Page:The lives of the poets of Great Britain and Ireland to the time of Dean Swift - Volume 4.djvu/61

Rh That ſtroke, for all King William’s care, Begat another tedious war. Matthew, who knew the whole intrigue, Ne’er much approv’d that myſtic league; In the vile Utrecht treaty too, Poor man! he found enough to do. Sometimes to me he did apply; But downright Dunſtable was I, And told him where they were miſtaken, And counſell’d him to ſave his bacon: But (paſs his politics and proſe) I never herded with his foes; Nay, in his verſes, as a friend, I ſtill found ſomething to commend. Sir, I excus’d his Nut-brown maid; Whate’er ſeverer critics ſaid: Too far, I own, the girl was try’d: The women all were on my ſide. For Alma I returned him thanks, I lik’d her with her little pranks; Indeed, poor Solomon, in rhime, Was much too grave to be ſublime. Pindar and Damon ſcorn tranſition, So on he ran a new diviſion; ’Till, out of breath, he turn’d to ſpit: (Chance often helps us more than wit) T’ other that lucky moment took, Juſt nick’d the time, broke in, and ſpoke:


 * Of all the gifts the gods afford

(If we may take old Tully’s word) The greateſt is a friend, whoſe love Knows how to praiſe, and when reprove; From ſuch a treaſure never part, But hang the jewel on your heart: And pray, ſir (it delights me) tell; You know this author mighty well— Know him! d’ye queſtion it? ods fiſh! Sir, does a beggar know his diſh?

I lov’d