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Who copies your's, or Oxford's better part, On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw, To ease th' oppress'd, and raise the sinking heart? | With tape-ty'd curtains, never meant to draw, Where'er he shines, oh Fortune, gild the scene, The George and Garter dangling from that bed And angels guard him in the golden mean! Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, There, English Bounty yet a while may stand, Great Villers lies--alas how chang'd from him, And Honour linger ere it leaves the land.
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim ! Put all our praises why should lords engross? Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove, Rise, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross : 250 The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and Love; Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, Or just as gay, at council, in a ring And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. Of mimick'd statesmen, and their merry king, 310 Who hung with woouls yon mountain's sultry brow? No wit to flatter, left of all his store! From the drv rock who bade the waters flow? No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. Not to the skis in useless columns wst,
There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, Or in proud fails magnificently lost,
And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends. But clear and artless pouring through the plain His grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee, Halth to the sick, and solace to the swain.
And well (he thought) advis'd him, “ Live like me!" Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? As well his grace reply'd, “ Like you, sir John ? W'hose seats the weary traveiler repose? 260 | That I can do, when all I have is gone." Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise? Resolve me, Reason, which of these are worse, “ The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. Want with a full, or with an empty purse? 320 B hold the market-place with poor v'erspread! Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd, The Man of Ross divides the weekiv bread:
Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd ? He feeds von aims-house, neat, but void of state, Cutler saw tenants break, and honses fall, Where Age and Want sit siniling at the gate; For very want he could not build a wall. Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans blest, His only daughter in a stranger's power, The young who labour, and the old who rest. For very want; he could not pay a dower. Is any sick? the Man of Ross relieves, (270 A few grey hairs his reverend temples croup'd, Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives. 'Twas very want that sold them for two pound. Is there a variance? enter but his door,
What! evin deny'd a cordial at his end, Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more. Banish'd the doctor, and expell'u the friend? 330 Despairing quacks with curses Aed the place, What but a want, which you perhaps think mad, And vile attorneys, now an useless race.
Yet numbers feel, the want of what he had ! B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue Cutler and Brutus dying, both exclaim, What all so wish, but want the power to do! “Virtue! and Wealth! what are ve but a name !" Oh say, what sums that generous hand supply? Say, for such worth are other worlds prepar'd ? What mines to swell that boundless charity? Or are they both, in this, their own reward?
P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, A knotty point! to which we now proceed. This man possest—tive hundred pounds a year. 280 But you are tird-I'll tell a tale-B. Agreed. Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies Four blaze!
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; 340 Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays.
There dwelt a citizen of sober fame, B. And what? no monument, inscription, stone? A plain good man, and Balaam was his name; His race, his form, his name alınost unknown? Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth;
P. Who builds a church to God, and not to Fame, His word would pass for more than he was worth Will never mark the marble with his name:
One solid dish his week-day meal affords, Go, search it there, whcre to be born and die, And added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's : Of rich and poor makes all the history ;
Constant at church, and Change; bis gains were Enough, that Virtue fill'd the space between; His givings rare, save farthings to the poor. (sure, Prov'd by the ends of being, to have been. 090 The devil was piqu’d such saintship to behold, When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend And long'd to tempt him, like good job of old ; The wretch, who living sav'd a cudle's end ; But Satan now is wises thau of yore, Shouldering God's altar a vile image stunds, And tempts by making rich, not making poor. Belios bis features, nay extends his hands;
Rous'd by the prince of air, the whirlwinds sweep That live-long wig, which Gorgon's self might own, The surge, and plunge his father in the deep; Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.
Then full against his Cornish lands they roar, Behold what blessings wealth to life can lenil ! And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore. And see, what comfort it affords our end.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks. In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, He takes his chirping pint, and cracks bis jok's: The floors of plaister, and the walls of dung, 300 “Live like yourself,” was soon my lady's word ;
And lo! two pu tdings smoak'd upon the board.360
Asleep and naked as an Indian lay, After ver. 250, in the MS.
