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But not to writings I confine my pen, I have a Taste for buildings, musick, men, Young travelld coxcombs mighty knowledge boast, With superficial fmattering at moft. Not so my mind, unsatisfied with hints, Knows more than Budgel writes, or Roberts prints. I know the town, all houses I have seen, From High-Park corner down to Bednal-Green. Sure wretched Wren was taught by bungling Jones, To murder mortar, and disfigure stones! Who in Whitehall can symmetry discern? I reckon Covent-garden church a barn. Nor hate I less thy vile catheral, Paul ! The choir's too big, the cupola's too small : Substantial walls and heavy roofs I like, 'Tis Vanbrug's structures that my fancy ftrike: Such noble ruins ev'ry pile wou'd make, I wish they'd tumble for the prospect fake... To lofty Chelsea, or to Greenwich dome, Soldiers and failors all are welcom'd home. Her poor to palaces Britannia brings, St. James's hospital may serve for kings. Buildings so happily I understand, That for one house I'd mortgage all my land. Dorick, Ionick, shall not there be found, But it shall cast me threescore thousand pound. From out my honest workmen, I'll select A Bricklay'r, and proclaim him artichect ;

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First bid him build me a stupendous dome,
Which having finish'd, we set out for Rome ;
Take a week's view of Venice and the Brent,
Stare round, see nothing, and come home content.
I'll have

my Villa too, a sweet abode,
Its situation shall be London road :
Pots o'er the door I'll place like Cits balconies,
Which · Bentley calls the Gardens of Adonis.

I'll have my gardens in the fashion too,
For what is beautiful that is not new ?
Fair four-legg'd temples, theatres that vye
With all the angles of a Christmas-pye.
Does it not merit the beholder's praise,
What's high to fink? and what is low to raise ?
Slopes shall ascend where once a green-house stood,
And in my horse-pond I will plant a wood.
Let misers dread the hoarded gold to waste,
Expence and alteration shews a Taste.

In curious paintings I'm exceeding nice,
And know their several beauties by their price.
Auctions and sales I constantly attend,
But chuse my pictures by a skilful friend.
Originals and copies much the same.
The picture's value is the painter's name.

My Taste in sculpture from my choice is seen,
I buy no ftatues that are not obscene.

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Bentley's Milton, Book 9. ver. 439.

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In spite of Addison and ancient Rome,
Sir Cloudesly Shovel's is my fav’rite tomb.
How oft have I with admiration ftood,
To view some city-magistrate in wood !
I gaze with pleasure on a lord-mayor's head,
Cast with propriety in gilded lead.
Oh could I view through London as I pass,
Some broad Sir Balaam in Corinthian brass :
High on a pedestal, ye freemen, place
His magifterial paunch and griping face ;
Letter'd and gilt, let him adorn Cheapfide,
And grant the tradesman, what a king's deny'd.

Old coins and medals I collect, 'tis true,
Sir-Andrew has 'em, and I'll have 'em too.
But among friends if I the truth might speak,
I like the modern, and despise th' antique.
Tho' in the drawers of my japan bureau,
To lady Gripeall I the Cæsars shew,
'Tis equal to her ladyship or me,
A copper Otho, or a Scotch baubeè

Without Italian, or without an ear,
To Bononcini's musick I adhere :
Mufick has charms to footh a favage breast,
And therefore proper at a Theriff's feast.
My soul has oft a secret pleasure found,
In the harmonious bagpipe's lofty sound,
Bagpipes for men, frill German-Alutes for boys,
I'm English born, and love a grumbling noise.

The

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The stage should yield the folemn organ's note,
And scripture tremble in the Eunuch's throat.
Let Senesino fing, what David writ,
And hallelujahs charm the pious pit.
Eager in throngs the town to Hefter came,
And Oratorio was a lucky name.
Thou, Heidegger! the English Taste haft found,
And rul'st the mob of quality with sound.
In Lent, if masquerades displease the town,
Call e’m Ridotto's, and they till go

down.
Go on prince Phiz ! to please the British Nation,
Call thy next Masquerade a Convocation.

Bears, lions, wolves, and elephants I breed,
And Philosophical Transactions read.
Next lodge I'll be Free-mason, nothing less,
Unless I happen to be F. R. S.

I have a palate, and (as yet) two ears,
Fit company for porters or for peers.
Of ev'ry useful knowledge I've a share,
But my top talent is a bill of fare.
Sir loins and

rumps

of beef offend my eyes,
Pleas'd with frogs fricasseed, and coxcomb-pies.
Dishes I chuse though little, yet genteel,
Snails the first course, and peepers crown the meal.
Pigs heads with hair on, much my fancy please,
I love young colly-flow'rs if ftew'd in cheese,
And give ten guineas for a pint of peas.

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No tattling servants to my table come,
My grace is filence, and my waiter dumb,
Queer country-puts extol queen Bess's reign,
And of loft hospitality complain.
Say thou that doft thy father's table praise,
Was there mahogena in former days?

Oh ! could a British barony be fold !
I would bright honour buy with dazling gold,
Could I the privilege of peer procure,
The rich I'd bully, and oppress the poor,
To give is wrong, but it is wronger still,
On any terms to pay a tradesman's bill.
I'd make the infolent mechanicks stay,
And keep my ready money all for play.
I'd try if any pleasure could be found,
In toffing up for twenty-thoufand pound,
Had I whole counties, I to White’s would go,
And fet land, woods, and rivers, at a throw.
But should I meet with an unlucky run,
And at a throw be gloriously undone ;
My debts of honour I'd discharge the first,
Let all my lawful creditors be curs'd :
My title would preserve me from arreft,
And seizing hired horses is a jeft.

I'd walk the morning with an oaken stick,
With gloves and hat, like my own footman, Dick.
A footman I wou'd be, in outward show,
In sense, and education, truly fo.

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