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Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom move 55 With wretched av'rice, or as wretched love? Know, there are words, and spells, which can controul Between the fits this fever of the foul : Know, there are rhymes, which fresh and fresh apply'd Will cure the arrant'ft puppy of his pride.

Be furious, envious, slothful, mad, or drunk,
Slave to a wife, or vassal to a punk,
A Switz, a High-Dutch, or a Low-Dutch bear;
All that we ask is but a patient ear.

'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor :
And the first wisdom, to be fool no more.
But to the world no bugbear is so great,
As want of figure, and a small estate.
To either India see the merchant fly,
Scar'd at the spectre of pale poverty!

See him, with pains of body, pangs of soul,
Burn through the tropic, freeze beneath the pole ?
Wilt thou do nothing for a noble end,
Nothing, to make philosophy thy friend ?
To stop thy foolish views, thy long desires,

75 And ease thy heart of all that it admires ? Here Wisdom calls : “ Seek virtue first, be bold ! “ As gold to silver, virtue is to gold.” There, London's voice, “ Get money, money ftill! “ And then let Virtue follow, if she will."

80 This, this the saving doctrine, preach'd to all, From low St. James's up to high St. Paul! * From him whose quills stand quiver'd at his ear, Tohim who notches sticks at Westminster.

Barnard in spirit, sense, and truih abounds ; 85 " Pray then, what wants he?" fourscore thousand

pounds; A pension, or such harness for a save As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have, Barnard, thou art a cit, with all thy worth ; But Bug and D*l, their Honours, and so forth. 90 * This is a doctrine in which both Whigs and Tories agrec. VOL. II.


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'Yet ev'ry child another song will fing,
66 Virtue, brave boys ! 'tis virtue makes a king."
True, conscious honour is to feel no fin,
He's arm'd without that's innocent within;
Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of brass ; 95
Compar'd to this a minister's an ass.

And say, to which shall our applause belong,
This new court-jargon, or the good old song
The inodern language of corrupted peers,
Or what was spoke at CRESSY or POITIERS? 100
Who counsels best? who whispers, “Be but great,
" With praise or infamy leave that to fate;
« Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace ;
6. If not, by any means, get wealth and place."
For what? to have a box where eunuchs fing, IOS
And foremost in the circle eye a king.
Or he, who bids thee face with steady view
Proud Fortune, and look shallow Greatness thro':
And, while he bids thee, sets th' example too ?
If such a doctrine in St. James's air,
Shou'd chance to make the well-dress'd rabble stare;
In honeft S*z take scandal at a spark,
That less admires the Palace than the Park :
Faith I shall give the answer Reynard gave :
" I cannot like, dread Sir, your royal cave :
6. Because I fee, by all the tracks about,
66 Full many a beast goes in, but none come out.”
Adieu to virtue, if you're once a slave :
Send her to court, you send her to her grave.

Well, if a king's a lion, at the least
The people are a many-headed beaft:
Can they direct what measures to pursue,
Who know themselves so little what to do?
Alike in nothing but one luft of gold,
Just half the land would buy, and half be fold : 125
Their country's wealth our mightier misers drain,
Or cross, to plunder provinces, the main ;




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The reft, some farm the poor-box, some the pews;
Some keep assemblies, and would keep the stews;
Some with fat bucks on childless dotards fawn; 130
Some win rich widows by their chine and brawn;
While with the silent growth of ten per cent,
In dirt and darkness, hundreds ftink content.

Of all these ways, if each pursues his own,
Satire, be kind, and let the wretch alone :

135 But shew me one who has it in his pow'r To act consistent with himself an hour, Sir Job fail'd forth, the ev'ning bright and fill, " No place on earth (he cry’d) like Greenwich hill !" Up starts a palace, lo, th' obedient base

140 Slopes at its foot, the woods its fides embrace, The silver Thames refleets its marble face. Now let some whimsy, or that dev'l within Which guides all those who know not what they mean, But give the knight (or give his lady) spleen; 145 “ Away, away ! take all your scaffolds down, “ For snug's the word : my dear! we'll live in town.”

At am'rous Flavio is the stocking thrown? That very night he longs to lie alone. The fool, whose wife elopes fome thrice a quarter, 150 For matrimonial solace dies a martyr. Did ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch, Transform themselves so strangely as the rich ? Well, but the poor, The poor have the same itch; They change their weekly barber, weekly news, 155 Prefer a new japanner, to their shoes, Discharge their garrets, move their beds, and run (They know not whither) in a chaise and one ; They hire their sculler, and when once aboard, Grow fick, and damn the climate-like a lord.

160 You laugh, half beau, half sloven if I stand, My wig all powder, and all snuff my band; You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary, White gloves, and linen worthy lady Mary! F 2



But when no prelate's lawn with hair-shirt lin'd, 165
Is half so incoherent as my mind,
When each opinion with the next at ftrife,
One ebb and How of follies all my life)
I plant, root up; I build, and then confound;
Turn round to square, and square again to round; 170
You never change one muscle of your face,
You think this madness but a common case,
Nor once to Chanc'ry, nor to Hale apply;
Yet hang your lip, to see a seam awry !
Careless how ill I with myself agree,

Kind to my dress, my figure, not to me.
Is this my guide, philoiopher, and friend?
This he, who loves me, and who ought to mend;
Who ought to make me (what he can, or none)
That man divine whom Wisdom calls her own;

18 Great without title, without fortune bless'd; Rich ev'n when plunder'd, honour'd while oppress'd; Lov'd without youth, and follow'd without power; At home, tho' exil'd, free, tho' in the Tower; In short, that reas’ning, high, immortal thing, 185 Just less than Jove, and much above a king, Nay, half in heav'n-except (what's mighty odd) A fit of vapours clouds this demi-god?


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VOT to admire, is all the art I know,

To make men happy, and to keep them so.”
(Plain truth, dear MURRAY, * needs no flow'rs of speech,
So take it in the very words of Creech)
This vault of air, this congregated ball,

5 Self-center'd sun, and stars that rise and fall, There are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes Look thro', and trust the ruler with his skies, To him commit the hour, the day, the year, And view this dreadful All without a fear.


* This piece is the most finished of all his imitations, and executed in th: high manner the Italian painters call con amore. By which they mean, the exertion of that principle, which puts the faculties on the stretch, and produces the supreme degree of excellence. For the poet had all the warmth of affection for the great lawyer to whom it is addressed ; and, indeed, no man ever more deserved to have a Poet for his friend. In the obtaining of which, as neither vanity, party, nor fear, had any sharc : so he supported his title to it by all the offices of true friendlhip.


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