An honest factor stole a gem away: Trace humble worth beyond Sabrina's shore,
He pledg'id it to the knight, the knight had wit, Who sings not him, oh may he sing no more!
So kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit. Ver. 287. Thus in the MS.
The register inrolls him with his poor,
Or tell a tale?-a ta eit follows thns.
Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought, harmony of the whole, ver. 97, and the second, “ I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat; either in joining together parts incoherent, or Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice- too minutely resembling, or in the repetition of And am so clear too of all other vice."
the samne too frequently, ver. 105, &c. A word The tempter saw his time: the work he ply'd ; or two of false tąste in books, in music, in Stocks and subscriptions pour on every side, 370 painting, even in preaching and prayer, and Till all the deinon makes his full descent
lastly in entertainments, ver. 133, &c. Yet In one abundant shower of cent per cent,
Providence is justified in giving wealth to be Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole, squandered in this manner, since it is dispersed Then dubs director, and secures his soul.
to the poor and laborious part of mankind, Behold sir Balaam, now a man of spirit,
ver. 169, (recurring to what is laid down in the Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit;
first book, Ep. ii. and in the Epistle preceding this, What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit,
ver. 159, &c.] What are the proper objects of And God's good providence, a lucky hit.
magnificence, and a proper field for the expense Things change their titles, as our manners tum: of great men, ver. 177, &c. and finally the great His compting house employ'd the Sunday morn: and public works which become a prince, ver. 191, Seldom at church, ('twas such a busy life) (380 to the end. But duly sent his family and wife. There (so the devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide Dly good old lady catch'd a cold, and dy'd.
A nymph of quality admires our knight; He marries, bows at court, and grows polite :
The extremes of avarice and profusion being treatLeaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair)
ed of in the foregoing epistle; this takes up one The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air :
particular branch of the latter, the vanity of First, for his son a gay commission buys, (390
expense in people of wealth and quality; and is
therefore a corollary to the preceding, just as Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies: His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife;
the epistle on the characters of women is to that She bears a coronet and p—x for life.
of the knowledge and characters of inen. It is In Britain's senate he a seat obtains,
equally reinarkable for exactness of method with the rest.
But the nature of the subject, which And one more pensioner St. Stephen gains. My lady falls to play: so bad her chance,
is less philosophical, makes it capable of being He must repair it; takes a bribe from France;
analyzed in a much narrower compass. The house impeach him, Coningsby harangues ; The court forsake him, and sir Balaam hangs : Wite, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own, 'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown : 400 To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy : The devil and the king divide the prize,
Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste
His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane. 10 TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL OF BURLINCTOX.
Think we all these are for himself? no more
For what has Virro painted, built, and planted ?
Only to show how many tastes he wanted.
What brought sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste?
Some demon whisper'd, “ Visto? have a taste." Tur vanity of expense in people of wealth and
Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool, quality. The abuse of che word taste, ver. 13.
And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule. That the first principle and foundation in this,
See! sportive Fate, to punish awkward pride, as in every thing else, is good sense, ver. 40.
Biris Bubo build, and senils him such a guide : 20 The chief proof of it is to follow Nature, even in
A standing sermon, at each year's expense, works of inere luxury and elegance. Instanced
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence! in architecture and gardening, where all must
You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse, be adapted to the genius and use of the place, And pompous buildings once were things of use. and the beauties not forced into it, but resulting till half the land with imitating fools ;
Yet shall (my lord) your just, your noble rules froin it, ver. 50. How men are disappointed in their most expensive undertakings, for want of
Who random drawings from your sheets shall take this true foundation, without which nothing can
And of one beauty many blunders make; please long, if at all; and the best examples and rules will be but perverted into something burthensoine and ridiculous, ver. 65, | After ver. 22, in the MS. &c. to 92. A description of the false taste of Must bishops, lawyers, statesmen, have the skill magnificence; the first grand errour of which is, To build, to plant, judge paintings, what you will? to imagine that greatness consists in the size Then why not Kent as well our treaties draw, and dimension, instead of the proportion and Bridgman explain the gospel, Gibbs the law?
