Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Thus with each gift of nature and of art, And wanting nothing but an honest heart: Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt, And most contemptible, to shun contempt; His passion still, to covet general praise; His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;

A constant bounty, which no friend has made ;
An angel tongue, which no man can persuade;
A fool, with more of wit than half mankind,
Too rash for thought, for action too refined:
A tyrant to the wife his heart approves;
A rebel to the very king he loves;

200

He dies, sad outcast of each church and state,
And harder still! flagitious, yet not great.
Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule?
'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool.
Nature well known, no prodigies remain,
Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.

Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake,
If second qualities for first they take.
When Catiline by rapine swell'd his store:
When Cæsar made a noble dame a whore ;
In this the lust, in that the avarice,

Were means, not ends; ambition was the vice.
That very Cæsar, born in Scipio's days,
Had aim'd, like him, by chastity, at praise.
Lucullus, when frugality could charm,
Had roasted turnips in the Sabine farm.
In vain the observer eyes the builder's toil,
But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile.

In this one passion man can strength enjoy,
As fits give vigour just when they destroy.
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand.
Consistent in our follies and our sins,
Here honest Nature ends as she begins.
Old politicians chew on wisdom past,
And totter on in business to the last;
As weak, as earnest; and as gravely out,
As sober Lanesborow dancing in the gout.
Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace
Has made the father of a nameless race,
Shoved from the wall perhaps, or rudely press'd
By his own son, that passes by unbless'd:
Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees,
And envies every sparrow that he sees.

A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; The doctor call'd, declares all help too late. 'Mercy!' cries Helluo, 'mercy on my soul! Is there no hope?-Alas!-then bring the jowl.' The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, Still strives to save the hallow'd taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. 'Odious! in woollen ! 'twould a saint provoke,' Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke; 'No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face;

210

220

230

240

'The manor, sir?'-The manor! hold,' he cried, 260 'Not that,-I cannot part with that,'--and died.

And you! brave Cobham, to the latest breath, Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death: Such in these moments as in all the past,

Oh, save my country, Heaven!' shall be your last.

EPISTLE II.

TO A LADY.

ARGUMENT.

Of the Characters of Women.

That the particular characters of women are not so strongly marked as those of men, seldom so fixed, and still more inconsistent with themselves, ver. 1, &c. Instances of contrarieties given, even from such characters as are more strongly marked, and seemingly, therefore, most consistent: as, 1. In the affected.-2 In the soft natured.-3. In the cunning and artful.4. In the whimsical.-5. In the lewd and vicious.-6. In the witty and refined.-7. In the stupid and simple, ver. 21 to 207. The former part having shown that the particular characters of women are more various than those of men, it is nevertheless observed that the general characteristic of the sex, as to the ruling passion, is more uniform, ver. 207. This is occasioned partly by their nature, partly by their education, and in some degree by necessity, ver. 211. What are the aims and the fate of this sex:-1. As to power.-2. As to pleasure, ver. 219.-Advice for their true interest The picture of an estimable woman, with the best kind of contrarieties, ver. 243 to the end.

There is nothing in Mr. Pope's works more highly finished than this epistle yet its success was in no proportion to the pains he took in composing it. Something he chanced to drop in a short advertisement prefixed to it on its first publication, may, perhaps account for the small attention given to it. He said that no one character in it was drawn from the life. The public believed him on his word, and expressed little curiosity about a satire, in which there was nothing personal.

NOTHING So true as what you once let fall, Most women have no characters at all.' Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair. How many pictures of one nymph we view, All how unlike each other, all how true! Arcadia's countess, here, in ermined pride, Is there, Pastora by a fountain side. Here Faunia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda with a swan. Let then the fair-one beautifully cry, In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye;

One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead-Or dress'd in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, And-Betty-give this cheek a little red.'

251 With simpering angels, palms, and harps divine:

The courtier smooth, who forty years had shined Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it,

An humble servant to all human kind,

Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir, 'If-where I'm going-I could serve you sir!'

'I give and I devise,' old Euclio said,

[ocr errors]

And sigh'd, my lands and tenements to Ned.' 'Your money, sir ?'-'My money, sir, what all? Why, if I must'-then wept, 'I give it Paul.'

If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

10

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air; Choose a firm cloud, before it fail, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. 20 Rufa, whose eye, quick glancing o'er the park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark,

Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,
As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock;
Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task,
With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask :
So morning insects, that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun.
How soft is Silia! fearful to offend ;
The frail-one's advocate, the weak-one's friend,
To her, Calista proved her conduct nice;
And good Simplicius asks of her advice.

Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink,
But spare your censure; Silia does not drink.
All eyes may see from what the change arose,
All eyes may see—a pimple on her nose.

Papilia, wedded to her amorous spark,
Sighs for the shades- How charming is a park!'
A park is purchased, but the fair he sees

All bathed in tears-Oh odious, odious trees!"
Ladies, like variegated tulips, show,

'Tis to their changes half their charms they owe;
Fine by defect, and delicately weak,
Their happy spots the nice admirer take.
'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd,
Awed without virtue, without beauty charm'd;
Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes;
Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise:
Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad;
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create,
As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate.
Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild,

Then all for death, that opiate of the soul!
Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl.
Say, what can cause such impotence of mind?

A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind.
Wise wretch! with pleasure too refin'd to please;
With too much spirit to be e'er at ease;
With too much quickness ever to be taught;

100

30 With too much thinking to have common thought:
You purchase pain with all that joy can give,
And die of nothing but a rage to live.
Turn then from wits, and look on Simo's mate;
No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate:

Or her that owns her faults but never mends,
Because she 's honest, and the best of friends:
Or her whose life the church and scandal share,
For ever in a passion or a prayer:

Or her who laughs at hell, but (like her grace)

110

120

40 Cries, Ah! how charming if there's no such place!"
Or who in sweet vicissitude appears,
Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,
The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,
To kill those foes to fair ones, time and thought.
Woman and fool are two hard things to hit :
For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit.
But what are those to great Atossa's mind?
Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind!
Who, with herself, or others, from her birth,
50 Finds all her life one warfare upon earth.
Shines in exposing knaves and painting fools,
Yet is whate'er she hates and ridicules.
No thought advances, but her eddy brain
Whisks it about, and down it goes again.
Full sixty years the world has been her trade,
The wisest fool much time has ever made.
From loveless youth to unrespected age,
No passion gratified, except her rage:
So much the fury still outran the wit,
60 That pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit.
Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell,
But he's a bolder man who dares be well.
Her every turn with violence pursued,
Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude:
To that each passion turns, or soon or late;
Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate:
Superiors? death! and equals? what a curse!
But an inferior not dependent! worse.
Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
70 Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live:
But die, and she'll adore you-Then the bust
And temple rise-then fall again to dust.
Last night, her lord was all that's good and great;
A knave this morning, and his will a cheat.
Strange! by the means defeated of the ends,
By spirit robb'd of power, by warmth of friends,
By wealth of followers! without one distress,
Sick of herself, through very selfishness!
Atossa, cursed with every granted prayer,

To make a wash would hardly stew a child;
Has e'en been proved to grant a lover's prayer,
And paid a tradesman once to make him stare;
Gave alms at Easter in a Christian trim,
And made a widow happy for a whim.
Why then declare good-nature is her scorn,
When 'tis by that alone she can be borne?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name?
A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame :
Now deep in Taylor and the book of Martyrs,
Now drinking citron with his grace and Chartres:
Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns;
And atheism and religion take their turns;
A very heathen in the carnal part,
Yet still a sad good christian at her heart.

See sin in state, majestically drunk,
Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk;
Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside,
A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
What then? let blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought;
Such this day's doctrine-in another fit
She sins with poets through pure love of wit.
What has not fired her bosom or her brain?
Cæsar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlemagne.
As Helluo, late dictator of the feast,
The nose of haut-gout, and the tip of taste,
Critiqued your wine, and analysed your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat:
So Philomede, lecturing all mankind
On the soft passion, and the taste refined,
The address, the delicacy-stoops at once,
And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce.
Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray;
To toast our wants and wishes, is her way;
Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give
The mighty alessing, while we live, to live.'

80 Childless with all her children, wants an heir.
To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store,
Or wanders, Heaven-directed, to the poor!
Pictures, like these, dear madam, to design,
Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line:
Some wandering touches, some reflected light,
Some flying stroke alone can hit them right:
For how should equal colours do the knack?
Cameleons who can paint in white and black?

'Yet Chloe sure was form'd without a spot.'90 Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot.

130

140

150

With every pleasing, every prudent part,

Say, what can Chloe want?'-She wants a heart. 160
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;
But never, never reach'd one generous thought.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour,
Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
So very reasonable, so unmoved,

Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown,
Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone;
Worn out in public, weary every eye,

Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die. 230
Pleasures the sex, as children birds pursue,
Still out of reach, yet never out of view;
Sure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most,
To covet flying, and regret when lost;
At last, to follies youth could scarce defend,
It grows their age's prudence to pretend;
Ashamed to own they gave delight before,
170 Reduced to feign it, when they give no more:
As hags hold sabbaths less for joy than spite,
So these their merry, miserable night;
Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide,
And haunt the places where their honour died.

