The clamours of ten thousand tongues
Break not his reit, nor hurt his lungs.
Iowa, his confcious always free
(Provided he has got his fee);
Secure of conftant peace within,
He knows no guilt, who knows no fin.
Yet well they merit to be pitied,
By chenis always over-witted.
And though the gospel feems to fay
What heavy burthens lawyers lay
Upon the fhoulders of their neighbour,
Nar lend a finger to the labour,
Always for faving their own bacon;
No doubt, the text is here mistaken:
The copy's falfe, and fenfe is rack'd:
To prove it, I appeal to fact;
And thus by demonftration show
What burthens lawyers undergo.

With early clients, at his door,
Though he was drunk the night before,
And crop-fick with unclubb'd-for wine,
The wretch must be at court by nine;
Half funk beneath his briefs and bag,
As ridden by a midnight hag:

Then from the bar, harangues the bench,
In English vile, and viler French,
And Latin, vilelt of the three;
And all for poor ten moidores fee!
Of paper how is he protuse,

With periods long, in terms abstruse!
What pains he takes to be prolix,
A thousand lines to ftand for fix!
Of common fenie without a word in!
And is not this a grievous burden?

The lawyer is a common drudge,
To Eght our caufe before the judge:
And, what is yet a greater curie,
Condemn'd to bear his client's purfe;
While he, at eafe, fecure and light,
Waks boldly home at dead of night;
When term is ended, leaves the town,
Trots to his country-manfion down;
And, difencumber'd of his load,
No danger dreads upon the road;
Depiteth rapparees, and rides

Safe through the Newry mountains' sides.
Lindlay, 'tis you have fet me on,
Te ftate this question pro and con.
Myiatire may offend, 'tis true;
However, it concerns not you.
lown, there may, in every clan,
Perhaps, be found one honest man;
Yet link them clofe, in this they jump,
To be but rafcals in the lump.
Imagine Lindiay at the bar,

He much the fame his brethren are;
We taught by practice to imbibe
The fundamentals of his tribe:
And, in his client's just defence,
Mut deviate oft' from common fenfe;
And make his ignorance difcerned,
To get the name of Council Learned
(As lucus comes à non lucendo),
And wifely do as other men do:
But fhift him to a better scene,
Among his crew of rogues in grain;
Surrounded with companions fit,
To taste his humour, fense, and wit;

You'd fwear he never took a fee,
Nor knew in law his A, B, C.

'Tis hard, where dulnets over-rules,
To keep good fenfe in crowds of fools.
And we admire the man who faves
His honefty in crowds of knaves;
Nor yields up virtue, at difcretion,
To villains of his own profeffion.
Lindsay, you know what pains you take
In both, yet hardly fave your stake;
And will you venture both anew,
To fit among that venal crew,
That pack of mimic legiflators,
Abandon'd, ftupid, flavish praters!
For, as the rabble daub and rifle
The fool who fcrambles for a trifle:
Who for his pains is cuff'd and kick'd,
Drawn through the dirt, his pockets pick'd;
You must expect the like difgrace,
Scrambling with rogues to get a place;
Must lose the honour you have gain'd,
Your numerous virtues foully stain'd;
Difclaim for ever all pretence

To common honefty and fenfe;
And join in friendship with a strict tie,
To M---1, C---y, and Dick Tighe *.

A DIALOGUE

AN afs's hoof alone can hold

That poisonous juice which kills by cold.
Methought, when I this poem read,
No vellel but an afs's head
Such frigid fuftian could contain;
I mean, the head without the brain.
The cold conceits, the chilling thoughts,
Went down like ftupifying draughts:
I found my head began to swim,
A numbness crept through every limb.
In hafte, with imprecations dire,
I threw the volume in the fire:

When, (who could think?) though cold as ice,
It burnt to ashes in a trice.

How could I more enhance its fame? Though born in fnow, it dy'd in flame.

*Edward Hyde, the firft earl of Clarendon.

The celebrated Bishop of Salisbury.

A degraded clergyman of the church of England, who wrote against the miracles of Chrift.

In the county of Armagh, where Dr. Swift, in the year 1729, had fome thoughts of building; as at pears by feveral of the following Poems.