OF THE USE OF RICHES.
Load some iain church with old theatric state, At Tiinou's villa let in pass a day,
30 Where all cry out, “Wiat sins are thrown away!"
Greatness, with Tinon, weils in such a draugat That, lac'd with bits of rustic, makes a front. As brings all Brobdignag before your thought. Shall call the winds through lony arcades to roar, To com pass this, his builling is a town, Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;
Hlis pound an ocean, his parterre a down: Conscious they act a true Palladian part,
Whu but must laugli, the master when he sees, And if they starve, they stirvebs rules of art. A puny insect, shitering at a breeze!
Oft have you binted to your brother peer, Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around! A certain truth, which many buy too dear: 40 | The whole a labour'd quarry above groundt 110 Something there is more needful than expense, Two Cupiris squirt before: a lake behind And something previous ev'n to taste-ti- sense: Improves the keermess of the northern wind. Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, His gardens next yonr adiniration call, And, though no science, fairly worth the seven: On (tery side you look, behold the wall! A light which in yourself you must perceive; No pleasing intricacies intervene, Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give.
No artful wildness to prplex the scene; To build, to plant, whaterer you intend, Grove nods at grore, each alley has a brother, To rear the column, or the arch to bend,
Aud half the platform just reflects the other. To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot;
The suffering eye inverted Nature sees, In all, let Nature never be forgot: 50 Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees;
120 But treat the goddess like a modest fair,
With here a fountain, neves to be play'd; Nor over-dress, nor leave bes wholly dare; And there a summer-house that knows no shade; Let not each beauty every where be spy'd,
Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bowers; Where half the skill is decently to hide.
There g'adiators fight, or die in Aowers;
My lord advances with majestic mien,
Smit with the mighty pleasure to be seen: Or helps th' ambitious hill the heavens to scale, But soft-by regular approach.not yet— (130 Or scoops in circling theatre's the vale; 60 First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat; Calls in the country, cat hes opening glades, And when up ten steep slopes you've dragg'd your Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades; Just at his study-door he'll bless your eyes. (thighs, Now breaks, or now directs th' intending lines; Ilis study! xith what authors, is it stor'd ? Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs. In books, not authors, curious is my lord; Still follow sense, of every art the soul,
To all their dated backs he turns you round; Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound. Spontaneous beauties all around advance,
Lo, some are vellum, and the rest as good Start er 'n from difficulty, strike from chance; For all his lords!rip knows, but they are wood. Nature shall join you ; Time shall make it grow For Locke or Milton, 'tis in vain to look, 140 A work to wonder at-perbaps a Stow. 70 These shelves admit pot any modern book.
Without it, proud Versailles ! thy glory falls; And now the chapel's silver bell you hear, And Nero's terraces desert their wails :
That summons you to all the pride of prayer : The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make, Light quirks of music, broken and uneven, Lo! Cobham counes, and poats them with a lake: Make the soul dance upon a jig to Heaven. Or cut wide views throngh mountains to the plain, on painted cielings you devoutly stare, You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again. Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre, Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,
Or gilded clouds in fair expansion lie, Nor in an herinitage set Dr. Clarke.
And bring all Paradise before your eye. Behold Villario's ten years toil complete;
"To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite,
And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face.
No 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.
You drink by measure, and to minutes eat. Through his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear Or sate delighted in the thickening shade, (stray'd, Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there. With annual joy the reddening shoots to greet, [90 Between each act the trembling salvers ring, (160 Or see the stretching branches long to meet ! From soup to sweet-wine, and God bless the King. His son's fine taste an opener Vista loves,
In plenty starving, tantaliz'd in state, Foe to the Dryads of his father's groves ;
And complaisantly help'd to all I hate, One boundless green, or tourish'd carpet views, Treated, caress'd, and tir’d, I take my leave, With all the monrnful family of yews :
Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve; The thriving plants, ignoble broomsticks made, I curse such lavish cost, and little skill, Now sweep those alleys they were born to shade. And swear no day was ever pass'd so ille
Yet hence the poor are cloth’d, the hungry fed; Imperial wonders rais'd on nations spoil'd, Health to himself, and to his infants bread, Where mix'd with slaves the groaning martyr The labourer bears : What his hard heart denies,
toil'd: His charitable vanity supplies.
Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods, Another age shall see the golden ear
Now drain'd a distant country of her foods : Imbrown the slope, and nod on the parterre,
Fanes, which admiring gods with pride survey ; Deep harvest bury all his pride has plann'd, Statues of men, scarce less alive than they! And laughing Ceres re-assume the land.
Some felt the silent stroke of mouldering age,
And papal piety, and gothic fire.
Some bury'd marble half preserves a name;
Ambition sigh'd: she found it vain to trust Whose ample lawns are not ashain'l to feed The faithless column and the crumbling bust : The milky heifer and deserving steed;
Huge moles, whose shadow stretch'd from shore to Whose rising forests, not for pride or show,
shore, But future buildings, future navjes, grow : Their ruins perish'd, and their place no more! Let his plantations stretch from down to down, Convine'd, she now contracts her vast design, First shade a country, and then raise a town. And all her triumphs shrink into a coin. You too proceed! make falling arts your care,
A narrow orb each crouded conquest keeps, Erect new wonders, and the old repair ;
Beneath her palm here sad Judea weeps Jones and Palladio to themselves restore,
Now scantier limits the proud arch confine, And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:
And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine ; Till kings call forth the ideas of your mind, A small Euphrates through the piece is rollid, (Proud to accomplish what such hands design'd) And little eagles wave their wings in gold. Bid harbours open, public ways extend,
The medal, faithful to its charge of fame, Bid temples worthier of the God ascend;
Through climes and ages bears cach forin and name: Bid the broad arch the dangerous food contain, In one short view subjected to our eye The moje projected break the roaring main; Gods, emperors, heroes, sages, beauties, lie. Back to his bounds their subject sea command, With sharpen'd sight pale antiquaries pore, And roll obedient rivers through the land;
'Th'ir:scription value, but the rust adore. These honours, Pence to kappy Britain brings ;
This the blue varnish, that the green endears, These are imperial works, and worthy kings.
The sacred rust of twice ten hundred years!
And Curio, restless by the fair-one's side,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.
Theirs is the vanity, the learning thine :
Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories shine : TO MR. ADDISON,
Her gods and godlike heroes rise to view,
And all her faded garlands bloom anew.
Nor blush, these studies thy regard engage :
The verse and sculpture bore an equal part,
Mr. Addison intended to publish his book of Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, medals; it was some time before he was secre- Stand emulous of Greck and Roman fame? tary of state; but not published till Mr. Tickell's In living medals see her wars enrolld, edition of his works; at which time his verse's on And vanquish'd realis supply recording gold ? Mr. Craggs, which conclude the poem, were Here, rising bold, the patriot's honest face; added, viz. in 1720.
There, warriors frowning in historic brass : As the third epistle treated of the extremes of Then future ages with delight shall see
avarice and profusion; and the fourth took up How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree; one particular branch of the latter, namely, the Or in fair series laurel'd bards be shown, vanity of expense in people of wealth and qna- A Virgil there, and here an Addison. lity, and was therefore a corollary to the third; | Then shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine) so this treats of one circumstance of that vanity, On the cast ore, another Pollio, hine: as it appears in the common collectors of old with aspect open shall erect his head, coins; and is, therefore, a corollary to the And round the orb in lasting notes be read, fourth.
“ Statesman, best friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in bonour clear; See the wild waste of all-devouring years ; Who bruke no promise, serv'd no prirate end, How Rome her own sad sepulchre appears, Who gain'd no title, and who lost po friend; With nodding arches, broken temples spread! Ennobled by himself, by all appror'd, The very tombs now ranish'd like their dead; And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'l" VOL. XII.
TO THE FIRST PUBLICATION OF THIS EPISTLB.
