My Life’s amusements have been just the same, Before, and after < Standing Armies came. My lands are sold, my father's house is gone ; 155 I'll hire another's; is not that my own, And yours, my friends ? thro' whose free opening gate None comes too early, none departs too late; (For I, who hold fage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.) 160 • Pray heaven it last! (cries Swift!) as you go on; " I wish to God this house had been your own : “ Pity! to build, without a son or wife; “ Why, you'll enjoy it only all your

life.” Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one, 165 Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon ? What's d Property ? dear Swift! you see it alter From you to me, from me to c Peter Walter ; Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's share; Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir;

170 Or in pure f equity (the case not clear) The Chancery takes your rents for twenty year : At best, it falls to some g ungracious son, Who cries, “ My father's damn'd, and all's my own."

Shades,

O pueri, nituistis, ut huc o novus incola venit ?
Nam propriae telluris herum natura neque illum,
Nec me, nec quemquam ftatuit. nos expulit ille ;
Illum aut d nequities aut c vafri infcitia juris,
Poftremum expellet certe f vivacior heres.
g Nunc ager Umbreni fub nomine, nuper Ofelli
Dictus erat: nulli proprius; fed cedit in usum

175

Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,
Become the portion of a booby Lord ;
And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a Scrivener, or a City Knight,
i Let lands and houses have what lords they will,
Let Us be fix’d, and our own masters ftill.

180

Nunc mihi, nunc alii, h quocirca vivite fortes,
Fortiaque adverfis opponite pectora rebus.

BOOK I.

Ι,

EPISTLE I.

TO LORD BOLINGBROKE.

ST:
T. JOHN, whose love indulg`d my labours past,

Matures my present, and shall bound my last!
Why b will you break

Sabbath of my days?
Now fick alike of Envy and of Praise.
Public too long, ah let me hide my Age!

5
See modest c Cibber now has left the Stage :
Our Generals now, d retir'd to their Estates,
Hang their Old Trophies o’er the Garden gates,
In Life's cool Evening satiate of Applause,
Nor e fond of bleeding, ev’n in BRUNSWICK's cause.

f A voice there is, that whispers in my ear, ('Tis Reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear) “ Friend Pope! be prudent, let your g Muse take

" breath,

“ And never gallop Pegasus to death;

6 Let

EPISTOL A I. RIMA diete mihi, summa dicende camena, PRIM

b Spectatum fatis, et donatum jam rude, quaeris, Maecenas, iterum antiquo me includere ludo. Non eadem est aetas, non mens.

c Veianius, armis d Herculis ad poftem fixis, latet abditus agro; Ne populum e extrema toties exoret arena.

f Eft mihi purgatam crebro qui personet aurem ; Solve & senescentem mature fanus equum, ne

20

“ Left ftiff, and stately, void of fire or force,

15 “ You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's horse.”

Farewell then h Verse, and Love, and every Toy,
The Rhymes and Rattles of the Man or Boy;
What i right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care-for this is All:
To lay this k harvest up, and hoard with haste,
What every day will want, and most, the laft.

But alk not, to what I Doctors I apply?
Sworn to no Master, of no Seet am I:
As drives the m storm, at any door I knock :

25
And house with Montagne now, or now with Locke,
Sometimes a n Patriot, active in debate,'
Mix with the World, and battle for the State,
Free as young Lyttelton, her cause pursue,
Still true to Virtue, o and as warm as true :

30 Sometimes with Aristippus, or St. Paul, Indulge my candour, and grow all to all;

Back

Peccet ad extremum ridendus, et ilia ducat.
Nunc itaque et h versus, et caetera ludicra pono:
Quid i verum atque decens, curo et rogo, et omnis in

hoc fum :
k Condo, et compono, quae mox depromere poffim.
Ac ne forte roges, ' quo me duce, quo Lare tuter :
Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri,
m Quo me cunque rapit tempestas, deferor hofpes.
Nunc agilis fio, et merfor n civilibus undis,
Virtutis verae custos, o rigidusque satelles :
VOL. II.

0

Back to my p native Moderation Nide,
And win my way by yielding to the tide.

9 Long, as to him who works for debt, the day, 35
Long as the Night to her whose Love's away,
Long as the Year's dull circle seems to run,
When the brisk Minor pants for twenty-one;
So flow th'r unprofitable moments roll,
That lock up all the Functions of my soul;
That keep me from myself; and still delay
Life's instant business to a future day:
That s task, which as we follow, or despise,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise :
Which done, the poorest can no wants endure;

45 And which not done, the richest must be poor.

t Late as it is, I put myself to school, And feel some u comfort, not to be a fool. w Weak though I am of limb, and short of sight, Far from a. Lynx, and not a Giant quite :

50 I'll

Nunc in Aristippi p furtim praecepta relabor
Et mihi res, non me rebus, fubjungere conor.

9 Ut nox longa, quibus mentitur amica ; diefque
Lenta videtur opus debentibus : ut piger annus
Pupillis, quos dura premit custodia matrum :
Sic mihi tarda r fluunt ingrataque tempora, quae spem
Confiliumque morantur agendi gnaviter - id, quod
Aeque pauperibus prodeft, locupletibus aeque,
Aeque neglectum pueris senibusque nocebit.

+ Reftat, ut his ego me ipfe regam u solerque elementis : w Non poslis oculo quantum contendere Lynceus ;