For in these maffacres they find

The two chief plagues that waste mankind.
Our skin fupplies the wrangling bar,

It wakes their flumbring fons to war,
And well revenge may reft contented,
Since drums and parchment were invented.

FABLE

eut inc.

P.Fourdrinier ut.

T

FABLE VI.

The MISER and PLUTUS.

HE wind was high; the window shakes,

With fudden start the Miser wakes,

Along the filent room he stalks,

Looks back and trembles as he walks,

Each

Each lock and ev'ry bolt he tries,

In ev'ry creek and corner pries,

Then opes the cheft with treasure ftor'd,
And ftands in rapture o'er his hoard.
But now, with fudden qualms possest,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast,
By confcience ftung he wildly ftares,
And thus his guilty foul declares.

Had the deep earth her ftores confin'd,
This heart had known fweet peace of mind.
But virtue's fold. Good Gods, what price

Can recompenfe the pangs of vice!

O bane of good! feducing cheat!

Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
Gold banifh'd honour from the mind,

And only left the name behind;

Gold fow'd the world with ev'ry ill;

Gold taught the murd'rer's fword to kill;

'Twas

'Twas gold inftructed coward hearts.

In treach'ry's more pernicious arts:

Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
Virtue refides on earth no more!

He fpoke, and figh'd. In angry mood
Plutus, his God, before him ftood;

The Mifer trembling lock'd his chest,
The Vision frown'd, and thus addrest.
Whence is this vile ungrateful rant?
Each fordid rascal's daily cant:

Did I, base wretch, corrupt mankind?
The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
Because my bleffings are abus'd,

Muft I be cenfur'd, curft, accu'sd?

Ev'n virtue's self by knaves is made

A cloak to carry on the trade,

And power (when lodg'd in their poffeffion)
Grows tyranny, and rank oppreffion.

Thus

Thus when the villain crams his chest,

Gold is the canker of the breaft;

'Tis av'rice, infolence, and pride,
And ev'ry shocking vice befide.
But when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
It bleffes, like the dews of Heaven,
Like Heav'n, it hears the orphan's cries,
And wipes the tears from widows eyes.
Their crimes on gold fhall misers lay,
Who pawn'd their fordid fouls for pay?
Let bravos then (when blood is spilt)
Upbraid the paffive fword with guilt.

FABLE