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Hear her black Trumpet thro' the Land proclaim,
In Soldier, Churchman, Patriot, Man in Pow'r,
'Tis Av'rice all, Ambition is no more!
See, all our Nobles begging to be Slaves!

See, all our Fools aspiring to be Knaves!

The Wit of Cheats, the Courage of a Whore, 165 Are what ten thousand envy and adore:

All, all look up, with reverential Awe,

At Crimes that 'fcape, or triumph o'er the Law: While Truth, Worth, Wisdom, daily they decry"Nothing is Sacred now but Villainy."

Yet may this Verse (if fuch a Verfe remain) Show, there was one who held it in difdain.









IS all a Libel-Paxton (Sir) will fay
P. Not yet, my Friend! to morrow faith
it may;

And for that very cause I print to day.

How should I fret to mangle ev'ry line,
In rev'rence to the Sins of Thirty-nine!

Vice, with such Giant ftrides comes on amain,
Invention ftrives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rifing Genius fins up to my Song

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F. Yet none but you by Name the guilty lafh; 10 Ev'n Guthry faves half Newgate by a Dash.


VER. 1. Paxton.] Late follicitor to the Treasury.
VER. 11. Ev'n Guthry.] The Ordinary of Newgate,

R 3

Spare then the Perfon, and expose the Vice.

P. How, Sir! not damn the Sharper, but the Dice? Come on then, Satire! gen'ral, unconfin'd,

Spread thy broad wing, and fouce on all the kind. 15
Ye Statesmen, Priests, of one Religion all!

Ye Tradefmen, vile, in Army, Court, or Hall!
Ye Rev'rend Atheists. F. Scandal! name them, Who?
P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.
Who ftarv'd a Sifter, who forfwore a Debt,

I never nam'd; the Town's enquiring yet.
The pois'ning Dame - F. You mean — P. I don't.
F. You do.


P. See, now I keep the Secret, and not you! The bribing Statesman-F. Hold, too high you go. 24 P. The brib'd Elector--F. There you ftoop too low. P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; Tell me, which Knave is lawful Game, which not? Muft great Offenders, once escap'd the Crown, Like Royal Harts be never more run down? Admit your Law to spare the Knight requires, As Beafts of Nature may we hunt the Squires? Suppofe I cenfure-you know what I meanTo fave a Bishop, may I name a Dean?



who publishes the memoirs of the Malefactors, and is often prevailed upon to be fo tender of their reputation, as to * fet down no more than the initials of their name. P.

F. A Dean, Sir? no: his Fortune is not made, You hurt a man that's rifing in the Trade.


P. If not the Tradefman who fet up to day, Much less the 'Prentice who to morrow may. Down, down, proud Satire ! tho' a Realm be spoil'd, Arraign no mightier Thief than wretched Wild; Or, if a Court or Country's made a job, Go drench a Pick-pocket, and join the Mob. But, Sir, I beg you (for the Love of Vice!) The matter's weighty, pray confider twice; Have you lefs pity for the needy Cheat,


The poor and friendless Villain, than the Great? 45 Alas! the small Difcredit of a Bribe

Scarce hurts the Lawyer, but undoes the Scribe.

Then better fure it Charity becomes

To tax Directors, who (thank God) have Plums;

Still better, Minifters; or, if the thing

May pinch ev'n there--why lay it on a King.



VER. 35. You hurt a man that's rifing in the Trade.] For, as the reasonable De la Bruyere obferves, Qui ne "fait être un ERASME, doit penfer à être Evoque.' SCRIBL.

VER. 39. Wretched Wild] Jonathan Wild, à famous Thief, and Thief-Impeacher, who was at laft caught in his own train and hanged. P.

VER. 42. for the love of Vice] We must confider the Poet as here directing his difcourfe to a follower of the new sys tem of Politics, That private vices are public benefits SCRIBL.

F. Stop! ftop!

P. Muft Satire, then, nor rife nor fall? Speak out, and bid me blame no Rogues at all. F. Yes, ftrike that Wild, I'll justify the blow. P. Strike? why the man was hang'd ten years ago: Who now that obfolete Example fears?

Ev'n Peter trembles only for his Ears.


F. What always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, You make men defp'rate if they once are bad : Elfe might he take to Virtue fome years hence --- 60 P. As S---k, if he lives, will love the PRINCE.

F. Strange spleen to S---k!

P. Do I wrong the Man?

God knows, I praise a Courtier where I can.


When I confefs, there is who feels for Fame,
And melts to Goodness, need I SCARB'ROW name?
Pleas'd let me own, in Eher's peaceful Grove
(Whent Kent and Nature vye for PELHAM'S Love)

VER. 57. Ev'n Peter trembles only for his ears,] Peter had, the year before this, narrowly efcaped the Pillory for forgery: and got off with a fevere rebuke only from the bench. P.

VER. 65. Scarb'row] Earl of; and Knight of the Garter, whose personal attachments to the King appeared from his fteddy adherence to the royal interest, after his refignation of his great employment of Master of the Horse; and whofe known honour and virtue made him esteemed by all parties.


VER. 66. Ejber's peaceful grove,] The house and gar

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