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Serene in virgin modesty she shines,
Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray
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 blest, Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest : Blends, in exception to all general rules, Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools: Reserve with frankness, art with truth ally'd, 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 unblest, Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest. This Phæbus promis'd (I forget the year) When those blue eyes first open'd on the sphere; Ascendant Phæbus watch'd that hour with care, Averted half your parents' simple prayer ;
And gave you beauty, but deny'd the pelf
TO ALLEN, LORD BATHURST.
the extremes, avarice or profusion. The point discussed, whether the invention of money has been more commodious or pernicious to mankind. That riches, either to the avaricious or the predigal, cannot afford happiness, scarcely necessaries. That avarice is an absolute frenzy, without an end or purpose. Conjectures about the motives of avaricious men. That the conduct of men, with respect to riches, can only be accounted for by the order of Providence, which works the general good out of extremes, and brings all to its great end by perpetual revolutions. How a miser acts upon principles which appear to him reasonable. How a prodigal does the same. The due medium, and true use of riches. The Man of Ross. The fate of the profuse and the covetous, in two examples; both miserable in life and in death. The story of Sir Balaam,
P. Who shall decide when doctors disagree,
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus given,
But I, who think more highly of our kind,
Like doctors thus, when much dispute has past, We find our tenets just the same at last. Both fairly owning, riches, in effect, No grace of Heaven, or token of th' 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 ;
B. Trade it may help, society extend :
P. But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd. In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave, lf secret gold sap on from knave to knave.
Once we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak,
Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see,
confound, Or water all the quorum ten miles round ? A statesman's slumbers how this speech would
spoil! “ Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil ; Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door ; A hundred oxen at your levee roar.”
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, Whom, with a wig so wild, and mien so maz'd, Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman craz’d.
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 carry'd, 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 perfum'd and fine, Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine ? Oh filthy check on all industrious skill, To spoil the nation's last great trade, quadrille ! Since then, my lord, on such a world we fall, What say you ? B. Say? Why take it, gold and all.
P. What riches give us, let us then inquire ? Meat, fire, and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat,
clothes, and fire, Is this too little ? would you more than live ? Alas! 'tis more than Turner finds they give. Alas ! 'tis more than (all his visions past) Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last ! What can they give ? to dying Hopkins, heirs; To Chartres, vigour ; Japhet, nose and ears ? Can they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow, In Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below; Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail, With all th' embroidery plaster'd at thy tail ? 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;