Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so As men from jails to execution go; For hung with deadly sins[175] I see the wall, And lined with giants deadlier than 'em all: Each man an Ascapart,[176] of strength to toss For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross. Scared at the grisly forms, I sweat, I fly, And shake all o'er, like a discover'd spy. Courts are too much for wits so weak as mine: Charge them with Heaven's artillery, bold divine! 280 From such alone the great rebukes endure, Whose satire's sacred, and whose rage secure: 'Tis mine to wash a few light stains, but theirs To deluge sin, and drown a court in tears. Howe'er, what's now Apocrypha, my wit, In time to come, may pass for holy writ. * * * * * EPILOGUE[177] TO THE SATIRES. IN TWO DIALOGUES. (WRITTEN IN MDCCXXXVIII.) DIALOGUE I. _Fr_. Not twice a twelvemonth you appear in print, And when it comes, the court see nothing in 't. You grow correct, that once with rapture writ, And are, besides, too moral for a wit. Decay of parts, alas! we all must feel-- Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal? 'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye Said, 'Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs a Tory;' And taught his Romans, in much better metre, 'To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter.' 10 But, Horace, sir, was delicate, was nice; Bubo[178] observes, he lash'd no sort of vice: Horace would say, Sir Billy[179] served the crown, Blunt could do business, Huggins[180] knew the town; In Sappho touch the failings of the sex, In reverend bishops note some small neglects, And own, the Spaniard did a waggish thing, Who cropp'd our ears,[181] and sent them to the king. His sly, polite, insinuating style Could please at court, and make Augustus smile: 20 An artful manager, that crept between His friend and shame, and was a kind of screen. But, faith, your very friends will soon be sore; Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more-- And where's the glory? 'twill be only thought The great man[182] never offer'd you a groat. Go see Sir Robert-- _P_. See Sir Robert!--hum-- And never laugh--for all my life to come? Seen him I have,[183] but in his happier hour Of social pleasure, ill-exchanged for power; 30 Seen him, uncumber'd with the venal tribe, Smile without art, and win without a bribe. Would he oblige me? let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind. Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt; The only difference is, I dare laugh out. _F_. Why, yes: with Scripture still you may be free; A horse-laugh, if you please, at honesty; A joke on Jekyl,[184] or some odd old Whig Who never changed his principle, or wig: 40 A patriot is a fool in every age, Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the stage: These nothing hurts; they keep their fashion still, And wear their strange old virtue, as they will.