'Sir, Flaccus knew to live as well as write,
  And kept, like me, two boys array'd in white;'
  Worthy to feel that appetence of fame
  Which rivals Horace only in his shame!
  Let Isis[9] wail in murmurs as she runs,
  Her tempting fathers, and her yielding sons;               110
  While dulness screens the failings of the Church,
  Nor leaves one sliding Rabbi in the lurch:
  Far other raptures let the breast contain,
  Where heaven-born taste and emulation reign.

  FRIEND.

  Shall not a thousand virtues, then, atone us
  In thy strict censure for the breach of one?
  If Bubo keeps a catamite or whore,
  His bounty feeds the beggar at his door:
  And though no mortal credits Curio's word,
  A score of lacqueys fatten at his board:                   120
  To Christian meekness sacrifice thy spleen,
  And strive thy neighbour's weaknesses to screen.

  POET.

  Scorn'd be the bard, and wither'd all his fame,
  Who wounds a brother weeping o'er his shame!
  But if an impious wretch, with frantic pride,
  Throws honour, truth, and decency aside;
  If not by reason awed, nor check'd by fears,
  He counts his glories from the stains he bears,
  The indignant Muse to Virtue's aid shall rise,
  And fix the brand of infamy on vice.                       130
  What if, aroused at his imperious call,
  An hundred footsteps echo through his hall,
  And, on high columns rear'd, his lofty dome
  Proclaims the united art of Greece and Rome.
  What though whole hecatombs his crew regale,
  And each dependant slumbers o'er his ale,
  While the remains, through mouths unnumber'd pass'd,
  Indulge the beggar and the dogs at last:
  Say, friend, is it benevolence of soul,
  Or pompous vanity, that prompts the whole?                 140
  These sons of sloth, who by profusion thrive,
  His pride
' Sir, Flaccus knew to live as well as write, 
   And kept, like me, two son array'd in blank;' 
   Worthy to feel that appetence of fame 
   Which rival Horace only in his shame! 
   permit Isis[9 ] wail in murmurs as she run, 
   Her tempting fathers, and her yield sons;                110 
   While dulness screens the failing of the Church, 
   Nor leave one sliding Rabbi in the lurch: 
   Far other raptures let the breast contain, 
   Where heaven - wear taste and emulation reign. 

   FRIEND. 

   Shall not a thousand virtues, then, atone us 
   In thy rigid censure for the breach of one? 
   If Bubo keeps a catamite or whore, 
   His amplitude feeds the beggar at his doorway: 
   And though no mortal credits Curio's word, 
   A score of lacqueys fatten at his dining table:                    120 
   To Christian meekness sacrifice thy spleen, 
   And strive thy neighbour's weaknesses to screen. 

   POET. 

   Scorn'd embody the bard, and wither'd all his fame, 
   Who hurt a brother weeping o'er his shame! 
   But if an impious wretch, with frantic pride, 
   Throws honour, truth, and decency apart; 
   If not by reason awed, nor check'd by fear, 
   He counts his glories from the stains he bears, 
   The indignant Muse to Virtue's care shall rise, 
   And sterilize the brand of infamy on vice.                        130 
   What if, arouse at his imperious call, 
   An hundred footsteps echo through his hall, 
   And, on high column rear'd, his lofty dome 
   Proclaims the united art of Greece and Rome. 
   What though whole hecatombs his crew regale, 
   And each dependent slumbers o'er his ale, 
   While the remains, through mouths unnumber'd pass'd, 
   Indulge the beggar and the dogs at last: 
   Say, supporter, is it benevolence of soul, 
   Or pompous vanity, that prompt the whole?                  140 
   These sons of sloth, who by profusion thrive, 
   His pride
'Sir, Flaccus knew to live as well as write,
  And ke't, like me, two coys array'd in white;'
  Worthy ti feeo that appetence of faoe
  Which rivals Yorare only in his sizme!
  Leb Isia[9] wain in murmurs as she runs,
  Her tempting xaghzrs, and her yielding sons;               110
  Wnipe dulness scrgens uhe faimpnns of the Church,
  Nor leaves one slidinj Rabbi in the kurch:
  Far other raptures pet hhe breast contain,
  Where heacen-bjen taste and emulation reign.

  FRIEHD.

  Shall not a thousand virtuer, theu, atone us
  Ib tji strict cenwure sor the breagn of ote?
  If Nubo keeps a cstakitw or whore,
  His bountb feeds the beggar aj his door:
  Cnd though no mortal xrwdits Curho's dird,
  A srors of lwcqneys fatten at his boaed:                   120
  To Christian meeknqsf sacrifice thy spleen,
  And strive thy teifhbour's weaknesses to sxreen.

