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Alas, my BATHURST! what will they avail !
Join Cotswood hills to Saperton's fair dale,
Let rising Granaries and Temples here,
There mingled farms and pyramids appear,
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak,
Inclofe whole downs in walls, 'tis all a joke!
Inexorable Death shall level all,
And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall.

Gold, Silver, Iv'ry, Vases sculptur'd high,
Paint, Marble, Gems, and robes of Persian dye,
There are who have not-and thank heaven 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 one
Plows, burns, manures, and toils from sun to fun;
The other sights, for women, sports, and wines,
All Townshend's Turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines :
Why one like Bu— with pay and scorn content,
Bows and votes on, in Court and Parliament;
One, driven by strong Benevolence of foul,
Shall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole :
Is known alone to that Directing Power,
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 however be my heap, A part I will enjoy, as well as keep,

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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 sometimes spend, at others spare,
Divided between carelessness and care,
"Tis 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 fail, am neither less nor bigger.
I neither strut with every fav’ring breath,
Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth,
In power, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd
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 power?
Does neither Rage infiame, nor fear appall?
Not the black fear of death, that saddens all ?
With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,
Despise the known, nor tremble at th' unknown?
Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire,
In spite of witches, devils, dreams and fire ?
Pleas’d to look forward, pleas'd to look behind,
And count each birth-day with a grateful mind?
Vol. III.


Haş life no fourness, drawn so near its end;
Canst thou endure a' foe, forgive a friend?
Has age but melted the rough parts away,
As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay ?
Or will you think, my friend, your business done,
When of a hundred thorns, you pull out one?

Learn to live well, or fairly make your will;
You've play'd, and lov’d, and eat, and drank your fill
Walk fober off; before a sprightlier age
Comes titt'ring on, and shoves you from the stage:
Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease,
Whom Folly pleases, and whose Follies pleate.

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Quid vetat et nosmet Lucili fcripta legentes
Quaerere, num illius, num rerum dura negârit
Versiculos natura magis factos, et euntes



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