64

"Credis ob hoc, me, Paftor, opes fortaffe rogare, Propter quod, vulgus, craffaque turba rogat." MART. Epig. lib. i

THOU wife and learned ruler of our ifle,
Whofe guardian care can all her griefs beguile;
When next your generous foul fhall condefcend
T' instruct or entertain your humble friend;
Whether, retiring from your weighty charge,
On fome high theme you learnedly enlarge;
Of all the ways of wildom reafon well,
How Richelieu rofe, and how Sejanus fell:
Or, when your brow lefs thoughtfully unbends,
Circled with Swift and fome delighted friends;
When, mixing mirth and wildom with your win
Like that your wit fhail flow, your genius fhine;
Nor with lefs praife the converfation guide,
Than in the public councils you decide:
Or when the Dean, long privileg'd to rail,
Alerts his friends with more impetuous zeal;
You hear (whill I fit by abafh'd and mute),
With foft concettions fhortening the difpute;
Then clofe with kind inquiries of my state,
"How are your tithes, and have they rofe of late
"Why Chrift-Church is a pretty fituation,
"There are not many better in the nation!

This, with your other things, muft yield you cle "Some fix---at least five hundred pounds a year Suppote, at fuch a time, I took the freedom To fpeak thefe truths as plainly as you read 'em (You shall rejoin, my lord, when I've replied, And, if you pleafe, my lady fhall decide):

66

My lord, I'm fatisfied you meant me well "And that I'm thankful all the world can tell: "But you'll forgive me, if I own th' event "Is fhort, is very fhort, of your intent;

At leaft, I feel fome ills unfelt before,

My income lets, and my expences more." How, doctor! double vicar! double recto "A dignitary! with a city lecture! "What glebes-what dues-what tithes---wh fines what rent!

Why, doctor !---will you never be content?" "Would my good lord but caft up the accou "And fee to what my revenues amount,

66

My titles ample! but my gain fo small, "That one good vicarage is worth them all: "And very wretched fure is he, that's double "In nothing but his titles and his trouble. "Add to this crying grievance, if you please, My horfes founder'd on Fermanah ways; Ways of well-polifh'd and well-pointed stone "Where every itep endangers every bone; "And more to raife your pity and your wonder "Two churches--twelve Hibernian miles afunde "With complicated cures, I labour hard in, "Befides whole fummers absent from my garden!. But that the world would think I play'd th fool, [íchool *"I'd change with Charley Grattan for h

*A free-fchool at Inniskillen, founded by Era mus Smith, Efq.

And what would a philofopher have more? You cannot with for coaches, kitchens, cooks---" My lord I've not enough to buy me books--"Or pray, fuppofe my wants were all fupplied, "Are there no wants, I should regard befide? "Whole breaft is fo unmann'd, as not to grieve, Compais'd with miferies he can't relieve?

Who can be happy---who fhould wish to live, And want the godlike happinets to give? (That I'm a judge of this, you must allow: I had it once---and I'm debarr'd it now.) Afk our own heart, my lord, if this be true, Then how unbleft am I! how bleft are you!" 'Tis true--but, doctor, let us wave all that--Say, if you had your wish, what you'd be at.' * Excufe me, good my lord--I won't be founded, "Nor fhall your favour by my wants be bounded. My lord, I challenge nothing as my due,

Nor is it fit I fhould prefcribe to you.

Yet this might Symmachus himself avow
(Whole rigid rules are antiquated now)---
My lord, I'd wish to pay the debts I owe---
I'd with befides---to build, and to bestow."

AN EPISTLE ON AN EPISTLE
From a certain Door to a certain great Lord.
BEING A CHRISTMAS-BOX FOR DR. DELANY.

As Jove will not attend on lefs,
When things of more importance prefs;
You can't grave Sir, believe it hard,
That you, a low Hibernian bard,
Should cool your heels awhile, and wait
Unaniwer'd at your patron's gate:
And would my lord vouchsafe to grant
This one, poor, humble boon I want,
Free leave to play his Secretary,
As Falstaff afted old King Harry;
I'd tell of yours in rhyme and print:
Folks thrug, and cry There's nothing in't.
And, after feveral readings over,
It fhines most in the marble cover.
How could fo fine a tafte difpenfe,
With mean degrees of wit and fenfe?

+ Sir Ralph Gorr, who had a villa in the lake of Erin.

Nor will my lords fo far beguile
The wife and learned of our ifle;
To make it pass upon the nation,
By dint of his fole approbation.
The talk is arduous, patrons find,
To warp the fenfe of all mankind;
Who think your muse must first aspire,
Ere he advance the doctor higher.

You've caufe to fay he meant you well: That you are thankful, who can tell? For ftill you're fhort (which grieves your spirit) Of his intent; you mean, your merit.

Ah! quanto re&ius, tu adepte, Qui nil moliris tam inefte? Smedley, thou Jonathan of Clogher, "When thou thy humble lay doft offer "To Grafton's grace, with grateful heart, Thy thanks and verle devoid of art: "Content with what his bounty gave, "No larger income doft thou crave."

But you must have cafcades, and all Ierne's lake for your canal, Your viftos, barges, and (a pox on All pride!) our speaker for your coxon: It's pity that he can't bestow you Twelve commoners in caps to row you. Thus Edgar proud, in days of yore, Held monarchs labouring at the oar; And, as he pafs'd, fo fwell'd the Dee, Enrag'd, as Ern would do at thee.