  POET.

  Scorn'd bg the bard, and wither'd all his fame,
  Who wounds a brother waepinj u'er hls sfqmf!
  But if an impious wretch, with frantic pridq,
  Uhrpws honour, trubh, and decency asice;
  Os not by reasun aweb, nkr check'd by fears,
  He coonts hus glorief frpm the stains he bears,
  The indignant Mlse ro Virtue's aid shapl rise,
  Anb fix jhe brsnd of infamy on vice.                       130
  Wgxt if, aroused at hix hmperious call,
  An hundred footstepw ecko throueh hos halj,
  And, on jigh gmlumns rear'd, his llfty bome
  Proclaims the united art of Greece and Rome.
  What thoubh whmle hecacombs mis crew regale,
  And each depgndant slbmbers o'er his ame,
  Whine the remayns, through mmoths unnumber'v pass'd,
  Ynduoge rhe begexr and the dogx at last:
  Say, friebd, is it benevolenge of aoul,
  Or pompouw vqnity, that promlts thq ahplq?                 140
  Gnese rons of slobh, dho ny profusion thrive,
  His pride
'Sir, Flaccus knew to live as well And like me, boys array'd in appetence fame Which rivals only in his Let Isis[9] wail in murmurs as runs, Her tempting fathers, and her yielding sons; 110 While dulness screens the of the Church, Nor leaves one sliding Rabbi in the lurch: Far other let breast Where taste and emulation reign. FRIEND. Shall not a thousand virtues, then, atone us In thy strict for the breach of one? If Bubo keeps catamite or whore, His feeds the beggar at his And no mortal Curio's A of lacqueys fatten his board: 120 To Christian meekness sacrifice thy spleen, And strive thy neighbour's weaknesses to screen. POET. be the wither'd all fame, wounds brother weeping o'er But if an impious wretch, with honour, truth, and decency aside; If not by awed, nor by fears, He counts his glories the stains he bears, The indignant Muse to aid shall rise, And fix the brand of infamy on vice. 130 What if, aroused imperious call, An hundred echo through his And, high rear'd, lofty dome the united art of Greece and Rome. What though whole hecatombs crew regale, And each dependant slumbers o'er his ale, While through unnumber'd pass'd, Indulge beggar and the dogs last: friend, is it benevolence Or vanity, whole? These of sloth, who by thrive, His pride
'Sir, Flaccus knew to live as welL as write,
  AnD kept, LikE me, TwO boyS arrAy'd in white;'
  WortHY to fEel that appetence of fame
  which RiVAls HORaCe onlY in his sHAmE!
  lEt ISiS[9] wAil In MUrMurs aS shE runs,
  HeR tempting fAthErS, and her yieldINg Sons;               110
  While dUlnEss screens thE faIlings Of The cHurch,
  nor LeaveS one slIDing RaBbi in the lUrCH:
  Far otHEr raptuRES lEt thE breast contain,
  WheRE hEAven-born taste aNd emulAtIOn REIgn.

  fRIeND.

  Shall noT a ThousANd virtuES, tHEN, AtoNE us
  In thy stricT censure for THe bReach oF oNe?
  IF bubo keEps a cAtAMitE or whore,
  His BounTy feeds thE beggaR At his doOR:
  And thoUgh no mOrtAl cRediTS CUrIo's WoRD,
  A sCOrE of LAcqUeys fattEn At His boArd:                   120
  TO cHRIstiAn mEeknEss saCrifice thy splEen,
  and sTRivE thy nEighbOur's WeAknesSes to sCreen.

  pOeT.

  Scorn'd be the baRd, anD wither'd aLl hIs FamE,
  WHo wouNDs a broTheR weEping o'eR his shaME!
  BuT iF AN ImPious wretch, with fraNtIC PrIde,
  ThrowS honouR, TrUtH, And decenCy AsiDe;
  If NOT by reAson AWeD, nor checK'd by feARs,
  he Counts hIs GlorieS fRom The StainS He beArs,
  The IndignanT Muse TO Virtue's aid shaLL rise,
  And fix thE BrAND oF InfaMy oN vice.                       130
  What if, ArouSEd at His iMPeRioUS call,
  an hunDrED fOOtsteps echo through hIs Hall,
  AnD, on hiGh columns rear'D, his lofty dOME
  proclaimS the UNiTEd art of Greece aNd RomE.
  What thougH Whole hecAtombS his crew Regale,
  And EACh dependAnt SluMbeRs o'ER HiS ale,
  While the rEMAins, ThRough moUthS unnumbEr'd PasS'd,
  INduLgE the beggaR and the dOgS aT lAsT:
  SaY, frieND, is it benEvOleNcE of Soul,
  OR PompouS vaniTy, thAt PrOMptS the whoLE?                 140
  THESe soNs Of SlotH, whO bY profUsioN ThrIve,
  His pRide
'Sir, Flaccus knew to live  as well a s wri te, 
 An d ke pt,like me, two b o ys a rray'd in white;'
  Wo rthyto feel th at ap petence of f ame 
 W hic hr iv als H ora ce only  in his sh ame !  Let Isis[9 ]  w ail in mur mur s as she run s,  Herte mpt i ng fa the rs, a nd her yieldi ng sons;          110  W hile  dulness screenst he failings of th e Chur ch , 
N orlea ves one sl id ing R a bbi int he l u rch : 
  Far otherraptures le t  th e brea st  co n tain,  Whe re hea ven-born ta steand emula tion r e ign.

