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And what is fame? the meanest have their day;
The greatest can but blaze and pass away.
Grac'd as thou art with all the pow'r of words,
So known, so honour'd, at the House of Lords :
Conspicuous scene ! another yet iş nigh,

50 (More silent far) where kings and poets lie ; Where Murray (long enough his country's pride) Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde !

Rack'd with sciatics, martyr'd with the stone, Will any mortal let himself alone?

55 See Ward, by batter'd beaus invited over, And desp’rate Misery lays hold on Dover. The case is easier in the mind's disease ; There all men may be cur'd whene'er they please. Would ye be bless'd ? despise low joys, low gains; Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains;

61 Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.

But art thou one whom new opinions sway, One who believes as Tindal leads the way, Who virtue and a church alike disowns,

65 Thinks that but words, and this but brick and stones? Fly then on all the wings of wild desire, Admire whate'er the maddest can admire, Is wealth thy passion ? hence! from pole to pole, Where winds can carry, or where waves can roll; 70 For Indian spices, for Peruvian gold, Prevent the greedy, or outbid the bold:

Advance the golden mountain to the skies :
On the broad base of fifty thousand rise;
Add one round hundred, and (if that's not fair) 75
Add fifty more, and bring it to a square:
For mark th' advantage ; just so many score
Will gain a wife with half as many more,
Procure her beauty, make that beauty chaste,
And then such friends-as cannot fail to last.

80
A man of wealth is dubb’d a man of worth ;
Venus shall give him form, and Anstis birth.
(Believe me many a German prince is worse,
Who proud of pedigree is poor of purse.)
His wealth brave Timon gloriously confounds; 85
Ask'd for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds :
Or if three ladies like a luckless play,
Takes the whole House upon the poet's day.
Now in such exigencies not to need,
Upon my word you must be rich indeed :

90 A noble superfluity it craves, Not for yourself, but for your fools and knaves; Something which for your honour they may cheat, And which it much becomes you to forget. If wealth alone then make and keep us blest, 95 Still, still be getting, never, never rest.

But if to pow'r and place your passion lie, If in the pomp of life consists the joy,

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Then hire a slave, or (if you will] a lord,
To do the honours, and to give the word ; 100
Tell at your levee, as the crowds approach,
To whom to nod, whom take into your coach,
Whom honour with your hand; to make remarks,
Who rules in Cornwal, or who rules in Berks :
“ This may be troublesome, is near the chair; 105
" That makes three members, this can chuse a may’r.”
Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest,
Adopt him son, or cousin at the least,
Then turn about, and laugh at your own jest.
Or if your life be one continu'd treat,

110
If to live-well means nothing but to eat;
Up, up! cries Gluttony, 'tis break of day,
Go drive the deer, and drag the finny prey ;
With hounds and horns go hunt an appetite-
So Russel did, but could not eat at night; 115
Call'd happy dog the beggar at his door,
And envy'd thirst and hunger to the poor.
Or shall we ev'ry decency confound,
Thro' taverns, stews, and bagnio's, take our round?
Go dine with Chartres, in each vice outdo

120 K-l's lewd cargo, or Ty—y's crew, From Latian Syrens, French Circæan feasts, Returu'd well traveli’d, and transform'd to beasts;

Or for a title, punk, or foreign flame
Renounce our country, and degrade our name? 125

If, after all, we must with Wilmot own
The cordial drop of life is love alone,
And Swift cry wisely Vive la bagatelle !
The man that loves and laughs must sure do well.
Adieu-if this advice
appear the worst,

130
E’en take the counsel which I gave you first;
Or better precepts if you can impart;
Why do, I'll follow them with all my heart. 133

[Imitated in the Manner of Dr. Swift.]

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'TIS true, my Lord, I gave my word
I would be with you June the third ;
Chang'd it to August, and (in short]
Have kept it—as you do at court,
You humour me when I am sick,
Why not when I am splenetic ?
In Town what objects could I meet?
The shops shut up in ev'ry street,
And fun’rals black’ning all the doors,
And yet more melancholy whores :
And what a dust in ev'ry place!
And a thin Court that wants your face,
And fevers raging up and down,
And W* and H** both in Town!

“ The dog-days are no more the case.”
'Tis true, but winter comes apace :
Then southward let your bard retire,
Hold out some months 'twixt sun and fire,
And you shall see the first warm weather
Me and the butterflies together.

My Lord your favours well I know; 'Tis with distinction you bestow,

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