A. Your smooth eulogium, to one crown ad dress'd, Seems to imply a censure on the rest. B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Ask'd, when in hell, to see the royal jail; Approv'd their method in all other things; But where, good sir, do you confine I grant the sarcasm is too severe, And we can readily refute it here; And the Sixth Edward's grace th' historic page. A. Kings then at last have but the lot of all. By their own conduct they must stand or fall. B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat pays His quit-rent ode, his pepper-corn of praise; And many a dunce, whose fingers itch to write, Adds, as he can, his tributary mite: A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, A monarch's errors are forbidden game! Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage; I pity kings whom worship waits upon, And death awakens from that dream too late. Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please; 'If smooth dissimulation, skill'd to grace Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks, To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood, Ev'n when he labours for his country's good; To see a band, called patriot, for no cause, But that they catch at popular applause, Careless of all th' anxiety he feels, Hook disappointment on the public wheels; Most confident, when palpably most wrong; If this be kingly, then farewell for me All kingship; and I be poor may and free! To be the Table Talk of clubs up stairs, T' indulge his genius after long fatigue, (For what kings deem a toil, as well they may, To him is relaxation and mere play) To win no praise when well-wrought plans pre vail, But to be rudely censur'd when they fail; To doubt the love his fav'rites may pretend, And in reality to find no friend; If he indulge a cultivated taste, His gall'ries with the works of art well grac'd, A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have dwelt On situations that they never felt, Start up sagacious, covered with the dust And prate and preach about what others prove, Increasing taxes and the nation's debt. Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse The mighty plan, oracular, in verse, No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new, Should claim my fixt attention more than you. B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay To turn the course of Helicon that way; Nor would the nine consent the sacred tide Should purl amidst the traffic of Cheapside, |