
Should they, o'erleaping ev'ry fence of law,
Butcher the brave to keep tame fools in awe ;
Should they, by brutal and oppreffive force,
Divert fweet Juftice from her even course;
Should they, of ev'ry other means bereft,
Make my right-hand a witnefs 'gainst my left;
Should they, abroad by Inquifitions taught,
Search out my foul, and damn me for a thought;
Still would I keep my courfe, ftill fpeak,
write,

ftill

'Till death had plung'd me in the fhades of night. Thou God of Truth, thou great, all-fearching

eye,

To whom our thoughts, our fpirits open lie,
Grant me thy ftrength, and in that needful hour,
(Should it e'er come) when Law submits to Pow'r,
With firm refolve my steady bofom steel,
Bravely to fuffer, tho' I deeply feel.

Let me, as hitherto, ftill draw my breath,
In love with life, but not in fear of death;
And, if Oppreffion brings me to the grave,
And marks me dead, fhe ne'er fhall mark a slave.
Let no unworthy marks of grief be heard,
No wild laments, not one unfeemly word;
Let fober triumphs wait upon my bier,

I won't forgive that friend who drops one tear,
Whether he's ravifh'd in life's early morn,
Or, in old age, drops like an ear of corn,
Full ripe he falls, on Nature's nobleft plan,
Who lives to Reafun, and who dies a Man.

END OF THE CONFERENCE.

THF

AUTHOR.

A

CCURS'D the man, whom Fate ordains in
spite,

And cruel parents teach, to Read and Write!
What need of letters? Wherefore fhould we fpell?
Why write our names? A mark will do as well,
Much are the precious hours of youth mis-spent,
In climbing Learning's rugged steep afcent;
When to the top the bold adventurer's got,
He reigns, vain monarch, o'er a barren spot,
Whilft in the vale of Ignorance below,
Folly and Vice to rank luxuriance grow;
Honours and wealth pour in on ev'ry fide,
And proud Preferment rolls her golden tide. ̧

O'er crabbed authors life's gay prime to waste,
To cramp wild genius in the chains of taste,
To bear the flavish drudgery of schools,
And tamely stoop to ev'ry pedant's rules,
For feven long years debarr'd of lib'ral ease,
To plod in college trammels to degrees,
Beneath the weight of folemn toys to groan,
Sleep over books, and leave mankind unknown;
To praife each fenior blockhead's thread-bare tale,
And laugh till reafon blufh, and fpirits fail,
Manhood with vile fubmiffion to disgrace,
And cap the fool, whofe merit is his place;
Vice-Chancellors, whofe knowledge is but fmall,
And Chancellors, who nothing know at all:
Ill-brook'd the gen'rous fpirit in those days
When learning was the certain road to praise,
When nobles, with a love of science blefs'd,
Approv'd in others what themselves poffefs'd.

But now, when Dullness rears aloft her throne,
When Lordly vaffals her wide empire own,
When Wit, feduc'd by Envy, ftarts afide,
And bafely leagues with Ignorance and Pride,
What now fhould tempt us, by false hopes mifled,
Learning's unfashionable paths to tread ;

To bear thofe labours, which our fathers bore,
That crown with-held, which they in triumph wore?
When with much pains this boafted learning's got,
'Tis an affront to those who have it not.
In fome it caufes hate, in others fear,
Inftructs our foes to rail, our friends to fneer.
With prudent hafte the worldly-minded fool
Forgets the little which he learn'd at school;
The elder brother, to vast fortunes born,
Looks on all fcience with an eye of scorn;
Dependent brethren the fame features wear,
And younger fons are ftupid as the heir,
In Senates, at the Bar, in Church and State,
Genius is vile, and Learning out of date.

