Vain man, forbear; in peace let Churchill rest, Securely laid within the silent grave, The sons of vice no more he shall molest, No more his Muse licentious greatness brave.
Whate'er the man, the poet still was great; His own bold thoughts he boldly dar'd to write: Nor wealth nor honours mov'd his love or hate, Nor threaten'd vengeance could his Muse affright.
Now Lords and — may sin secure, Since manly satire with Churchill fled: Then o'er his corpse, ah! cease thy wrath to pour, Nor with Barbarian rage assault the dead.
Mean is the fell revenge thy pen would take, And base the soul that such revenge could plan: While Churchill liv'd, thy coward heart would quake T' enrage his Muse, or to attack the Man. Richard's Coffee-House.
