Where folly, pride, and faction sway,
Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay."
"His friendships there, to few confin'd,
Were always of the middling kind;
No fools of rank, a mongrel breed,
Who fain would pass for lords indeed:
Where titles give no right, or power,
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:
******* squires to market brought;
Who sell their souls and **** for nought.
The ******* go joyful back,
To *** the church, their tenants rack,
Go snacks with *******
And keep the peace, to pick up fees:
In every job to have a share,
A gaol or turnpike to repair;
And turn the tax for publick roads,
Commodious to their own abodes.
"Perhaps I may allow the dean
Had too much satire in his vein;
And seem'd determin'd not to starve it,
Because no age could more deserve it.
Yet malice never was his aim;
He lash'd the vice, but spar'd the name.
No individual could resent,
Where thousands equally were meant;
His satire points at no defect,
But what all mortals may correct;
For he abhorr'd that senseless tribe
Who call it humour when they gibe:
