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 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 pro

digal 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,

40

50

This epistle was written after a very violent outcry With all their brandies or with all their wines? against our author, on a supposition that he had ridi- What could they more than knights and 'squires conculed a worthy nobleman, merely for his wrong taste.

found,

60

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 Poor avarice one torment more would find; idols, their groves, and their high-places, and change Nor could profusion squander all in kind. my subject from their pride to their meanness, from Astride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet, their vanities to their miseries; and as the only cer- And Worldly crying coals from street to street, tain 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 Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman crazed. probably in my next make use of real names instead Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs, 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.

70

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,
clothes, and fire.
80

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

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

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.

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:
Builds life on death, on change duration founds,
And gives the eternal wheels to know their rounds.
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:

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;

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.
Ask 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.

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 ajin:
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.
Next
goes his wool-to clothe our valiant bands:
Last, for his country's love, he sells his lands.
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

That secret rare, between the extremes to move
Of mad good-nature, and of mean self-love.

230

B. To worth or want well-weigh'd, be bounty given,
And ease or emulate the care of Heaven;
Whose measure full o'erflows on human race ;)
Mend fortune's fault, and justify her grace.
Wealth in the gross is death, but life, diffused;
As poison heals in just proportion used,
In heaps, like ambergris, a stink it lies,
But well dispersed, is incense to the skies

300

Shouldering God's altar a vile image stands,
Belies his features, nay, extends his hands;
That live-long wig, which Gorgon's self might own,
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.
Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend!
And see what comfort it affords our end.
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung,
The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw,
With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed,
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villiers lies-alas! how chang'd from him,
That life of Pleasure, and that soul of whim'
240 Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,
The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love;
Or just as gay at council, in a ring
Of mimic statesmen, and their merry king;
No wit to flatter, left of all his store;
No fool to laugh at, which he valu'd more;
There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends!

P. Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats? The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that cheats.

Is there a lord, who knows a cheerful noon
Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon?
Whose table, wit or modest merit share,
Unelbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or player?
Who copies yours or Oxford's better part,
To ease the oppress'd and raise the sinking heart?
Where'er he shines, O Fortune, gild the scene,
And angels guard him in the golden mean!
There, English bounty yet awhile may stand,
And honour linger ere it leaves the land.

But all our praises why should lords engross?
Rise, honest muse! and sing the MAN OF Ross: 250
Pleased Vaga echoes through her winding bounds,
And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow?
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow?
Not to the skies in useless columns toss'd,
Or in proud falls magnificently lost,

His Grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee,
And well (he thought) advis'd him, 'Live like me.'
As well his Grace replied, 'Like you, sir John?
That I can do, when all I have is gone,'
Resolve me, reason, which of these is worse,
Want with a full or with an empty purse?
Thy life more wretched, Cutler! was confess'd
Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd?
Cutler saw tenants break and houses fall;
For very want he could not build a wall.

His only daughter in a stranger's power,
For very want, he could not pay a dower;
260 A few gray hairs his reverend temples crown'd;
'Twas very want that sold them for two pound.
What! e'en denied a cordial at his end,
Banish'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend?
What but a want, which you perhaps think mad,
Yet numbers feel the want of what he had!
Cutler and Brutus dying, both exclaim,
'Virtue! and wealth! what are ye but a name!'
Say, for such worth are other worlds prepared?
Or are they both, in this, their own reward?
A knotty point to which we now proceed,
271 But you are tired-I'll tell a tale-B. Agreed.

But clear and artless pouring through the plain,
Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.
Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose?
Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?
"The Man of Ross,' each lisping babe replies.
Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread!
The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread :
He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state,
Where age and want sit smiling at the gate :
Him portion'd maids, apprenticed orphans bless'd,
The young who labour, and the old who rest.
Is any sick? the Man of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes and gives.
Is there a variance? enter but his door,
Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more.
Despairing quacks with curses fled the place,
And vile attorneys, now a useless race.

B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue
What all so wish, but want the power to do!
Say, O what sums that generous hand supply;
What mines to swell that boundless charity?

P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possess'd-five hundred pounds a year. Blush, grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze!

Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays.