How different is this from Smedley! (His name is up, he may in bed lie) "Who only afks fome pretty cure, "In wholefome foil and æther pure; "The garden ftor'd with artless flowers, "In either angle thady bowers:

66

No gay parterre with coftly green "Muft in the ambient hedge be feen; "But Nature freely takes her course, "Nor fears from him ungrateful force: "No theers to check her sprouting vigour, "Or shape the yews to antic figure."

But you, forfooth, your all must fquander
On that poor ipot, call'd Dell-ville yonder:
And when you've been at vaft expences
In whims, parterres, canals, and tences,
Your affets fail, and cafh is wanting;
Nor farther buildings, farther planting:
No wonder, when you raife and level,
Think this wall low, and that wall bevel.
Here a convenient box you found,
Which you demolish'd to the ground:
Then built, then took up with your arbour,
And fet the houfe to Rupert Barber.
You sprang an arch, which, in a scurvy
Humour, you tumbled topiy-turvy.
You change a circle to a fquare,
Then to a circle as you were:

Who can imagine whence the fund is,
That you quadrata change rotundis?
To Fame a temple you erect,
A Flora does the dome protect;
Mounts, walks, on high: and in a hollow
You place the Mufes and Apollo;

"See the Petition to the Duke of Grafton's

There fhining 'midft his train, to grace
Your whimsical poetic place.

Thefe ftories were of old defign'd
As fables; but you have refin'd
The poets' mythologic dreams,

To real mufes, gods, and ftreams.

Who would not fwear when you contrive thus,
That you're Don Quixote Redivivus?

Beneath, a dry canal there lies,
Which only winter's rain fupplies.
Oh! couldft thou, by fome magic fpell,
Hither convey St. Patrick's well!
Here may it re-affume its ftream
And take a greater Patrick's name!
If your expences rife fo high,
What income can your wants fupply?
Yet ftill you fancy you inherit
A fund of fuch fuperior merit,
That you can't fail of more provifion,
All by my lady's kind decifion.
For, the more livings you can fish up,
You think you'll fooner be a bishop:
That could not be my lord's intent,
Nor can it anfer the event.

Most think what has been heap'd on you,
To other fort of folk was due :
Rewards too great for your flim-flams,
Epifles, riddles, epigrams.

Though now your depth muft not be founded,
The time was, when you'd have compounded
For less than Charley Grattan's school:
Five hundred pound a year's no fool!

Take this advice then from your friend :
To your ambition put an end.
Be frugal, Pat: pay what you owe,
Before you build and you beflow.
Be modeft; nor addrefs your betters
With begging, vain, familiar letters.

A paffage may be found †, I've heard,
In fome old Greek or Latian bard,
Which fays, "Would crows in silence eat
"Their offals, or their better meat,
"Their generous feeders not provoking
"By loud and unharmonious croaking;
"They might, unhurt by envy's claws,
"Live on, and ftuff to boot their maws."

Suppofe my lord and you alone; Hint the leaft intereft of your own, His vifage drops, he knits his brow, He cannot talk of business now:

Or, mention but a vacant poft,

He'll turn it off with," Name your toaft :"
Nor could the nicest artist paint

A countenance with more constraint.
For as, their appetites to quench,
Lords keep a pimp to bring a wench;
So men of wit are but a kind
Of pandors to a vicious mind;
Who proper objects must provide
To gratify their luft of pride,
When, wearied with intrigues of state,
They find an idle hour to prate.
Then, fhall you dare to ask a place,
You forfeit all your patron's grace,
And disappoint the fole defign
For which he fummon'd you to dine.
Thus Congreve spent in writing plays,
And one poor office, half his days:
While Montague who claim'd the station
To be Mæcenes of the nation,
For poets open table kept,

But ne'er confider'd where they slept :
Himself as rich as fifty Jews,

Was eafy, though they wanted shoes:
And crazy Congreve fcarce could spare
A fhilling to discharge his chair;
Till prudence taught him to appeal
From Pæan's fire to party zeal;
Not owing to his happy vein
The fortunes of his latter fcene,
Took proper principles to thrive;
And fo might every dunce alive.

Thus Steele, who own'd what others writ, And flourish'd by imputed wit,

From perils of a hundred jails

Withdrew to ftarve, and die in Wales.

Thus Gay, the hare with many friends,
Twice feven long years the court attends:
Who, under tales conveying truth,
To virtue form'd a princely youth†:
Who paid his courtship with the crowd
As far as modeft pride allow'd;
Rejects a fervile ufher's place,
And leaves St. James's in difgrace.

