The plague is on thee, Britain, and who tries To save thee, in the infectious office _dies_. The first firm P---y soon resign'd his breath, Brave S---w[119] loved thee, and was lied to death. Good M-m-t's[120] fate tore P---th[121] from thy side, And thy last sigh was heard when W---m[122] died. 80 Thy nobles sl---s,[123] thy se---s[124] bought with gold Thy clergy perjured, thy whole people sold. An atheist [symbol] a [symbol]'s ad ... [125] Blotch thee all o'er, and sink ... Alas! on one alone our all relies, Let him be honest, and he must be wise, Let him no trifler from his school, Nor like his ... still a ... Be but a man! unminister'd, alone, And free at once the senate and the throne; 90 Esteem the public love his best supply, A [symbol]'s[126] true glory his integrity: Rich _with_ his ... _in_ his ... strong, Affect no conquest, but endure no wrong. Whatever his religion[127] or his blood, His public virtue makes his title good. Europe's just balance and our own may stand, And one man's honesty redeem the land. THE FOURTH EPISTLE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.[128] Say, St John, who alone peruse With candid eye the mimic Muse, What schemes of politics, or laws, In Gallic lands the patriot draws! Is then a greater work in hand, Than all the tomes of Haines's band? 'Or shoots he folly as it flies? Or catches manners as they rise?' Or urged by unquench'd native heat, Does St John Greenwich sports repeat? 10 Where (emulous of Chartres' fame) E'en Chartres' self is scarce a name. To you (the all-envied gift of heaven) The indulgent gods, unask'd, have given A form complete in every part, And, to enjoy that gift, the art. What could a tender mother's care Wish better, to her favourite heir, Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours, A stock of health, and golden showers, 20 And graceful fluency of speech, Precepts before unknown to teach? Amidst thy various ebbs of fear, And gleaming hope, and black despair, Yet let thy friend this truth impart, A truth I tell with bleeding heart, (In justice for your labours past) That every day shall be your last; That every hour you life renew Is to your injured country due. 30 In spite of fears, of mercy spite, My genius still must rail, and write. Haste to thy Twickenham's safe retreat, And mingle with the grumbling great; There, half-devoured by spleen, you'll find The rhyming bubbler of mankind; There (objects of our mutual hate) We'll ridicule both church and state. EPIGRAM ON ONE WHO MADE LONG EPITAPHS.[129] Friend, for your epitaphs I'm grieved, Where still so much is said; One half will never be believed, The other never read. ON AN OLD GATE. ERECTED IN CHISWICK GARDENS. O gate, how cam'st thou here? _Gate_. I was brought from Chelsea last year, Batter'd with wind and weather. Inigo Jones put me together; Sir Hans Sloane Let me alone: Burlington brought me hither. A FRAGMENT.