Press'd by the load of life, the weary mind Surveys the general toil of humankind; With cool submission joins the labouring train, And social sorrow loses half its pain. Our anxious bard, without complaint, may share This bustling season's epidemic care; Like Cæsar's pilot, dignified by fate, Toss'd in one common storm with all the great; Distress'd alike, the statesman and the wit, When one a borough courts, and one the pit. The busy candidates for power and fame, Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same Disabled both to combat, or to fly, Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply. Uncheck'd, on both, loud rabbles vent their rage, As mongrels bay the lion in a cage. Th'offended burgess hoards his angry tale, For that blessed year when all that vote may rail; Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss, Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss. "This day the powder'd curls and golden coat," Says swelling Crispin, "begged a cobbler's vote!" "This night our wit" the pert apprentice cries, "Lies at my feet: I hiss him, and he dies!" The great, 'tis true, can charm th'electing tribe; The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe. Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were sold He feels no want of ill-persuading gold; But, confident of praise, if praise be due, Trusts, without fear, to merit, and to you. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. MEN. MR. HONEYWOOD. CROAKER. LOFTY. SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD. LEONTINE. JARVIS. BUTLER. BAILIFF. DUBARDIEU. POSTBOY. WOMEN. MISS RICHLAND. OLIVIA. MRS. CROAKER. GARNET. LANDLADY. SCENE—_London._ [Illustration: "BUTLER.—_Sir, I'll not stay in the family with Jonathan._"—_p._ 271. ] ACT I. SCENE I.—_An Apartment in_ YOUNG HONEYWOOD'S _House_. _Enter_ SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD _and_ JARVIS. SIR WILL. Good Jarvis, make no apologies for this honest bluntness. Fidelity like yours, is the best excuse for every freedom. JARVIS. I can't help being blunt, and being very angry too, when I hear you talk of disinheriting so good, so worthy a young gentleman as your nephew, my master. All the world loves him. SIR WILL. Say rather, that he loves all the world; that is his fault. JARVIS. I'm sure there is no part of it more dear to him than you are, though he has not seen you since he was a child. SIR WILL. What signifies his affection to me? or how can I be proud of a place in a heart where every sharper and coxcomb finds an easy entrance? JARVIS. I grant that he's rather too good-natured; that he's too much every man's man; that he laughs this minute with one, and cries the next with another; but whose instructions may he thank for all this? SIR WILL. Not mine, sure! My letters to him during my employment in Italy, taught him only that philosophy which might prevent, not defend, his errors.