[f]Let—­live here, for—­has learn’d to live. 
Here let those reign, whom pensions can incite
To vote a patriot black, a courtier white;
Explain their country’s dear-bought rights away,
And plead for[B] pirates in the face of day;
With slavish tenets taint our poison’d youth,
And lend a lie the confidence of truth.
[g]Let such raise palaces, and manors buy,
Collect a tax, or farm a lottery;
With warbling eunuchs fill a [C]licens’d [D]stage,
And lull to servitude a thoughtless age. 
Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold,
What check restrain your thirst of pow’r and gold? 
Behold rebellious virtue quite o’erthrown,
Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives, your own. 
To such the plunder of a land is giv’n,
When publick crimes inflame the wrath of heaven: 
[h]But what, my friend, what hope remains for me. 
Who start at theft, and blush at perjury? 
Who scarce forbear, though Britain’s court he sing,
To pluck a titled poet’s borrow’d wing;
A statesman’s logick unconvinc’d can hear. 
And dare to slumber o’er the [E]Gazetteer;
Despise a fool in half his pension dress’d,
And strive, in vain, to laugh at Clodio’s jest[F].
[i]Others, with softer smiles, and subtler art,
Can sap the principles, or taint the heart;
With more address a lover’s note convey,
Or bribe a virgin’s innocence away. 
Well may they rise, while I, whose rustick tongue
Ne’er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong,
Spurn’d as a beggar, dreaded as a spy,
Live unregarded, unlamented die.
[k]For what but social guilt the friend endears? 
Who shares Orgilio’s crimes, his fortune shares.
[l]But thou, should tempting villany present
All Marlb’rough hoarded, or all Villiers spent,
Turn from the glitt’ring bribe thy scornful eye,
Nor sell for gold, what gold could never buy,
The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,
Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay.
[m] The cheated nation’s happy fav’rites, see! 
Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me! 
London! the needy villain’s gen’ral home,
The common sewer of Paris and of Rome;
With eager thirst, by folly or by fate,
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. 
Forgive my transports, on a theme like this,
[n]I cannot bear a French metropolis.
[o]Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day,
The land of heroes and of saints survey;
Nor hope the British lineaments to trace,
The rustick grandeur, or the surly grace;
But, lost in thoughtless ease and empty show,
Behold the warriour dwindled to a beau;
Sense, freedom, piety, refin’d away,
Of France the mimick, and of Spain the prey. 
All that at home no more can beg or steal,
Or like a gibbet better than a wheel;
Hiss’d from the stage, or hooted from the court,
Their air, their dress, their politicks, import;
[p]Obsequious, artful, voluble and gay,