If, after this, you took the graceless lad, Could you complain, my friend, he prov'd so bad?

Faith, in such case, if you should prosecute, I think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit; Who sent the thief that stole the cash away,

And punish'd him that put it in his way. Consider then, and judge me in this light;

I told you when I went I could not write; You said the same; and are you discontent With laws to which you gave your own

assent ?

30

Denied all posts of profit or of trust.
Hopes after hopes of pious papists fail'd,
While mighty William's thund'ring arm
prevail'd;

For right hereditary tax'd and fin'd
He stuck to poverty with peace of mind;
And me, the Muses help'd to undergo it;
Convict a Papist he, and I a Poet.
But (thanks to Homer) since I live and
thrive,

Indebted to no prince or peer alive,

Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,

70

If I would scribble rather than repose. Years foll'wing years steal something ev'ry

day,

pass,

Two Aldermen dispute it with an Ass? And Peers give way, exalted as they are, Ev'n to their own s-r-v -nce in a car?

Go, lofty Poet, and in such a crowd Sing thy sonorous verse but not aloud. Alas! to grottos and to groves we run, 110 To ease and silence, ev'ry Muse's son: Blackmore himself, for any grand effort Would drink and doze at Tooting or Earl'scourt.

How shall I rhyme in this eternal roar? How match the bards whom none e'er match'd before?

The man who, stretch'd in Isis' calm retreat,

To books and study gives sev❜n years complete,

See! strew'd with learned dust, his night

To court applause by printing what I write : But let the fit pass o'er; I'm wise enough To stop my ears to their confounded stuff.

In vain bad rhymers all mankind reject, They treat themselves with most profound respect;

"T is to small purpose that you hold your

tongue,

Each, prais'd within, is happy all day long: But how severely with themselves proceed The men who write such verse as we can

read?

Their own strict judges, not a word they spare

That wants or force, or light, or weight, or

Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place, Nay, tho' at Court (perhaps) it may find grace.

Such they'll degrade; and, sometimes in its stead,

In downright charity revive the dead; Mark where a bold expressive phrase appears,

Bright thro' the rubbish of some hundred

years;

Half that the Devil o'erlooks from Lincoln town.

The laws of God, as well as of the land,
Abhor a perpetuity should stand:
Estates have wings, and hang in Fortune's
power,

Loose on the point of ev'ry wav'ring hour,
Ready by force, or of your own accord, 250
By sale, at least by death, to change their
lord.

Man? and for ever? Wretch! what wouldst thou have?

Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave. All vast possessions (just the same the

Enclose whole towns in walls; 't is all a joke!

Inexorable death shall level all, And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall.

Gold, silver, ivory, vases sculptured high, Paint, marble, gems, and robes of Persian dye,

There are who have not-and, thank Heav'n, there are

Who, if they have not, think not worth their care.

Talk what you will of Taste, my friend, you 'll find

Two of a face as soon as of a mind.
Why, of two brothers, rich and restless

Why one, like Bubb, with pay and scorn

content,

Bows and votes on in Court and Parliament;

One, driv'n by strong benevolence of soul, Shall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole; Is known alone to that directing Power 278 Who forms the genius in the natal hour; That God of Nature, who, within us still, Inclines our action, not constrains our will; Various of temper, as of face or frame, Each individual: His great end the same.

Yes, Sir, how small soever be my heap,
A part I will enjoy as well as keep.
My heir may sigh, and think it want of
grace

A man so poor would live without a place;
But sure no statute in his favour says,
How free or frugal I shall pass my days;
I who at some times spend, at others spare,
Divided between carelessness and care. 291
'T is one thing, madly to disperse my store;
Another, not to heed to treasure more;
Glad, like a boy, to snatch the first good
day,

And pleas'd, if sordid want be far away.

What is 't to me (a passenger, God wot) Whether my vessel be first-rate or not? The ship itself may make a better figure, But I that sail, am neither less nor bigger. I neither strut with ev'ry fav'ring breath, 300 Nor strive with all the tempest in my

teeth;

In Power, Wit, Figure, Virtue, Fortune, placed

Behind the foremost, and before the last.
'But why all this of Av'rice? I have
none.'

I wish you joy, sir, of a tyrant gone:
But does no other lord it at this hour,
As wild and mad? the avarice of Pow'r?
Does neither Rage inflame nor Fear ap-
pall?

Not the black fear of Death, that saddens all?

With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne, Despise the known, nor tremble at th' un

known?

310