Is this O death to think! is this the land
Where Merit and Reward went hand in hand,
Where heroes, parent-like, the Poet view'd,
By whom they faw their glorious deeds renew'd ;
Where Poets, true to honour, tun'd their lays,
And by their patron fanctify'd their praise ?
Is this the land, where, on our Spenfer's tongue,
Enamour'd of his voice, defcription hung;
Where Jonfon rigid gravity beguil'd,
Whilft Reason thro' her critic fences fmil'd;

Where Nature lift'ning ftood, whilst Shakespeare

play'd,

And wonder'd at the work herself had made?
Is this the land, where, mindful of her charge
And office high, fair Freedom walk'd at large;
Where, finding in our laws a fure defence,
She mock'd at all restraints, but those of sense;
Where Health and Honour trooping by her fide,
She spread her facred empire far and wide;
Pointed the way Affliction to beguile,
And bade the face of Sorrow wear a fmile;
Bade those, who dare obey the gen'rous call,
Enjoy her bleffings, which God meant for all?
Is this the land, where in fome tyrant's reign,
When a weak, wicked, minifterial train,

The tools of pow'r, the slaves of int'reft, plann'd
Their Country's ruin, and with bribes unmann'd
Those wretches, who, ordain'd in Freedom's cause,
Gave up their liberties, and fold our laws;
When Pow'r was taught by Meannefs where to go,
Nor dar'd to love the virtue of a foe;
When, like a lep'rous plague, from the foul head
To the foul heart her fores Corruption spread,
Her iron arm when stern Oppreffion rear'd,
And Virtue, from her broad bafe fhaken, fear'd
The fcourge of Vice; when, impotent and vain,
Poor Freedom bow'd the neck to Slavery's chain;
Is this the land, where in thofe worst of times,
The hardy Poet rais'd his honest rimes
To dread rebuke, and bade controulment speak
In guilty blushes on the villain's cheek,
Bade pow'r turn pale, kept mighty rogues in awe,
And made them fear the Mufe, who fear'd not Law?

How do I laugh, when men of narrow fouls,
Whom folly guides, and prejudice controuls;
Who, one dull drowsy track of business trod,
Worship their Mammon and neglect their God;
Who, breathing by one musty set of rules,
Dote from the birth, and are by fyftem fools;
Who, form'd to dullness from their very youth,
Lies of the day prefer to Gospel truth,
Pick up their little knowledge from Reviews,
And lay out all their stock of faith in news :
How do I laugh, when creatures, form'd like thefe,
Whom Reason fcorns, and I should blush to please,
Rail at all lib'ral arts, deem verse a crime,
And hold not truth as truth, if told in rime?
How do I laugh, when Publius, hoary groan
In zeal for Scotland's welfare and his own,
By flow degrees, and courfe of office, drawn
In mood and figure at the helm to yawn,
Too mean (the worst of curfes Heav'n can fend)
To have a foe, too proud to have a friend,
Erring by form, which blockheads facred hold,
Ne'er making new faults, and ne'er mending old,
Rebukes my fpirit, bids the daring Mufe
Subjects more equal to her weakness chufe ;
Bids her frequent the haunts of humble fwains,
Nor dare to traffick in ambitious strains;
Bids her, indulging the poetic whim
In quaint-wrought Ode, or Sonnet pertly trim,.
Along the church-way path complain with Gray,
Or dance with Mafon on the firft of May?
"All facred is the name and pow'r of Kings,
"All States and Statesmen are thofe mighty things
Which, howfoe'er they out of courfe may roll,
4 Were never made for Poets to controul."

4

Peace, peace, thou dotard, nor thus vilely deem
Of facred numbers, and their pow'r blafpheme:
I tell thee, wretch, fearch all creation round,
In earth, in heav'n, no fubject can be found
(Our God alone except) above whose weight
The Poet cannot rife, and hold his state.
The bleffed Saints above in numbers speak
The praife of God, tho' there all praise is weak;
In numbers here below the Bard fhall teach
Virtue to foar beyond the villains reach ;
Shall tear his lab'ring lungs, ftrain his hoarse throat,
And raife his voice beyond the trumpet's note,
Should an afflicted Country, aw'd by men
Of flavish principles, demand his pen.
This is a great, a glorious point of view,
Fit for an English Poet to pursue,
Undaunted to pursue, tho' in return,
His writings by the common hangman burn.

