Begin like patriots, and like courtiers end.
Some love to roar the constitution's broke,
And others on the nation's debts to joke:
Some rail, (they hate a commonwealth so much,)
Whate'er the subject be, against the Dutch ;
While others, with more fashionable fury,
Begin with turnpikes, and conclude with Fleury.
Some, when th' affair was Blenheim's glorious battle,
Declaim'd against importing Irish cattle:
But you, from whate'er side you take your name,
Like Anna's motto, always be the same.

Outsides deceive, 'tis hard the truth to know,
Parties from quaint denominations flow,
As Scotch and Irish antiquaries show.
The low are said to take Fanatics parts,
The high are bloody Papists in their hearts.
Caution and fear to highest faults have run;
In pleasing both the parties, you please none.
Who in the house affects declaiming airs,

Whales in Change-alley paints; in Fish-street, bears.
Some metaphors, some handkerchiefs display,

These peep in hats, while those with buttons play,

And make me think it Repetition-day;

There knights haranguing hug a neighb'ring post,
And are but quorum orators at most.
Sooner than thus my want of sense expose,
I'll deck out bandy-legs with gold-clock'd hose,
Or wear a toupet-wig without a nose.

Nay, I would sooner have thy phyz, I swear,
Surintendant des plaisirs d'Angleterre.

Ye weekly Writers of seditious news,
Take care your subjects artfully to choose,
Write panegyric strong, or boldly rail,
You cannot miss preferment, or a gaol.
Wrap up your poison, well, nor fear to say
What was a lie last night is truth to-day.
Tell this, sink that, arrive at Ridpath's praise, '
Let Abel Roper your ambition raise.

To lie fit opportunity observe,

Saving some double meaning in reserve;
But oh! you'll merit everlasting fame,
If you can quibble on Sir Robert's name.
In state affairs use not the vulgar phrase,

Talk words scarce known in good queen Besse's days,
New terms let war or traffic introduce,

And try to bring persuading-ships in use.

Coin words: in coining ne'er mind common sense, Provided the original be French.

Like South-sea stock, expressions rise and fall:
King Edward's words are now no words at all.
Did aught our predecessors genius cramp?
Sure ev'ry reign may have its proper stamp.
All sublunary things of death partake;
What alteration does a cent'ry make!
Kings and comedians are all mortal found,
Caesar and Pinkethman are under ground.

What's not destroy'd by Time's devouring hand? Where's Troy, and where's the may-pole in the Strand?

Pease, cabbages, and turnips once grew, where

Now stands New Bond street, and a newer square ;
Such piles of buildings now rise up and down,
London itself seems going out of town.

Our fathers cross'd from Fulham in a wherry,
Their sons enjoy a bridge at Putney-ferry.
Think we that modern words eternal are?
Toupet and Tompion, Cosins, and Colmar
Hereafter will be call'd, by some plain man,
A wig, a watch, a pair of stays, a fan.

To things themselves if time such change affords,
Can there be any trusting to our words?

To screen good ministers from public rage,
And how with party madness to engage,
We learn from Addison's immortal page.
The Jacobite's ridiculous opinion

Is seen from Tickell's letter to Avignon.
But who puts Caleb's Country-Craftsman out,
Is still a secret, and the world's in doubt.

Not long since parish-clerks, with saucy airs, Apply'd king David's psalms to state affairs. Some certain tunes to politics belong,

On both sides drunkards love a party-song.

If full across the Speaker's chair I go,

Can I be said the rules o' th' House to know?
I'll ask, nor give offence without intent,
Nor through meer sheepishness be impudent.

In acts of Parliament avoid sublime,
Nor e'er address his Majesty in rhyme;
An Act of Parliament's a serious thing,
Begins with year of Lord and year of King;
Keeps close to form, in every word is strict,
When it would pains and penalties inflict.
Soft words suit best petitioners' intent;
Soft words, O ye petitioners of Kent!

Whoe'er harangues before he gives his vote, Should send sweet language from a tuneful throat. Pultney the coldest breast with zeal can fire, And Roman thoughts by Attic stile inspire; He knows from tedious wrangling to beguile The serious house into a cheerful smile; When the great Patriot paints his anxious fears For England's safety, I am lost in tears. But when dull speakers strive to move compassion, I pity their poor hearers, not the nation : Unless young members to the purpose keep, I fall a laughing, or I fall asleep.

Can men their inward faculties control ? Is not the tongue an index to the soul?

Laugh not in time of service to your God,
Nor bully, when in custody o' th' rod;

Look grave, and be from jokes and grinning far,
When brought to sue for pardon at the bar :
If then you let your ill-tim'd wit appear,
Knights, citizens, and burgesses will sneer.

For land, or trade, not the same notions fire The city-merchant, and the country-'squire ; Their climes are distant, though one cause unites The lairds of Scotland, and the Cornish knights.

To likelihood your characters confine:
Don't turn Sir Paul out, let Sir Paul resign.
In Walpole's voice (if factions ill intend)
Give the two Universities a friend;

Give Maidstone wit, and elegance refin'd;
To both the Pelhams give the Scipio's mind;
To Cart'ret learning, eloquence, and parts;
To George the second, give all English hearts.

Sometimes fresh names in politics produce,
And factions yet unheard of introduce;
And if you dare attempt a thing so new,
Make to itself the flying squadron true.

To speak is free, no member is debarr'd;
But funds and national accounts are hard:
Safer on common topics to discourse,
The malt-tax, and a military force.