8
DIALOGUE. II.
Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain,
Rank'd with their Friends, not number'd with their Train;
And if yet higher the proud List should end,
Still let me say! No Follower, but a Friend.
Rank'd with their Friends, not number'd with their Train;
And if yet higher the proud List should end,
Still let me say! No Follower, but a Friend.
Yet think not Friendship only prompts my Lays;
I follow Virtue, where she shines, I praise,
Point she to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's Beaver cast a Glory.
I never (to my sorrow I declare)
Din'd with the Man of Ross, or my [1]Lord May'r.
Some, in their choice of Friends (nay, look not grave)
Have still a secret Byass to a Knave:
To find an honest man, I beat about,
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
A. Then why so few commended?
B. Not so fierce;
Find you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verse.
But random Praise—the Task can ne'er be done,
Each Mother asks it for her Booby Son,
I follow Virtue, where she shines, I praise,
Point she to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's Beaver cast a Glory.
I never (to my sorrow I declare)
Din'd with the Man of Ross, or my [1]Lord May'r.
Some, in their choice of Friends (nay, look not grave)
Have still a secret Byass to a Knave:
To find an honest man, I beat about,
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
A. Then why so few commended?
B. Not so fierce;
Find you the Virtue, and I'll find the Verse.
But random Praise—the Task can ne'er be done,
Each Mother asks it for her Booby Son,
- ↑ Sir John Barnard.
Each