See how the world its veterans rewards!
A youth of frolics, an old age of cards;
Fair to no purpose, artful to no end,
Young without lovers, old without a friend;
A fop their passion, but their prize a sot,
180 Alive ridiculous, and dead forgot!

As never yet to love, or to be loved.
She, while her lover pants upon her breast,
Can mark the figures on an Indian chest;
And when she sees her friend in deep despair,
Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair.
Forbid it, Heaven, a favour or a debt
She e'er should cancel-but she may forget.
Safe is your secret still in Chloe's ear;
Bat none of Chloe's shall you ever hear.
Of all her dears she never slander'd one,
But cares not if a thousand are undone.
Would Chloe know if you 're alive or dead?
She bids her footman put it in her head.
Chloe is prudent-Would you too be wise?
Then never break your heart when Chloe dies
One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen,
Which Heaven has varnish'd out, and made a queen:
The same for ever! and described by all
With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball.
Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will,
And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.
Tis well-but artists! who can paint or write,
To draw the naked is your true delight
That robe of quality so struts and swells,
None see what parts of nature it conceals:
The exactest traits of body or of mind,
We owe to models of a humble kind.

if Queensberry to strip there's no compelling,
'Tis from a handmaid we must take a Helen.
From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing
To draw the man who loves his God or king:
Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail)
From honest Mahomet or plain parson Hale.
But grant, in public men sometimes are shown,
A woman's seen in private life alone:
Our bolder talents in full light display'd,
Your virtues open fairest in the shade.
Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide;
There, none distinguish 'twixt your shade or pride,
Weakness or delicacy; all so nice,

That each may seem a virtue or a vice.
In men we various ruling passions find;
In women, two almost divide the kind:
Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey,
The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.
That nature gives; and where the lesson taught
Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault?
Experience, this; by man's oppression cursed,
They seek the second not to lose the first.
Men, some to business, some to pleasure take;
But
every woman is at heart a rake:
Men, some to quiet, some to public strife,
But every lady would be queen for life.

Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens!
Power all their end, but beauty all the means:
la youth they conquer with so wild a rage,
As leaves them scarce a subject in their age:
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam;
No thought of peace or happiness at home.
But wisdom's triumph is well-timed retreat,
As hard a science to the fair as great!

240

[blocks in formation]

That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the
ring,

Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing:
So when the sun's broad beam has tired the sight,
All mild ascends the moon's more sober light,
Serene in virgin modesty she shines,

190 And unobserved the glaring orb declines.

O! bless'd with temper, whose unclouded ray
Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day;
She who can love a sister's charms, or hear
Sighs for a daughter, with unwounded ear;
She who ne'er answers till a husband cools;
Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules;
Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
Yet has her humour most when she obeys;
Let fops or fortune fly which way they will,
200 Disdains all loss of tickets or codille;
Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all,
And mistress of herself though china fall.

260

270

And yet, believe me, good as well as ill,
Woman's at best a contradiction still.
Heaven when it strives to polish all it can,
Its last best work, but forms a softer man;
Picks from each sex, to make the favourite bless'd,
Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest;
Blends in exception to all general rules,
210 Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools;
Reserve with frankness, art with truth allied,
Courage with softness, modesty with pride;
Fix'd principles with fancy ever new;
Shakes all together, and produces-you.

Be this a woman's fame; with this unbless'd,
Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest.
This Phoebus promised, (I forget the year,)
When those blue eyes first open'd on the sphere;
Ascendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with care,
220 Averted half your parents' simple prayer

And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf
That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself.
The generous god, who wit and gold refines,
And ripens spirits as he ripens mines,
Kept dross for duchesses, the world shall know it,
To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.

280

290

EPISTLE III.

TO ALLEN, LORD BATHURST.

ARGUMENT.

Of the Use of Riches.

What nature wants (a phrase I much distrust)
Extends to luxury, extends to lust:
Useful, I grant, it serves what life requires,
But, dreadful too, the dark assassin hires.