281

B. And what! no monument, inscription, stone?
His race, his form, his name almost unknown?
P. Who builds a church to God, and not to fame,
Will never mark the marble with his name:
Go, search it there, where to be born and die,
Of rich and poor makes all the history;
Enough that virtue fill'd the space between,
Proved by the ends of being to have been.
When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend
The wretch who, living, saved a candle's end;

310

320

330

P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies,
340
There dwelt a citizen of sober fame,
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;
Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth:
His word would pass for more than he was worth
One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemnized the Lord's:
Constant at church and 'change; his gains were sure:
His givings rare, save farthings to the poor.

The Devil was piqued such saintship to behold,
And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old; 350
But Satan now is wiser than of yore,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.

Roused by the prince of air, the whirlwinds sweep
The surge, and plunge his father in the deep;
Then full against his Cornish lands they roar,
And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
290 He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes:
'Live like yourself,' was soon my lady's word;
And, lo! two puddings smoked upon the board. 360

Asleep and naked as an Indian lay,
An honest factor stole a gem away:
He pledged it to the knight; the knight had wit,
So kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit.
Some scruple rose, but thus he eased his thought,
'I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat;
Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice-
And am so clear too of all other vice.'

The tempter saw his time: the work he plied;
Stocks and subscriptions pour on every side,
Till all the demon makes his full descent
In one abundant shower of cent per cent,
Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole,
Then dubs director, and secures his soul.

370

Behold sir Balaam, now a man of spirit,
Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit;
What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit,
And God's good providence, a lucky hit.
Things change their titles, as our manners turn:
His compting-house employed the Sunday morn : 380
Seldom at church ('twas such a busy life,)
But duly sent his family and wife.

There (so the devil ordain'd) one Christmas tide,
My good old lady catch'd a cold, and died.
A nymph of quality admires our knight;
He marries, bows at court, and grows polite;
Leaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair)
The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air:
First, for his son, a gay commission buys,
Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies:
His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife;
She bears a coronet and p-x for life.
In Britain's senate he a seat obtains,
And one more pensioner St. Stephen gains.
My lady falls to play: so bad her chance,
He must repair it; takes a bribe from France;
The house impeach him, Coningsby harangues;
The court forsake him, and sir Balaam hangs :
Wife, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own;
His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown:
The devil and the king divide the prize,
And sad sir Balaam curses God, and dies.

EPISTLE IV.

TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL OF

BURLINGTON.

ARGUMENT.

Of the Use of Riches.

390

400

12.

gether parts incoherent, or too minutely resembling, or in the repetition of the same too frequently, ver. 105, &c. A word or two of false taste in books, music, in painting, even in preaching and prayer, and lastly in entertainments, ver. 133, &c. Yet Providence is justified in giving wealth to be squandered in this manner, since it is dispersed to the poor and laborious part of mankind, ver. 169. [recurring to what is laid down in the first book, Ep. ii. and in the Epistle preceding this, ver. 159, &c.] What are the proper objects of magnificence, and a proper field for the expense of great men, ver. 177, &c. And finally the great and public works which become a prince, ver. 191, to the end.

The extremes of avarice and profusion being treated of in the foregoing Epistle, this takes up one particular branch of the latter, the vanity of expense in people of wealth and quality; and is, therefore, a corollary to the preceding, just as the Epistle on the Characters of Women is to that of the Knowledge and Characters of Men. It is equally remarkable for exactness of method with the rest. But the nature of the subject, which is less philosophical, makes it capable of being analysed in a much narrower com pass.

"Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy :
Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste
His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats;
Artists must choose his pictures, music, 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 these are for himself? no more
Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.

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.'
Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool,
And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule
See! sportive fate, to punish awkward pride,
Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide:
A standing sermon at each year's expense,
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence.
You show us Rome was glorious, not profuse,
And pompous buildings once were things of use;
Yet shall, my lord, your just, your noble rules
Fill half the land with imitating fools;

