MORAL ESSAY S.

EPISTLE V.

TO MR. ADDISON,

Occafioned by his Dialogues on MEDALS.

THIS was originally written in the year 1715, when Mr. Addifon intended to publish his book of Medals; it was fome time before he was Secretary of State; but not published till Mr. Tickell's Edition of his works; at which time the verses on Mr. Craggs, which conclude the poem, were added, viz. in 1720.

As the third Epiftle treated of the extremes of Avarice and Profufion; and the fourth took up one particular branch of the latter, namely, the Vanity of Expence in people of wealth and quality, and was therefore a corollary to the third; fo this treats of one circumftance of that Vanity, as it appears in the common collectors of old coins: and is, therefore, a corollary to the fourth.

EE the wild Waste of all-devouring years!

SEE

How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears, With nodding arches broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead; Imperial wonders rais'd on Nations spoil'd, Where mix'd with Slaves the groaning Martyr toil'd : Huge Theatres, that now unpeopled Woods, Now drain'd a distant country of her Floods :

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Fanes,

Fanes, which admiring Gods with pride furvey,
Statues of Men, fcarce lefs alive than they!
Some felt the filent stroke of mouldering age,
Some hostile fury, fome religious rage.
Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.

Perhaps, by its own ruins fav'd from flame.
Some bury'd marble half preserves a name;
That Name the Learn'd with fierce difputes pursue,
And give to Titus old Vespasian's due.

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15

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Ambition figh'd: fhe found it vain to trust The faithlefs Column and the crumbling Bust: Huge moles, whose shadow stretch'd from fhore to shore, Their ruins perish'd, and their place no more! Convinc'd, the now contracts her vast design, And all her Triumphs fhrink into a Coin. A narrow orb each crouded conquest keeps, Beneath her Palm here fad Judea weeps. Now fcantier limits the proud Arch confine, And scarce are feen the proftrate Nile or Rhine; A fmall Euphrates through the piece is roll'd,

And little Eagles wave their wings in gold.

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The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame,

Through climes and ages bears each form and name:
In one short view fubjected to our eye

Gods, Emperors, Heroes, Sages, Beauties, lie.
With fharpen'd fight pale Antiquaries pore,

Th' inscription value, but the ruft adore.
This the blue varnish, that the green endears,
The facred ruft of twice ten hundred years!

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To

To gain Pefcennius one employs his Schemes,

One grafps a Cecrops in extatic dreams.

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Poor Vadius, long with learned fpleen devour'd,

Can tafte no pleasure fince his Shield was scour'd:
And Curio, reftlefs by the Fair-one's fide,.

Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.

Their's is the Vanity, the Learning thine :

4.5

Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories fhine:
Her Gods and godlike Heroes rife to view,
And all her faded garlands bloom anew.
Nor blush, thefe ftudies they regard engage;
These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage:
The verfe and sculpture bore an equal part,
And Art reflected images to Art.

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Oh, when shall Britain, confcious of her claim,
Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame?
In living medals fee her wars enroll'd,
And vanquish'd realms fupply recording gold?
Here, rifing bold, the Patriot's honest face;
There, Warriors frowning in historic brass:
Then future ages with delight shall see

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How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree;
Or in fair feries laurel'd Bards be shown,

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A Virgil there, and here an Addison.

Then shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine)
On the caft ore, another Pollio, fhine;

With aspect open shall erect his head,
And round the orb in lafting notes be read,
"Statefinan, yet friend to Truth! of foul fincere,
"In action faithful, and in honour clear;

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"Who

"Who broke no promife, ferved no private end,
“ Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;
"Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,
"And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'd.”

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EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT,

BEING THE

PROLOGUE

TO THE

SATIRE S.

T

ADVERTISEMENT

то

The first Publication of this Epiftle.

HIS paper is a fort of bill of complaint, begun,

many years fince, and drawn up by fnatches, as the feveral occafions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some perfons of Rank and Fortune [the Authors of Verses to the Imitator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court] to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my Writings (of which, being public, the Publick is judge) but my Perfon, Morals, and Family, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requifite. Being divided between the neceffity to fay fomething of myself, and my own laziness to undertake fo aukward a tafk, I thought it the shortest way to put the laft hand to this Epiftle. If it have any thing pleafing,

it