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The baits of gifts, and money to despise,
And look on wealth with undefiring eyes ?
When thou canst truly call these virtues thine,
Be wise and free, by heaven's consent, and mine.

But thou, who lately, of the common ftrain,
Wert one of us, if still thou dost retain
The fame ill habits, the same follies too,
Gloss'd over only with a saint-like fhow,
Then I resume the freedom which I

Still thou art bound to vice, and fill a llave.
Thou canst not wag my finger, or begin
-“ The least right motion, but it tends to fin."

How's this ? Not wag thy finger, he replies? No, friend ; nor. fuming gums, nor sacrifice, Can ever make a madman

or wife,
" Virtue and vice are never in one soul :
" A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool.”
A heavy bumkin, taught with daily care,
Can never dance three steps with a becoming air.

In spite of this, my freedom ftill remains.

Free! what, and fetter'd with so many chains?
Canst thou no other master understand
Than him that freed thee by the prætor's wand ?
Should he, who was thy lord, command thee now,
With a harsh voice, and supercilious brow,
To servile duties, thou would'st fear no more ;
The gallows and the whip are out of door.



But if thy passions lord it in thy breast,
Art thou not still a Nave, and still opprest?
Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap,
When thou would'st take a lazy morning's nap;
Up, up, says Avarice; thou snor'ft again,
Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain;
The tyrant Lucre no denial takes;
At his command th' unwilling Nuggard wakes :
What must I do? he cries : What ? says his lord :
Why, rise, make ready, and go streight abraod :
With filh, from Euxine seas, thy vefsel freight;
Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight
Of pepper, and Sabxan incense, take
With thy own hands, from the tir'd camel's back :
And with post-haste thy running markets make.
Be sure to turn the penny; lye and swear;
'Tis wholesome fin : but Jove, thou fay'st, will hear:
Swear, fool, or starve ; for the dilemma 's even :
A tradesman thou ! and hope to go to heaven?
Retolvd for fea, the flaves they baggage pack,
Each saddled with his burden on his back :
Nothing retards thy voyage, now,

Thy other lord forbids, Voluptuousness :
And he may ask this civil question : Friend,
What doft thou make a ship-board ? to what end?
Art thou of Bethlem's noble college free ?
Stark, staring mad, that thou would'It tempt the sea ?
Cubb'd in a cabbin, on a mattress laid,
On a brown george, with lowly swobbers fcd,


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Dead wine, that stinks of the borrachio, sup
From a foul jack, or greasy maple-cup?
Say, would'st thou bear all this, to raise thy store
From six i'th' hundred, to fix hundred more?
Indulge, and to thy genius freely give;
For, not to live at ease, is not to live;
Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour
Does some loose remnant of thy life devour.
Live, while thou liv'st; for death will make us all
A name, a nothing but an old wife's tale.

Speak; wilt thou Avarice, or Pleasure, chufe
To be thy lord ? Take one, and one refuse.
But both, by turns, the rule of thee will have;
And thou, betwixt them both, wilt be a slave.

Nor think, when once thou hast refifted one,
That all thy marks of servitude

gone :
The struggling greyhound gnaws his leash in vain;
If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the chain.

Says Phædra to his man, Believe me, friend,
To this uneasy love I'll put an end :
Shall I run out of all ?


friends disgrace,
And be the first lewd unthrift of my race ?
Shall I the neighbours nightly rest invade
At her deaf doors, with some vile serenade ?
Well hast thou freed thyself, his man replies,
Go, thank the Gods, and offer facrifice.
Ah, says the youth, if we unkindly part,
Will not the


fond creature break her heart? Weak soul! and blindly to destruction led ! She break her heart! The 'll sooner break your head. Vol. VII,



A a

She knows her man, and, when you rant and swear,
Can draw you to her, with a single hair.
But shall I not return? Now, when she lues !
Shall I my own, and her defires refuse ?
Sir, take your course: but my advice is plain :
Once freed, 'tis madness to resume


chain. Ay; there's the man, who, loos'd from lust and pelf, Less to the prætor owes, than to himself. But write him down a llave, who, humbly proud, With presents begs preferments from the crowd ; That early suppliant, who falutes the tribes, And sets the mob to scramble for his bribes : That some old dotard, fitting in the sun, On holidays may tell, that such a feat was done : In future times this will be counted rare.

Thy superstition too may claim a share : When flowers are strew'd, and lamps in order plac'd, And windows with illuminations grac’d, On Herod's day; when sparkling bowls go round, And tunnies tails in favoury sauce are drown'd, I hou mutter's prayers obscene; nor doft refuse The fasts and fabbaths of the curtail'd Jews. Then a crack'd egg-shell thy fick fancy frights, Besides the childih fear of walking sprights. Of o’ergrown gelding priests thou art afraid ; The timbrel, and the squintifego maid Of Isis, awe thee : left the Gods, for sin, Should, with a swelling dropfy, stuff thy skin : Unless three garlick-heads the curse avert, Eaten wach morn, devoutly, next thy heart.


Preach this among the brawny guards, fay'st thou,
And see if they thy doctrine will allow :
The dull fat captain, with a hound's deep throat,
Would bellow out a laugh, in a base note ;
And prize a hundred Zeno's just as much
As a clipt fixpence, or a {chilling Dutch, 2007


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