All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT: Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws,
Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause : THE PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES.
Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,
Priend to my life! (which did you not prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song)
What drop of nostrum can this plague remove ?
A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped; This paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begu. If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. many years since, and drawn up by snatches, as Seiz'd and ty'd down to judge, how wretched I ! the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts Who can't be silent, and who will not lie: of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace ; rank and fortune (the authors of Verses to the And to be grave, exceeds all power of face. Initator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor I sit with sad civility; I read of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court] With honest anguish, and an aching head; to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not And drop at last, but in unwilling cars,
39 only my writings (of which, being public, the pub. This saving counsel, “ Keep your piece nine years." lic is judge) but my person, morals, and family, “ Nine years !" cries he, who high in Drury-lane, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer in- Lullid by soft zephyrs through the broken pane, formation may be reqnisite. Being divided be. Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends, tween the necessity to say something of myself, Oblig'd by hunger and request of friends : and my own laziness to undertake so awkward a “ The piece, you think, is incorrect? why take it; task, I thought it the shortest way to put the last I'm all submission ; what you'd have it, make it.” hand to this epistle. If it have any thing pleas- Three things another's modest wishes bound, ing, it will be that by which I am most desirous to My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound. please, the truth and the sentiment; and if any Pitholeon sends to me: “ you know his grace : thing offensive, it will be only to those I am least I want a patron; ask him for a place."
50 sorry to oticud, the vicious or the ungenerous. Pitholcon libell’d me" but here's a letter
Many will know their own pictures in it, there Informs you, sir, 'twas when he knew no better. being not a circumstance but what is true: but I | Dare you refuse himn ? Curll invites to dine, hare, for the most part, spared their names; and He'll write a journal, or he'll turn divine." they may escape being laughed at. if they please. Bless me! a packet.-“ 'Tis a stranger sues,
I would have some of them to know, it was ow- A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Muse." ing to the request of the learned and candid friend If I dislike it,“ Furies, death and rage !" to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as free If I approve, “ Commend it to the stage.” use of theirs as they have done of mine. How. There (thank my stars) my whole commission ends, ever, I shall have this advantage, and honour, on The players and I are, luckily, no friends. 60 [it, my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any Fir'd that the house reject him, “'Sdeath! I'll print abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can Apd shame the fools--your interest, sir, with Lintot.” possibly be done by mine, since a nameless cha- Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much : rarter can never be found out, but by its truth ' Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch." and likeness.
All my demurs but double his attacks :
Sir, let me see your works and you no more.” P. SHut, shut the door, good John ! fatigu'd I said, "Tis sung, wlien Midas' ears began to spring, Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. (Midas, a sacred person and a king)
70 The Dog star rages ! nay, 'tis past a doubt, His very minister, who spy'd them first, All Beulam, or Parnassus, is let out:
(Some say his queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst. Fire in each each eye, and papers in each hand, And is not mine, my friend, a sorer case, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. When every coxcomb perks them in my face? What walls can guard me, or what shades can hille?
(glide. They pierce my thickets, throngh my grot they after ver. 20, in the MS. By land, by water, they renew the charge;
Is there a bard in durance? turn them free, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
With all their brandish'il reams they run to me: No place is sacred, not the church is free,
Is there a 'prentice, having seen two plays, Eu'n Sunday shines no sabhath-day to me;
Who would do something in his sempstress' praise. Then fron the mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me, just at dim'rtime.
Ver. 29, in the 1 st Fd. Is there a parson, much benus'd in beer,
Dear doctor, tell me, is not this a curse? A maudlin popiess, a rhyining peer,
Say, is their anger, or their friendship worse? A clark, foredoom'd his fatiser's soul to cross, Ver. 53, in the Ms. Who pins a stanza, when he should engross? If you refuse, he goes, as fates incline, Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls To plague sir Robert, or to turn divine. With desperate charcoal round his darken'd
Ver. 60, in the forioer edition. walls?
Cibber and I are luckily no friends.