But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, 290 And fhow the fenfe of it without the love; Who has the vanity to call you friend, 295 Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend ; 309 1 Let Sporus tremble-A. What? that thing of filk, 305 Sporus, that mere white curd of afs's milk? Satire or fenfe, alas! can Sporus feel? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, 310 In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal fmiles his emptinefs betray, 315 As fhallow ftreams run dimpling all the way. Whether in florid impotence he speaks, And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet fqueaks; Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad, Half froth, half venom, fpits himself abroad, 320 In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, Or fpite, or fmut, or rhymes, or blafphemies. $ 12 1 PROLOGUE His wit all fee-faw, between that and this, Now high, now low, now mafter up, now miss, Amphibious thing! that acting either part, A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest. Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the duft. Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool, 335 That flatt'ry, ev'n to kings, he held a shame, 340 345 Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had, The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad; The diftant threats of vengeance on his head, The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed; 3 350 A. But A. But why infult the poor, affront the great ? 360 A hireling fcribler, or a hireling peer, Knight of the poft corrupt, or of the fhire; 365 He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own. Yet foft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor. 370 Three thousand funs went down on Welfted's lye. 375 To please a mistress one afpers'd his life; He lafh'd him not, but let her be his wife: Let Budgel charge low Grubstreet on his quill, á It was a fin to call our neighbour fool : That harmless mother thought no wife a whore : 380 Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore ! 385 Unfpotted names, and memorable long! If there be force in virtue, or in fong. Of gentle blood (part shed in Honour's cause, While yet in Britain Honour had applause) Each parent sprung-A! What fortune, pray?—— P. Their own, 390 And better got, than Beftia's from the throne. Nor marrying discord in a noble wife, Stranger to civil and religious rage, The good man walk'd innoxious thro' his age. 395 No No courts he faw, no fuits would ever try; 400 Who fprung from kings fhall know lefs joy than I. 405 O friend! may each domeftic blifs be thine! Be no unpleafing melancholy mine : Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of repofing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, 410 Make langour smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep a while one parent from the sky! SATIRES |