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20

The vanity of expense in people of wealth and quality. Whose random drawings from your sheets shall take, The abuse of the word Taste, ver. 13, That the first And of one beauty, many blunders make;

principle and foundation in this, as in every thing Load some vain church with old theatric state, else, is good sense, ver. 40. The chief proof of it is to Turn arcs of Triumph to a garden gate; follow nature, even in works of mere luxury and

elegance. Instanced in architecture and gardening, Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all where all must be adapted to the genius and use of On some patch'd dog-hole eked with ends of wall; the place, and the beauties not forced into it, but re- Then clap four slices of pilaster on 't, sulting from it, ver. 50. How men are disappointed That laced with bits of rustic makes a front; in their most expensive undertakings, for want of Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar, this true foundation, without which nothing can please Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door: long, if at all; and the best examples and rules will be Conscious they act a true Palladian part, But perverted into something burthensome and ridi- And if they starve, they starve by rules of art. Oft have you hinted to your brother peer,

culous, ver. 65 to 90. A description of the false taste of magnificence; the first grand error of which is, to imagine that greatness consists in the size and dimen- A certain truth which many buy too dear; sion, instead of the proportion and harmony of the Something there is more needful than expense, whole, ver, 97, and the second either in joining to- And something previous e'en to taste-'tis sense; Q

30

40

Good sense, 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 Notre have it not to give.

To build, to plant, whatever you intend,
To rear the column, or the arch to bend,
To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot,
In all, let Nature never be forgot:
But treat the goddess like a modest fair,
Nor over-dress, nor leave her wholly bare;
Let not each beauty every where be spied,
Where half the skill is decently to hide.
He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,
Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds.

Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
The whole a labour'd quarry above ground.
Two Cupids squirt before; a lake behind
Improves the keenness of the northern wind.
His gardens next your admiration call,
On every side you look, behold the wall!
No pleasing intricacies intervene,
50 No artful wildness to perplex the scene:

60

Consult the genius of the place in all:
That tells the waters or to rise or fall;
Or helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale,
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;
Calls in the country, catches opening glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades;
Now breaks, or now directs, the intending lines,
Prints as you paint, and as you work designs.
Still follow sense, of every art the soul:
Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole,
Spontaneous beauties all around advance,
Start e'en from difficulty, strike from chance:
Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow
A work to wonder at-perhaps a Stow.

Without it, proud Versailles! thy glory falls;
And Nero's terraces desert their walls;
The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make,
Lo! Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake:
Or cuts wide views through mountains to the plain,
You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again.
E'en in an ornament its place remark,
Nor in a hermitage set Dr. Clarke.
Behold Villario's ten years' toil complete,
His quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet;
The wood supports the plain, the parts unite,

And strength of shade contends with strength

light;

A waving gloom the bloomy beds display,
Blushing in bright diversities of day,
With silver-quivering rills meander'd o'er-
Enjoy them, you! Villario can no more:

Tired of the scene parterres and fountains yield,
He finds at last he better likes a field.

Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other.
The suffering eye inverted nature sees,
Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees;
With here a fountain never to be play'd,
And there a summer-house that knows no shade,
Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bowers;
There gladiators fight, or die in flowers;
Unwater'd see the drooping sea-horse mourn,
And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn.

110

120

My lord advances with majestic mien,
Smit with the mighty pleasure to be seen :
But soft-by regular approach-not yet-
First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat! 130
And when up ten steep slopes you 've dragged your
thighs,

Just at his study door he'll bless your eyes.

His study with what authors is it stored?
In books, not authors, curious is my lord;
70 To all their dated backs he turns you round;
These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound!
Lo, some are vellum, and the rest as good,
For all his lordship knows, but they are wood!
For Locke or Milton, 'tis in vain to look:
These shelves admit not any modern book.

And now the chapel's silver bell you hear,
That summons you to all the pride of prayer:
Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,
Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven.
80 On painted ceilings you devoutly stare,
Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,
of Or gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,

And bring all Paradise before your eye.
To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite,
Who never mentions hell to ears polite.
But, hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall:
The rich buffet well-colour'd serpents grace,
And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face.

Through his young woods how pleased Sabinus Is this a dinner? this a genial room?

No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.

90 A solemn sacrifice perform'd in state:

99

Where all cries out, What sums are thrown away!'
So proud, so grand; of that stupendous air,
Soft and agreeable come never there.
Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a drought
As brings all Brobdignag before your thought
To compass this, his building is a town,
His pond an ocean, his parterre a down:
Who but must laugh, the master when he sees,
A puny insect, shivering at a breeze!

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