How do I laugh, when men, by fortune plac'd
Above their betters, and by rank difgrac'd,
Who found their pride on titles which they stain,
And, mean themselves, are of their fathers vain;
Who would a bill of privilege prefer,

And treat a Poet like a creditor,

The gen'rous ardour of the Mufe condemn, And curfe the ftorm they know must break on them. What, fhall a reptile Bard, a wretch unknown, "Without one badge of merit, but his own, "Great Nobles lafh, and Lords, like common

men,

"Smart from the vengeance of a fcribbler's pen ?"

What's in this name of Lord, that I fhould fear To bring their vices to the public ear? Flows not the honeft blood of humble fwains Quick as the tide which swells a monarch's veins ? Monarchs, who wealth and titles can bestow, Cannot make virtues in fucceffion flow. Would't thou, proud man, be fafely plac'd above The cenfure of the Mufe, deferve her love, Act as thy birth demands, as nobles ought; Look back, and by thy worthy father taught, Who earn'd thofe honours, thou wert born to wear, Follow his fteps, and be his Virtues' heir. But if, regardless of the road to fame, You start afide, and tread the paths of shame; If fuch thy life, that fhould thy fire arife, The fight of fuch a fon would blaft his eyes, Would make him curfe the hour which gave thee birth,

Would drive him, fhudd'ring, from the face of earth.

Once more, with shame and sorrow, 'mongst the dead
In endlefs night to hide his rev'rend head;
If fuch thy life, tho' Kings had made thee more
Than ever King a fcoundrel made before;
Nay, to allow thy pride a deeper fpring,
Tho' God in vengeance had made thee a King,
Taking on Virtue's wing her daring flight,

The Mufe fhould drag thee trembling to the light,
Probe thy foul wounds, and lay thy bofom bare
To the keen queftion of the searching air.

Gods! with what pride I fee the titled flave,
Who fmarts beneath the stroke which Satire, gave,
Aiming at eafe, and with dishonest art,
Striving to hide the feelings of his heart!
How do I laugh, when with affected air,
(Scarce able thro' despite to keep his chair,

Whilft on his trembling lip pale anger fpeaks, And the chaf'd blood flies mounting to his cheeks) He talks of confcience, which good men fecures From all thofe evil moments guilt endures, And feems to laugh at thofe, who pay regard To the wild ravings of a frantic bard. "Satire, whilft envy and ill-humour sway "The mind of man, must always make her way; "Nor to a bofom, with discretion fraught, "Is all her malice worth a fingle thought. "The Wife have not the will, nor Fools the pow'r "Toftop her headstrong courfe; within the hour, "Left to herself, the dies; opposing strife "Gives her fresh vigour, and prolongs her life. "All things her prey, and ev'ry man her aim, "I can no patent for exemption claim, "Nor would I wish to ftop that harmless dart "Which plays around, but cannot wound my heart; "Tho' pointed at myself, be Satire free ; "To her 'tis pleasure, and no pain to me."

Diffembling wretch! hence to the Stoic fchool, And there amongst thy brethren play the fool; There, unrebuk'd, these wild, vain doctrines preach; Lives there a man, whom Satire cannot reach? Lives there a man, who calmly can stand by, And fee his confcience ripp'd with steady eye? When Satire flies abroad on Falfhood's wing, Short is her life, and impotent her fting; But, when to Truth allied, the wound the gives Sinks deep, and to remotest ages lives. When in the tomb thy pamper'd flesh fhall rot, And e'en by friends thy mem'ry be forgot, Still fhalt thou live, recorded for thy crimes, Live in her page, and stink to after-times.

Haft thou no feeling yet? Come throw off pride, And own thofe paffions which thou shalt not hide. S, who from the moment of his birth, Made human nature a reproach on earth; Who never dar'd, nor with'd behind to stay, When Folly, Vice, and Meanness led the way, Would blush, should he be told, by Truth and Wit, Thofe actions which he blush'd not to commit; Men the most infamous are fond of fame, And those who fear not guilt, yet start at shame.

