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This year a reservoir to keep and spare,
Old Cotta sham'd his fortune and his birth,
Not so his son; he mark'd this oversight, And then mistook reverse of wrong for right: (For what to shun, will no great knowledge need, But what to follow is a task indeed !) Yet sure of qualities deserving praise, More go to ruin fortunes than to raise. What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine, Fill the capacious squire and deep divine! Yet no mean motive this profusion draws; His oxen perish in his country's cause; 'Tis George and Liberty that crowns the cup, And zeal for that great house which eats him up. The woods recede around the naked seat, The Sylvans groan-no matter-for the fleet: Next goes his wool--to clothe our valiant bands; Last, for his country's love, he sells his lands.
To town he comes, completes the nation's hope,
The sense to value riches, with the art
B. To worth or want well-weigh'd be bounty giv'a,
P. Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats? The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that cheats.. Is there a lord that knows a cheerful noon Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon ? Whose table wit or modest merit share, Unelbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or player ? Who copies yours, or Oxford's better part, To ease the oppress'd, and raise the sinking heart? Where'er he shines, O fortune! gild the scene, And angels guard him in the golden mean! There English bounty yet awhile 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 : Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow?
B. Thrice happy man ! enabled to pursue
P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possess'd-five hundred pounds a year. Blush, grandeur! blush-proud courts! withdraw
your blaze ; Ye little stars ! hide your diminish'd 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.
When Hopkins dies a thousand lights attend
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hang,
His Grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee, And well (he thought) advis'd him, " Live like me." As well his Grace reply'd, “ Like you, Sir Joha? That I can do, when all I have is gone !”. Resolve me, reason, which of these is worse, Want with a full or with an empty purse ? Thy life more wretched, Cutler! was confess'd; Arise and tell me, was thy death more bless'd? Cutler saw tenants break and houses fall; For very want he could not build a wall. His only daughter in a stranger's power, For very want; he could not pay a dower. A few grey hairs his reverend temples crown'd; 'Twas very want that sold them for two pound. What ! ev'n deny'd a cordial at his end, Banish'd the doctor, and expelld the friend!
What but a want, which you perhaps think mad,
Say, for such worth are other worlds prepar'd?.
P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies, There dwelt a citizen of sober fame, A plain good man, and Balaam was his name; Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth; His word would pass for more than he was worth. One solid dish his week-day meal aftords, An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's : Constant at church and change; his gains were sare; His givings rare, save farthings to the poor.
The devil was piqu’d such saintship to behold, And long'd 'to tempt him, like good Job of old ; But Satan now is wiser than of yore, And tempts by making rich, not making poor. Rous'd by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds sweep The surge, and plunge his father in the deep, Then full against his Cornish lands they roar, And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks ;. He takes his chirping pint and cracks his jokes. “ Live like yourself,” was soon my lady's word; And, lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board.
Asleep and naked as an Indian lay, An honest factor stole a gem away : He pledg'd it to the Knight ; the Knight had wit, So kept the di'mond, and the rogue was bit. Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought, “ I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat; Where once I went to church, I'll now go. twice, And am so clear too of all other vice !"
The Tempter saw his time, the work he ply'd; Stocks and subscriptious pour on every side,