VILLERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. IN the worst inn's worft room, with mat half hung, The floors of plaifter, and the walls of dung, Of mimick'd Statesmen, and their merry King. No Fool to laugh at, which he valu'd more. There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame; this lord of ufelefs thousands ends. IBID. P. 155. SIR BALAAM. WHERE London's column, pointing at the skies A plain good man, and Balaam was his name; Conftant Conftant at Church, and 'Change; his gains were fure, His givings rare, fave farthings to the poor. The Dev'I was piqu'd fuch faintship 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 furge, and plunge his Father in the deep; Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks, He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes: Live like yourfelf," was foon my Lady's word; And lo! two puddings fmoak'd upon the board.. Asleep and naked as an Indian lay, An honeft factor ftole 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 fcruple rofe, but thus he eas'd his thought, "I'll now give fixpence where I gave a groat; Where once I went to church, I'll now go " twice And am fo clear too of all other vice." The The Tempter faw his time; the work he ply'd; Stocks and Subfcriptions pour on ev'ry fide, 'Till all the Dæmon makes his full descent. In one abundant fhow'r of Cent per Cent, Sinks deep within him, and poffeffes whole, Then dubs Director, and fecures his foul. Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit, Afcribes his gettings to his parts and merit; What late he call'd a Bleffing, now was Wit, And God's good Providence, a lucky Hit. Things change their titles, as our manners turn : His Compting-house employ'd the Sunday-morn: Seldom at Church ('twas such a bufy life) But duly fent his family and wife. There (fo the Dev'l ordain'd) one Christmas-tide My good old Lady catch'd a cold, and dy'd. A Nymph of Quality admires our Knight; He marries, bows at Court, and grows polite: Leaves the dull Cits, and joins (to please the Fair) The well-bred cuckolds of St. James's air: Firft, for his Son a gay Commiffion buys, Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies: His Daughter flaunts a Viscount's tawdry wife; She bears a Coronet and P-x for life. In Britain's Senate he a feat obtains, And one more Penfioner St. Stephen gains. My Lady falls to play: fo bad her chance, He must repair it; takes a bribe from France; The The Houfe impeach him, Coningsby harangues; IBID. P. 157. TASTE. "TIS ftrange the Mifer should his Cares employ To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy: Is it lefs ftrange, the Prodigal fhould wafte For what has Virro painted, built, and planted? Only to fhew how many taftes he wanted. What brought Sir Vito's ill-got wealth to waste? Some Dæmon whifper'd "Vifto! have a Tafte." Heav'n vifits with a Taste the wealthy Fool, And needs no Rod but Ripley with a Rule. See! sportive Fate, to punish aukward pride, Bids Bubo build, and fends him fuch a Guide: A 1 A ftanding fermon, at each year's expence, You fhew us, Rome was glorious, not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of Ufe. Yet fhall (my Lord) your juft, your noble rules, Fill half the land with imitating Fools; Who random drawings from your sheets fhall take, And of one beauty many blunders make; Load fome vain Church with old Theatric ftate, Turn Arcs of triumph to a Garden-gate; Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all On fome patch'd dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall; Then clap four flices of Pilafter on't, That, lac'd with bits of ruftic, makes a Front; Conscious they act the true Palladian part, Oft have you To build, to plant, whatever you intend, To rear the Column, or the Arch to bend, Te |