But whither runs my zeal, whofe rapid force, Turning the brain, bears Reason from her courfe; Carries me back to times, when Poets, blefs'd With courage, grac'd the science they profefs'd; When they, in honour rooted, firmly stood The bad to punish, and reward the good; When, to a flame by public Virtue wrought, The foes of Freedom they to justice brought, And dar'd expose those flaves who dar'd fupport A tyrant plan, and call'd themselves a Court ? Ah! what are Poets now? As flavish those Who deal in verse, as those who deal in profe. Is there an Author, fearch the kingdom round, In whom true worth and real spirit's found? The flaves of bookfellers, or (doom'd by Fate To bafer chains) vile penfioners of State; Some, dead to shame, and of those shackles proud Which Honour fcorns, for flav'ry roar aloud; Others half-palfied only, mutes become, And what makes Smollet write, makes Johnson

dumb.

Why turns yon villain pale? Why bends his eye Isard, abafh'd, when Murphy paffes by ?

Doft thou fage Murphy for a blockhead take,
Who wages war with Vice for Virtue's fake?
No, no-like other worldlings, you will find
He fhifts his fails, and catches ev'ry wind.
His foul the fhock of int'reft can't endure:
Give him a penfion then, and fin fecure.

With laurell'd wreaths the flatt'rer's brows adorn,
Bid Virtue crouch, bid Vice exalt her horn,
Bid Cowards thrive, put Honefty to flight,
Murphy fhall prove, or try to prove it right.
Try, thou State-Juggler, ev'ry paltry art,
Ranfack the inmoft closet of my heart,

Swear thou'rt my friend; by that base oath make way

Into my breaft, and flatter to betray:

Or, if those tricks are vain, if wholesome doubt
Detects the fraud, and points the villain out,
Bribe thofe who daily at my board are fed,
And make them take my life who eat my bread;
On authors for defence, for praife depend;
Pay him but well, and Murphy is thy friend.
He, he thall ready stand with venal rimes,
To varnish guilt, and confecrate thy crimes;
To make Corruption in false colours shine,
And damn his own good name, to rescue thine.

But if thy niggard hands their gifts with-hold,
And Vice no longer rains down show'rs of gold,
Expect no mercy; facts, well grounded, teach,
Murphy, if not rewarded, will impeach.
What tho' each man of nice and jufter thought,
Shunning his fteps, decrees, by Honour taught,
He ne'er can be a friend, who stoops fo low
To be the bafe betrayer of a foe;

What tho', with thine together link'd, his name
Must be with thine tranfmitted down to fhame,
To ev'ry manly feeling callous grown,
Rather than not blaft thine, he'll blast his own.

To ope the fountain whence fedition springs,
To flander Government, and libel Kings,
With Freedom's name to ferve a prefent hour,
Tho' born and bred to arbitrary pow'r,
To talk of William with infidious art,
Whilft a vile Stuart's lurking in his heart,
And, whilft mean Envy rears her loathsome head,
Flatt'ring the living, to abuse the dead,
Where is Shebbeare? O, let not foul reproach,
Travelling thither in a City coach,

The pill'ry dare to name; the whole intent
Of that parade was Fame, not Punishment,
And that old ftaunch Whig Beardmore standing by
Can in full Court give that report the lye.

With rude unnat'ral jargon to fupport,
Half Scotch, half English, a declining Court;
To make moft glaring contraries unite,
And prove, beyond difpute, that black is white;
To make firm Honour tamely league with Shame,
Make Vice and Virtue differ but in name;
To prove that Chains and Freedom are but one,
That to be fav'd muft mean to be undone,
Is there not Guthrie? Who, like him can call
All oppofites to proof, and conquer all?
He calls forth living waters from the rock;
He calls forth children from the barren stock;
He, far beyond the fprings of Nature led,
Makes women bring forth after they are dead;
He, on a curious, new, and happy plan,
In wedle's facred bands joins man to man 5

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