The fop laid down, takes up the graver fool, He started up a fop, and, fond of show, Look'd like another Hercules turn'd beau, A subject met with only now and then, Much fitter for the pencil than the pen; Hogarth would draw him (Envy must allow) E'en to the life, was Hogarth[316] living now. With such accoutrements, with such a form, Much like a porpoise just before a storm, 180 Onward he roll'd; a laugh prevail'd around; E'en Jove was seen to simper; at the sound (Nor was the cause unknown, for from his youth Himself he studied by the glass of Truth) He joined their mirth; nor shall the gods condemn, If, whilst they laugh at him, he laugh'd at them. Judge Reason view'd him with an eye of grace, Look'd through his soul, and quite forgot his face, And, from his hand received, with fair regard Placed in her other scale the name of Bard. 190 Then, (for she did as judges ought to do, She nothing of the case beforehand knew, Nor wish'd to know; she never stretch'd the laws, Nor, basely to anticipate a cause, Compell'd solicitors, no longer free, To show those briefs she had no right to see) Then she with equal hand her scales held out, Nor did the cause one moment hang in doubt; She held her scales out fair to public view, The Lord, as sparks fly upwards, upwards flew, 200 More light than air, deceitful in the weight; The Bard, preponderating, kept his state; Reason approved, and with a voice, whose sound Shook earth, shook heaven, on the clearest ground Pronouncing for the Bards a full decree, Cried--'Those must honour them, who honour me; They from this present day, where'er I reign, In their own right, precedence shall obtain; Merit rules here: be it enough that Birth Intoxicates, and sways the fools of earth.' 210 Nor think that here, in hatred to a lord, I've forged a tale, or alter'd a record; Search when you will, (I am not now in sport) You'll find it register'd in Reason's court. Nor think that Envy here hath strung my lyre, That I depreciate what I most admire, And look on titles with an eye of scorn, Because I was not to a title born. By Him that made me, I am much more proud, More inly satisfied to have a crowd 220 Point at me as I pass, and cry--'That's he-- A poor but honest bard, who dares be free Amidst corruption,' than to have a train Of flickering levee slaves, to make me vain Of things I ought to blush for; to run, fly, And live but in the motion of my eye; When I am less than man, my faults to adore, And make me think that I am something more. Recall past times, bring back the days of old, When the great noble bore his honours bold, 230 And in the face of peril, when he dared Things which his legal bastard, if declared, Might well discredit; faithful to his trust, In the extremest points of justice, just, Well knowing all, and loved by all he knew,