C

Or turn the Volumes of the Wife and
Good,

Our Senate meets; at Parties, Parties bawl,

And Pamphlets ftun the Streets, and load the Stall,
So rushing Tides bring things obfcene to light,
Foul wrecks emerge, and dead Dogs swim in fight:

The civil Torrent foams, the Tumult reigns,

And Codrus' profe works up, and Lico's ftrains.
Lo! what from Cellars rife, what rush from high,
Where Speculation roofted near the Sky;
Letters, Effays, Sock, Buskin, Satire, Song,
And all the Garret thunders on the Throng!

O Pope! I burst, nor can, nor will refrain,
I'll write, let Others in their Turn complain:
Truce, truce ye Vandals! my tormented. Ear
Lefs dreads a Pillory, than Pamphleteer;

I've heard my felf to death: and plagu'd each hour;
Shan't I return the Vengeance in my pow'r?
For who can write the True Abfurd like me?
Thy Pardon Codrus! who I mean but Thee?

Pope! if like mine or Codrus were thy Stile, The Blood of Vipers had not ftain'd thy File;

Merit

Merit lefs folid, less Despite had bred,

They had not bit, and then they had not bled.
Fame is a publick Mistress, none enjoys,

But more, or less, his Rival's peace destroys;
With Fame in juft proportion Envy grows,
The Man that makes a Character, makes Foes:
Slight, peevish Infects round a Genius rife,
As a bright Day awakes the World of Flies;
With hearty Malice, but with feeble wing,
(To fhew they live) they flutter, and they fting:
But as by depredations Wafps proclaim

The fairest Fruit, fo these the fairest Fame.

Shall we not cenfure all the motly Train, Whether with Ale irriguous, or Champaign? Whether they tread the Vale of Profe, or climb, And whet their Appetites on Cliffs of Rhyme;

The

The College Sloven, or embroidered Spark,

The purple Prelate, or the parish Clerk,

The quiet Quidnunc, or demanding Prig,

The plaintiff Tory, or defendant Whig;

Rich, poor, male, female, young, old, gay or fad;
Whether extremely witty, or quite mad;
Profoundly dull, or fhallowly polite;

Men that read well, or Men that only write:
Whether Peers, Porters, Taylors, tune their reeds,
And measuring words to measuring fhapes fucceeds;
For Bankrupts write, when ruin'd fhops are fhut,
As Maggots crawl from out a perish'd Nutt.

His Hammer This, and That his Trowel quits,
And wanting Senfe for Tradefmen, ferve for Wits.

By thriving men fubfifts each other Trade,
Of every broken Craft a Writer's made:

Thus his Material, Paper, takes its birth,

From tatter'd rags

of all the stuff on earth.

Hail