Himself[30] within the frown of power, Pursued by base envenom'd pens, Far to the land of slaves and fens;[31] A servile race in folly nursed, Who truckle most, when treated worst. "By innocence and resolution, He bore continual persecution; While numbers to preferment rose, Whose merits were, to be his foes; When _ev'n his own familiar friends_, Intent upon their private ends, Like renegadoes now he feels, _Against him lifting up their heels._ "The Dean did, by his pen, defeat An infamous destructive cheat;[32] Taught fools their int'rest how to know, And gave them arms to ward the blow. Envy has own'd it was his doing, To save that hapless land from ruin; While they who at the steerage stood, And reap'd the profit, sought his blood. "To save them from their evil fate, In him was held a crime of state, A wicked monster on the bench,[33] Whose fury blood could never quench; As vile and profligate a villain, As modern Scroggs, or old Tresilian:[34] Who long all justice had discarded, _Nor fear'd he God, nor man regarded;_ Vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent, And make him of his zeal repent: But Heaven his innocence defends, The grateful people stand his friends; Not strains of law, nor judge's frown, Nor topics brought to please the crown, Nor witness hired, nor jury pick'd, Prevail to bring him in convict. "In exile,[35] with a steady heart, He spent his life's declining part; Where folly, pride, and faction sway, Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay. Alas, poor Dean! his only scope Was to be held a misanthrope. This into gen'ral odium drew him, Which if he liked, much good may't do him. His zeal was not to lash our crimes, But discontent against the times: For had we made him timely offers To raise his post, or fill his coffers, Perhaps he might have truckled down, Like other brethren of his gown. For party he would scarce have bled: I say no more--because he's dead. What writings has he left behind? I hear, they're of a different kind; A few in verse; but most in prose-- Some high-flown pamphlets, I suppose;-- All scribbled in the worst of times, To palliate his friend Oxford's crimes, To praise Queen Anne, nay more, defend her, As never fav'ring the Pretender; Or libels yet conceal'd from sight, Against the court to show his spite; Perhaps his travels, part the third; A lie at every second word-- Offensive to a loyal ear: But not one sermon, you may swear." His friendships there, to few confined Were always of the middling kind;[36] No fools of rank, a mongrel breed, Who fain would pass for lords indeed: Where titles give no right or power,[37] And peerage is a wither'd flower; He would have held it a disgrace, If such a wretch had known his face. On rural squires, that kingdom's bane, He vented oft his wrath in vain; [Biennial[38]] squires to market brought; Who sell their souls and [votes] for nought; The [nation stripped,] go joyful back, To *** the church, their tenants rack, Go snacks with [rogues and rapparees,][39]