B. Trade it may help, society extend:

P. But lures the pirate, and corrupts the friend. 30
B. It raises armies in a nation's aid:

P. But bribes a senate, and the land 's betray'd

40

That it is known to few, most falling into one of the In vain may heroes fight and patriots rave, extremes, avarice or profusion, ver. 1, &c. The point If secret gold sap on from knave to knave. discussed, whether the invention of money has been Once, we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak, more commodious or pernicious to mankind, ver. 21 to From the crack'd bag the dropping guinea spoke, 77. That riches, either to the avaricious or the pro- And jingling down the back stairs, told the crew, digal, cannot afford happiness, scarcely necessaries, ver. 89 to 160. That avarice is an absolute frenzy, 'Old Cato is as great a rogue as you.' without an end or purpose, ver. 113, &c. 152. Conjec- Bless'd paper credit! last and best supply!" tures about the motives of avaricious men, ver. 121 to That lends corruption lighter wings to fly! 153. That the conduct of men with respect to riches, Gold, imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things, can only be accounted for by the order of Providence, Can pocket states, can fetch or carry kings: which works the general good out of extremes, and A single leaf shall waft an army o'er, brings all to its great end by perpetual revolutions, Or ship off senates to some distant shore; ver. 161 to 178. How a miser acts upon principles A leaf like Sybil's, scatter to and fro, which appear to him reasonable, ver. 179. How a prodigal does the same, ver. 199. The true medium, and Our fates and fortunes, as the wind shall blow; true use of riches, ver. 219. The man of Ross, ver. Pregnant with thousands flits the scrap unseen, 250. The fate of the profuse and the covetous, in two And silent sells a king or buys a queen. examples; both miserable in life and in death, ver. 300, Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see, &c. The story of Sir Balaam, ver. 339 to the end. Still, as of old, encumber'd villany! Could France or Rome divert our brave designs, With all their brandies or with all their wines? What could they more than knights and 'squires confound,

50

This epistle was written after a very violent outcry against our author, on a supposition that he had ridiculed a worthy nobleman, merely for his wrong taste. He justified himself upon that article in a letter to the Or water all the quorum ten miles round? Earl of Burlington; at the end of which are these A statesman's slumbers how this speech would spoil! words: 'I have learnt that there are some who would 'Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil; rather be wicked than ridiculous: and therefore it Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door; may be safer to attack vices than follies. I will there- A hundred oxen at your levee roar.' fore leave my betters in the quiet possession of their idols, their groves, and their high-places, and change my subject from their pride to their meanness, from their vanities to their miseries; and as the only certain way to avoid misconstructions, to lessen offence, Whom with a wig so wild and mien so mazed, and not to multiply ill-natured applications, I may probably in my next make use of real names instead of fictitious ones.'

P. WHO shall decide when doctors disagree,
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus given,
That man was made the standing jest of Heaven:
And gold but sent to keep the fools in play,
For some to heap, and some to throw away.
But I, who think more highly of our kind,
(And, surely, Heaven and I are of a mind,)
Opine, that nature, as in duty bound,

Deep hid the shining mischief under ground:
But when, by man's audacious labour won,
Flamed forth this rival to its sire the sun,
Then careful Heaven supplied two sorts of men,
To squander these, and those to hide again.

Poor avarice one torment more would find; Nor could profusion squander all in kind. Astride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet, And Worldly crying coals from street to street,

60

70

Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman crazed.
Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs,
Could he himself have sent it to the dogs?
His grace will game: to White's a bull be led,
With spurning heels and with a butting head:
To White's be carried, as to ancient games,
Fair coursers, vases, and alluring dames.
Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep,
Bear home six whores, and make his lady weep?
Or soft Adonis, so perfumed and fine,
Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine?
O filthy check on all industrious skill,
To spoil the nation's last great trade, quadrille!
10 Since then, my lord, on such a world we fall,
What
say you? B. Say? Why, take it, gold and all.
P. What riches gives us, let us then inquire:
Meat, fire, and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat,

Like doctors thus, when much dispute has pass'd,
We find our tenets just the same at last:
Both fairly owning riches, in effect,
No grace of Heaven, or token of the elect:
Given to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil,
To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the devil.
B. What nature wants, commodious gold bestows:
'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows.

P. But how unequal it bestows, observe; 'Tis thus we riot, while, who sow it, starve:

20

[blocks in formation]

They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)
Give Harpax' self the blessing of a friend;
Or find some doctor that would save the life
Of wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife.
But thousands die, without or this or that,
Die, and endow a college or a cat.
To some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate,
To enrich a bastard, or a son they hate.

101

119

160

Hear then the truth: 'Tis Heaven each passion sends,
And different men directs to different ends.
Extremes in nature equal good produce,
Extremes in man concur to general use.

