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That secret rare, between th' extremes to move
B. To Worth or Want well-weigh’d, be Bounty given, And ease, or emulate, the care of Heaven ;
230 (Whose measure full o’erflows on human race). Mend Fortune's fault, and justify her grace. Wealth in the gross is death, but life diffus’d; As poison heals, in just proportion us’d: In heaps, like Ambergris, a stink it lies,
235 But well dispers’d, is incense to the Skies.
P. Who starves by Nobles, or with Nobles eats ? The Wretch that trusts them, and the Rogue that cheats. Is there a Lord, who knows a chearful noon Without a Fiddler, Flatterer, or Buffoon ?
240 Whose table, Wit, or modest Merit share, Un-elbow'd by a Gamester, Pimp, or Player ? Who copies Your's, or Oxford's better part, To ease th' oppress’d, and raise the finking heart? Where'er he shines, oh Fortune, gild the scene, 245 And Angels guard him in the golden Mean! There, English Bounty yet a while may stand, And Honour linger ere it leaves the land.
But all our praises why should Lords engross? Rise, honest Muse! and sing the MAN of Ross : 250 Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.
Trace humble worth beyond Sabrina's shore,
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow ?
260 Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ? + The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. Behold the Market-place with poor o'erspread ! The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread : He feeds yon Alms-house, neat, but void of state, 265 Where Age and Want fit fmiling at the gate; Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans bleft, The young
who labour, and the old who rest. Is any fick ? the Man of Ross relieves, Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives. 270 Is there a variance? enter but his door, Balk'd are the Courts, and contest is no more. Despairing Quacks with curses fled the place, And vile Attorneys, now an useless race.
B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue 275 What all so wish, but want the power to do! Oh say, what sums that generous hand supply? What mines to swell that boundless charity ? P. Of Debts and Taxes, Wife and Children
clear, This man posseft - five hundred pounds a-year. 280
Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud Courts, withdraw your
rays. B. And what? no monument, inscription, stone? His race, his form, his name almost unknown ?
P. Who builds a Church to God, and not to Fame, Will never mark the marble with his Name : Go, search it there, where to be born and die, Of rich and poor makes all the history; Enough, that Virtue fill’d the space between; Prov'd by the ends of being, to have been. 290 When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend The wretch, who living sav'd a candle’s end; Shouldering God’s altar a vile image stands, Belies his features, nay extends his hands; That live-long wig, which Gorgon's self might own, Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone. Behold what blessings Wealth to life can lend ! And see, what comfort it affords our end. In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, The floors of plaister, and the walls of dung,
300 On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw, With tape-ty'd curtains, never meant to draw,
The Register inrolls him with his Poor,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
329 For very want; he could not pay a dower. A few
hairs his reverend temples crown'd, 'Twas very want that fold them for two pound. What ! even deny'd a cordial at his end, Banish'd the Doctor, and expell’d the friend? 130 What but a want, which you perhaps think mad, Yet numbers feel, the want of what he had !
Cutler and Brutus, dying, both exclaim,
Say, for such worth are other worlds prepar'd? 335
P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies
Rouz’d by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds tweep
355 And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
That knotty point, my Lord, shall I discuss,