Say then, my friend! whose virtues are my pride,
Whose candour soothes me, while thy precepts guide;
Thou whose quick eye has look'd thro' every age,
View'd every scene, and studied every sage;
Say, shall I praise th' escutcheon's proud record,
When a lost Brutus sinks into a lord?
With fulsome sing-song after shadows run,
And still mistake a meteor for a sun?
Shall I be silent, while from day to day
Bellville in bagnios revels life away;
Flagitious drops the majesty of power
In the mad mischiefs of the midnight hour;
No flatterer left to daub, no friend to aid,
By strumpets plunder'd, and by wits betray'd?