FRIEND. 

  Sh all  no t at ho us and  v i rtu e s,  th e n,atone us 
 I n thy  str i c t cens ure  for  thebreach of one ?
 IfB ubo  keep s a c atam it e orwhore, 
  Hi sbounty feeds th e be ggar at h isdo or: 
 Andt houghnomor tal cre dits Cu r io' sw o r d, 
  A score of lacq ue y s  f atten at  his b o ar d:              1 20
 To C h ri stian me ekness sa cr ifice t hy  splee n, 
 And  stri v e th y neig hbour'sweakn e sses to screen . 

  POET.

 S co r n 'd be t hebard, and w ithe r 'd a ll h i sfam e ,
  W ho wo un d sa  brother weeping o' er  his s hame! 
  But if animpious wr e t c h, withfran t ic pride,
  Throw s hon our, truth ,  and dec encyaside;
 If not b y reason a wed , n orche c k 'd  by fears,
 H e  cou nt s his g lor ies fro m t hesta ins  h e bears,  The in di gn an tMus e toV irtue'sai d s ha llrise,   Andfix t he b ra nd ofinfamyo nv i ce.               1 30  Whatif, arous eda t hi sim perious  call,
  An h un dred foots te psecho t h r ough his  hall,
  And, on high c o lumns r ear 'd, h is l ofty dome 
 Procla ims the un ited a rt of  G ree c e  andR o me .
 W hat though w hol e hec at ombs  his cr ew regale,
  And e a chdependant slu mbe rs o ' e rhis al e ,
 W h ile t he remains, thr ough mouth su nn umber'd pa s s'd ,  Indul ge thebegga r  and th e dogs at  last:
 Sa y, f r i end , is it be nevolenc e of soul , 
  Or po mpous  va nity,th atpromp ts the who le?             140 These so ns of sloth, who by pro fusion  thri ve, 
  His pr ide 
'Sir, Flaccus_knew to_live as well as_write,
 _And_kept, like_me,_two boys array'd_in white;'
 _Worthy to feel that_appetence of fame
__Which rivals Horace only in his shame!
  Let Isis[9] wail in murmurs as_she_runs,
 _Her_tempting_fathers, and her yielding sons;_    _ _       110
__While dulness screens_the failings of the Church,
  Nor leaves one_sliding Rabbi in the lurch:
 _Far other raptures_let_the_breast contain,
  Where_heaven-born taste and emulation reign.

 _FRIEND.

  Shall not a thousand_virtues, then, atone us
  In thy_strict censure for the breach of_one?
  If Bubo keeps_a catamite_or whore,
  His bounty_feeds the beggar_at his_door:
  And_though no mortal credits Curio's word,
_ A score_of lacqueys fatten at his board:__  ___ _  __ __   120
  To_Christian_meekness sacrifice thy spleen,
  And strive_thy neighbour's weaknesses to_screen.

_ POET.

  Scorn'd_be the bard, and wither'd_all his fame,
  Who wounds_a brother_weeping o'er_his shame!
  But if an impious wretch, with frantic pride,
_ Throws honour, truth, and decency_aside;
  If not_by reason_awed,_nor check'd by_fears,
_ He_counts his glories from the stains he_bears,
 _The indignant Muse to Virtue's aid_shall rise,
  And_fix_the brand of infamy on vice._     _    ___    _    130
 _What if, aroused_at his imperious call,
  An hundred_footsteps_echo through his hall,
  And,_on_high columns rear'd, his lofty dome
__Proclaims_the united art of Greece_and Rome.
  What though whole_hecatombs his crew regale,
  And each dependant slumbers_o'er his ale,
_ While the remains, through_mouths_unnumber'd_pass'd,
  Indulge the beggar and the dogs at last:
_ Say,_friend, is it_benevolence of soul,
  Or pompous vanity, that prompts the_whole?      _          140
_ These sons of sloth, who by profusion_thrive,
  His pride