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EPISTLE IV.

THE extremes of Avarice and Profufion being treated of in the foregoing Epiftle; this takes up one particular branch of the latter, the Vanity of Expence in people of wealth and quality; and is therefore a corollary to the preceding, juft as the epiftle on the Characters of Women is to that of the Knowledge and Characters of Men. It is equally remarkable for exactnefs of method with the reft. But the nature of the fubject, which is lefs philofophical, makes it capable of being analyzed in a much narrower compafs.

'T

IS ftrange, the Mifer fhould his Cares employ To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy : Is it lefs ftrange, the Prodigal fhould wafte His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can tafte? Not for himself he fees, or hears, or eats; Artists must chufe his Pictures, Mufic, Meats: He buys for Topham Drawings and Designs; For Pembroke Statues, dirty Gods, and Coins; Rare monkish Manuscripts for Hearne alone, And Books for Mead, and Butterflies for Sloane. Think we all thefe are for himfelf? no more Than his fine Wife, alas! or finer Whore. For what has Virro painted, built, and planted? Only to fhew, how many taftes he wanted. What brought Sir Vifto's ill-got wealth to waste? Some Dæmon whisper'd, "Viito! have a Tafte."

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Heaven vifits with a Tafte the wealthy Fool,
And needs no Rod but Ripley with a Rule.
See! fportive Fate, to punish aukward pride,
Bids Bubo build, and fends him fuch a Guide:
A ftanding fermon, at each year's expence,
That never Coxcomb reach'd magnificence!

You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,
And pompous buildings once were things of Use.
Yet fhall (my Lord) your just, your noble rules
Fill half the land with imitating Fools;

Who random drawings from your sheets shall take,
And of one beauty many blunders make;

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Load fome vain Church with old Theatric ftate,
Turn Arts of triumph to a Garden-gate;

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Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all

On fome patch'd dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall;
Then clap four flices of Pilafter on't,

That, lac'd with bits of ruftic, makes a Front.

Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar,
Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;
Confcious they act a true Palladian part,

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And if they starve, they starve by rules of art.
Oft have you hinted to your brother Peer,
A certain truth, which many buy too dear :

VARIATION.

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Some

After ver. 22. in the MS.

Muft Bifhops, Lawyers, Statesmen, have the skill To build, to plant, judge paintings, what you will ? Then why not Kent as well our treaties draw, Bridgman explain the Gospel, Gibbs the Law?

Something there is more needful than Expence,
And fomething previous ev'n to Tafte-'tis Sense:
Good Senfe, which only is the gift of Heaven,
And, though no Science, fairly worth the seven:
A Light, which in yourself you must perceive;
Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give.

To build, to plant, whatever you intend,
To rear the Column, or the arch to bend,
To fwell the Terras, or to fink the Grot;
In all, let Nature never be forgot.
But treat the Goddess like a modeft fair,
Nor over-dress, nor leave her wholly bare;
Let not each beauty every where be spy*d,
Where half the skill is decently to hide.

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He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,

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Surprizes, varies, and conceals the Bounds.

Confult the Genius of the Place in all;
That tells the Waters or to rife, or fall;

Or helps th' ambitious Hill the heavens to scale,
Or fcoops in circling theatres the Vale;
Calls-in the country, catches opening glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies fhades from fhades ;
Now breaks, or now directs th' intending Lines;
Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.
Still follow Senfe, of every Art the Soul,
Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole,
Spontaneous beauties all around advance,
Start ev'n from Difficulty, ftrike from Chance;
Nature fhall join you; Time fhall make it grow
A Work to wonder at-perhaps a STOW.

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Without

Without it, proud Verfailles! thy glory falls: And Nero's Terraces defert their walls:

The vast Parterres a thousand hands fhall make,
Lo! Cobham comes, and floats them with a Lake:
Or cut wide views through mountains to the Plain, 75
You'll with your hill or shelter'd feat again.
Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,

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Nor in an Hermitage fet Dr. Clarke.
Behold Villario's ten years toil complete ;
His Quincunx darkens, his Efpaliers meet;
The wood fupports the Plain, the parts unite,
And ftrength of Shade contends with ftrength of Light;
A waving Glow the bloomy beds difplay,
Blushing in bright diverfities of day,

With filver-quivering rills mæander'd o'er

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Enjoy them, you! Villario can no more;

Tir'd of the scene Parterres and Fountains yield.
He finds at last he better likes a Field.

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Through his young Woods how pleas'd Sabinus ftray'd,
Or fate delighted in the thickening fhade,
With annual joy the reddening fhoots to greet,
Or fee the stretching branches long to meet!
His Son's fine Taste an opener Vista loves,
Foe to the Dryads of his Father's groves;

One boundless Green, or flourish'd Carpet views,

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With all the mournful family of Yews :
The thriving plants ignoble broomsticks made,
Now sweep thofe Alleys they were born to shade.
At Timon's Villa let us pass a day,

Where all cry out, "What fums are thrown away!"

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So proud, fo grand; of that ftupendous air,
Soft and Agreeable come never there.
Greatness, with Timon, dwells in fuch a draught
As brings all Brobdingnag before your thought.
To compafs this, his Building is a Town,
His pond an Ocean, his parterre a Down :
Who but must laugh, the Master when he fees,
A puny infect, shivering at a breeze!
Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
The whole, a labour'd Quarry above ground,
Two Cupids fquirt before: a Lake behind
Improves the keennefs of the Northern wind.
His Gardens next your admiration call;

On

every fide you look, behold the Wall!

No pleafing Intricacies intervene,
No artful Wildness to perplex the scene;

Grove nods at grove, each Alley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other.
The suffering eye inverted Nature fees,
Trees cut to Statues, Statues thick as trees;
With here a Fountain, never to be play'd;
And there a Suinmer-houfe that knows no fhade;
Here Amphitrite fails through myrtle bowers;
There Gladiators fight, or die in flowers;
Unwater'd see the drooping fea-horse mourn,
And swallows rooft in Nilus' dusty Urn.

My Lord advances with majestic mien,

Smit with the mighty pleasure to be seen :
But foft-by regular approach—not yet—

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First through the length of yon hot Terrace fweat; 130

And

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