170

Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow?
That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow;
Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain,
Through reconciled extremes of drought and rain:
And gives the eternal wheels to know their rounds.
Builds life on death, on change duration founds,
Riches, like insects, when conceal'd they lie,
Wait but for wings, and in their season fly.
Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store,
Sees but a backward steward for the poor;
This year a reservoir to keep and spare,
The next a fountain, spouting through his heir,
In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst,
And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.
Old Cotta shamed his fortune and his birth,
110 Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:

Perhaps you think the poor might have their part;
Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his heart:
The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule,
That every man in want is knave or fool:
'God cannot love,' says Blunt, with tearless eyes,
'The wretch he starves'-and piously denies :
But the good Bishop, with a meeker air,
Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care.
Yet, to be just to these poor men of pelf,
Each does but hate his neighbour as himself:
Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides
The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides.

B. Who suffer thus, mere charity should own,
Must act on motives powerful, though unknown.
P. Some war, some plague, or famine, they foresee,
Some revelation hid from you and me.
Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found;
He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound.
What made directors cheat in South-sea year?
To live on venison when it sold so dear.

[ocr errors]

you why Phryne the whole auction buys?
Phryne foresees a general excise.
Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum?
Alas! they think a man will cost a plum.

Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold,
And therefore hopes this nation may be sold:
Glorious Ambition! Peter, swell thy store,
And be what Rome's great Didius was before.
The crown of Poland, venal twice an age,
To just three millions stinted modest Gage.
But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold,
Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold.
Congenial souls; whose life one avarice joins,
And one fate buries in the Asturian mines.

180

What though, (the use of barbarous spits forgot,)
His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot?
His court with nettles, moats with cresses stored,
With soups unbought and salads bless'd his board?
If Cotta lived on pulse, it was no more
Than Bramins, saints, and sages did before:
To cram the rich was prodigal expense,
And who would take the poor from Providence?
Like some lone Chartreux stands the good old hall,
120 Silence without, and fasts within the wall;

No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabour sound,
No noontide bell invites the country round:
Tenants with sighs the smokeless towers survey,
And turn their unwilling steeds another way:
Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er,
Curse the saved candle and unopening door;
While the gaunt mastiff, growling at the gate,
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat.

Not so his son: he mark'd this oversight,
130 And then mistook reverse of wrong for right:
(For what to shun, will no great knowledge need;
But what to follow, is a task indeed.)

Much-injured Blunt! why bears he Britain's hate? Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise,

A wizard told him in these words our fate:
At length corruption, like a general flood
(So long by watchful ministers withstood,)
Shall deluge all; and avarice creeping on,
Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun;
Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks,
Peeress and butler share alike the box,
And judges job, and bishops bite the town,
And mighty dukes pack cards for half-a-crown.
See Britain sunk in lucre's sordid charms,
And France revenged of Anne's and Edward's arms!
'Twas no court-badge, great scrivener! fired thy brain,
Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain:

No, 'twas thy righteous end, ashamed to see
Senates degenerate, patriots disagree,
And nobly wishing party-rage to cease,
To buy both sides, and give thy country peace.

'All this is madness,' cries a sober sage:
'But who, my friend, has reason in his rage?
The ruling passion, be it what it will,
The ruling passion, conquers reason still.'
Less mad the wildest whimsey we can frame,
Than ev'n that passion, if it has no aim :
For though such motives folly you may call,
The folly's greater to have none at all.

More go to ruin fortunes, than to raise.

190

200

210

What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine,
Fill the capacious 'squire, and deep divine!
Yet no mean motive this profusion draws,
His oxen perish in his country's cause;
'Tis George and liberty that crowns the cup,
140 And zeal for that great house which eats him up.
The woods recede around the naked seat,
The Sylvans groan-no matter-for the fleet.
Last, for his country's love, he sells his lands.
Next goes his wool-to clothe our valiant bands:
To town he comes, completes the nation's hope,
And heads the bold train-bands, and burns a pope;
And shall not Britain now reward his toils,
Britain, that pays her patriots with her spoils ?
In vain at court the bankrupt pleads his cause;
150 His thankless country leaves him to her laws.
The sense to value riches, with the art
To enjoy them, and the virtue to impart,
Not meanly, nor ambitiously pursued,
Not sunk by sloth, nor raised by servitude;
To balance fortune by a just expense,
Join with economy, magnificence;
With splendour charity, with plenty health;
O teach us, Bathurst! yet unspoil'd by wealth!

220

« ZurückWeiter »