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P. Who, at this rate of talking, can be free?
Not to-and-fro by fears and factions hurl'd,
But when in Hemfkirk's pictures you delight,
I'm chid for loving a luxurious bit,
The facred prize of learning, worth, and wit:
Befides, high living, fir, muft wear you out
You hunt, drink, sleep, or (idler ftill) you rhyme;
P. Tom, fetch a cane, a whip, a club, a stone,--S. For what?
P. A fword, a pistol, or a gun:
I'll fhoot the dog.
S. Lord! who would be a wit?
He's in a mad, or in a rhyming fit.
P. Fly, fly, you rafcal, for your fpade and fork; For once I'll fet your lazy bones to work: Fly, or I'll fend you back, without a groat, To the bleak mountains where you firft were caught.
ODE TO JOHN PITT, Esq.
Advising him to build a banquetting-house on a hill that overlooks the fea.
FROM this tall promontory's brow
You look majestic down,
And fee extended wide below
Th' horizon all your own.
With growing piles the vales are crown'd,
Here hills peep over hills;
There the vast sky and sea profound
O bid, my friend, a structure rife,
Then you, like Æolus, on high,
And hear the whirlwinds roar.
You, with a fmile, their rage despise,
Thus may you view, with proud delight,
All nature in a storm.
Majeftic, awful scene! when, hurl'd
On furges, furges rife,
And all the heaving watery world
The feas and thunder roar by turns,
Has ftill'd the murmuring tides.
Spread wide abroad, the glaffy plain,,
In various colours gay,
Reflects the glorious fun again,
Th' horizon glows from fide to fide,
Your eyes the profpect now command,
Fly like a thought from land to land,
Thus, while above the clouds we fit,
Pafs in amusements, wine, or wit,
Sometimes, with pity, or difdain,.
Down on the poor, the proud, the vain,,
In yonder world below.
We fee, from this exalted feat,
(How fhrunk, reduc'd, confin'd!) The little perfon of the great,
As little as his mind.
See there-amidft the crowds our view
But thofe fo throng'd, and these so few,
Yet, through this cloud of human kind,
The Pitts, the Yorks, the Seckers find,
ODE TO JOHN PITT, Esq.
On the fame fubject.
'ER curious models as you rove
The vales with piles to crown,
And great Palladio's plans improve
O bid a ftructure o'er the floods
Th' afcending breeze, at each repaft,
Give a new brightness to the taste,
Or these low pleasures we may quit
For banquets more refin'd,
The luxury of the mind.