Was left in foreign lands diftreft;
Thus Addifon, by lords careft,
Forgot at home, became for hire
A travelling tutor to afquire:
But wifely left the Mufes' hiil,
To bufinefs fhap'd the poet's quill,
Let all his barren laurels fade,
Took up himself the courtier's trade,
And, grown a minifier of flate,

Saw poets at his levee wait.

Hail, happy Pope! whofe generous mind Detefting all the ftatefman kind, Contemning courts, at courts unseen, Refus'd the vifits of a queen.

A foul with every virtue fraught,
By fages, priefts, or poets taught;

Whole filial piety excels

Whatever Grecian story tells;
A genius for all stations fit,
Whole meanest talent is his wit;

His heart too great, though fortune little,
To lick a rafcal ftatesman's spittle;
Appealing to the nation's tafte,
Above the reach of want is plac'd:
By Homer dead was taught to thrive,
Which Homer never could alive;
And fits aloft on Pindus' head,
Defpifing flaves that cringe for bread.
Tre politicians only pay
For folid work, but not for play;
Nor ever choose to work with tools
Forg'd up in colleges and schools.
Conder how much more is due
To al their journeymen than you:
Attable you can Horace quote;
They at a pinch can bribe a vote:
You how your skill in Grecian ftory;
But they can manage Whig and Tory:
You, as a critic, are fo curious
To find a verfe in Virgil spurious;
But they can smoke the deep defigns,
When Bolingbroke with Pulteney dines.
Befides, your patron may upbraid ye,
That you have got a place already ;
An office for your talents fit,

To fatter, carve, and fhow your wit;
To inuff the lights, and stir the fire,
And get a dinner for your hire.

What claim have you to place or penfion?
He overpays in condefcention.

But, reverend doctor, you, we know,
Could never condefcend fo low:
The vice-roy, whom you now attend,
Would, if he durit, be more your friend;
Nor will in you thofe gifts defpife,
By which himfelf was taught to rife:
When he has virtue to retire,

He'll grieve he did not raise you higher,
And place you in a better station,

Although it might have pleas'd the nation.
This may be true---fubmitting ftill
To Walpole's more than royal will;
And what condition can be worse?
He comes to drain a beggar's purse;
He comes to tie our chains on fafter,
And how us, England is our master:
Careffing knaves, and dunces wooing,
To make them work their own undoing.
What has he elfe to bait his traps,
Or bring his vermin in, but scraps ?
The affals of a church distrett;
Angry vicarage at best;
Oriame remote inferior poft,
With forty pounds a year at most ?
But here again you interpofe-
Your favourite lord is none of those
Who owe their virtues to their stations,
And characters to dedications:
For keep him in, or turn him out,
His learning none will call in doubt;
His learning, though a poet said it
Before a play, would lofe no credit;
Ner Pope would dare deny him wit,
Athough to praise it Phillips writ.

VOL. IX

I own, he hates an action base,
His virtues battling with his place;
Nor wants a nice difcerning fpirit
Betwixt a true and fpurious merit;
Can fometimes drop a voter's claim,
And give up party to his fame.
I do the most that friendship can;
I hate the vice-roy, love the man.

But you who, till your fortune's made,
Must be a fweetener by your trade,
Should fwear he never meant us ill;
We fuffer fore against his will;
That, if we could but fee his heart,
He would have chofe a milder part;
We rather should lament his cafe,
Who must obey, or lofe his place.
Since this reflection flipt your pen.
Infert it when you write again:
And, to illuftrate it produce
This fimile for his excufe:

"So to deftroy a guilty land

An angel fent by heaven's command,
"While he obeys almighty will,
"Perhaps may feel compaffion ftill;
"And with the task had been affign'd
"To fpirits of lefs gentle kind."

But I, in politicks grown old,
Whofe thoughts are of a different mould,
Who from my foul fincerely hate
Both kings and minifters of flate,
Who look on courts with ftricter eyes
To fee the feeds of vice arife,

Gan lend you an illufion fitter,

Though flattering knaves may call it bitter;
Which, if you durft but give it place,
Would show you many a ftateman's face ;
Fresh from the tripod of Apollo

I had it in the words that follow
(Take notice, to avoid offence,
I here except his excellence).

"So, to effect his monarch's ends,
"From hell a vice-roy devil afcends;
"His budget with corruptions cramm'd,
"The contributions of the damn'd;

"Which with unsparing hand he ftrows

46

Through courts and fenates as he goes; "And then at Beelzebub's black ball "Complains his budget was too small.” Your fimile may better shine In verfe; but there is truth in mine. For no imaginable things Can differ more than gods and kings: And ftatefmen by ten thoufand odds Are angels juft as kings are gods.