But Satan now is wifer than of yore,

And tempts by making rich, not making poor. Rouz'd by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds fweep

The furge, and plunge his father in the deep; Then full against his Cornish lands they roar, And two rich fhipwrecks blefs the lucky fhore. 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 smok'd upon the board. Afleep and naked as an Indian lay, An honest factor ftole a gem away: He pledg'd it to the knight, the knight had wit, So kept the diamond, 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."

361

The tempter faw his time: the work he ply'd; Stocks and fubfcriptions pour on every fide, 370 Till all the dæmon makes his full defcent In one abundant fhower 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 is wit, And God's good providence a lucky hit. Things change their titles, as our manners turn: His counting-houfe employ'd the Sunday morn : Seldom at church, ('twas fuch a bufy life) Bat duly fent his family and wife. There (fo the devil ordain'd) one Christmas tide My good old lady catch'd a cold, and dy'd.

381

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 in St. James's air: Firft, for his fon a gay commiflion buys, Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies: 390 His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife; She bears a coronet and p--x for life. In Britain's fenate he a feat obtains, And one more penfioner St. Stephen gains. My lady falls to play: fo bad her chance, He muft repair it; takes a bribe from France; The Houfe impeach him, Coningsby harangues; The Curt for fake him, and Sir Balaam hangs : Wife, fon, and daughter, Satan! are thy own, His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown; 400 The devil and the king divide the prize, And fad Sir Balaam curfes God and dies.

EPISTLE IV.

TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL OP BURLINGTON. Of the Ufe of Riches.

THE ARGUMENT.

Taz vanity of expence in people of wealth and quality. The abuse of the word taste, ver. 15. Vol. VIII.

That the first principle and foundation in this, as in every thing elfe, is good sense, ver. 40. The chief proof of it is to follow Nature, even in works of mere luxury and elegance. Inftanced in architecture and gardening, where all must be adapted to the genius and ufe of the place, and the beauties not forced into it, but refuiting from it, ver. 50. How men are disappointed in their most expenfive undertakings, for want of this true foundation, without which nothing can please long, if at all; and the best examples and rules will be perverted into fomething burdenfome and ridiculous, ver. 65, &c. to 92. A defeription of the falfe tafte of magnificence; the first grand error of which is, to imagine that greatnefs confifts in the fize and dimension, inHead of the proportion and harmony of the whole, ver. 97. and the fecond, either in joining together parts incoherent, or too minutely refembling, or in the repetition of the fame too frequently, ver 105 &c. A word or two of falie tafte in books, in mulic, in painting, even in preaching and prayer; and, laftly, in entertainments, yer. 133, &c. Yet Providence is juftified in giving wealth to be fquandered in this manner, fince it is difperfed to the poor and laborious part of mankind, ver. 169, &c. [recurring to what is laid down in the firft Book, Ep. ii. and in the Epittle preceding this, ver. 159, &c.] What are the proper objects of magnificence, and a proper field for the expence of great men, ver. 177, &c. and finally the great and public works which become a prince, ver. 191, to the cnd.

The extremes of avarice and profufion being treat ed of in the foregoing epiftle; this takes up one particular branch of the latter, the vanity of expence in people of wealth and quality; and is therefore a corollary to the preceding, just as the Epifle on the Characters of Women is to that of the Knowledge and Characters of Men. It is equally remarkable for exactnefs of method with the reft. But the nature of the fubject, which is lefs philofophical, makes it capable of being analyzed in a much narrower compais.

'Tis ftrange, the mifer fhould his cares employ
To gain thofe riches he can ne'er enjoy :
Is it lefs ftrange, the prodigal fhould wafte
His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can tafle?
Not for himself he fees, or hears, or eats;
Artists must choose his pictures, mufic, meats;
He buys for Topham drawings and defigns;
For Pembroke ftatues, dirty gods, and coins i
Rare monkish manufcripts for Hearne alone,
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.
Think we all thefe are for himself? no more
Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.

II

For what has Virro painted, built, and planted: Only to fhow, how many tastes he wanted. What brought Sir Vito's ill-got wealth to watte? Some dæmon whifper'd," Vifto! have a taste."; Heaven vifits with a tafte the wealthy fool, And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule. H

See! fportive fate, to punish aukward pride,
Bids Bubo build, and fends him fuch a guide: 20
A ftanding fermon, at each year's expence,
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence!

You fhow us Rome was glorious, not profufe, 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,

30

And of one beauty many blunders make;
Load fome vain church with old Theatric state,
Turn arts 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.
Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar,
Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;
Conícious they act a true Palladian part,
And if they ftarve, they ftarve by rules of art.
Oft have you hinted to your brother peer,
A certain truth, which many buy too dear:
Something there is more needful than expence,
And fomething previous ev'n to tafte-'tis fenfe:
Good fenfe, which only is the gift of Heaven,
And though no fcience, fairly worth the feven:
A light, which in yourself you must perceive;
Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give.

To build, to plant, whatever you intend,
To rear the column, or the arch to bend,
To fwell the terrace, or to fink the grot;
In all, let nature never be forgot.
But treat the goddess like a modest fair,
Nor over drefs, nor leave her wholly bare;
Let not each beauty every where be spy'd,
Where half the skill is decently to hide.
He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,
Surprifes, varies, and conceals the bounds.

40

50

60

Confult the genius of the place in all; That tells the waters or to rife or fall; Or helps th' ambitious hill the heavens to scale, Or fcoops in circling theatres the vale; Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods, and varies fhades from fhades; Now breaks, or now directs th' intending lines; Paints as vou plant, and, as you work, designs. Still follow fenfe, of every art the foul, Parts anfwering part- fhall flide into a whole, Spontaneous beauties all around advance, Start ev'n from difficulty, ftrike from chance; Nature fhall join you; time fhall make it grow A work to wonder at-perhaps a Stow.

70

Without it, proud Verfailles. thy glory falls; And Nero's terraces de fert their walls: The valt parterres a thousand hands fhall make, Lo Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake:

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 22, in the MS. Muft bishops, lawyers, ftatefmen have the skill To build, to plant, judge paintings, what you will? Then why not Kent as well our treaties draw, Bridgman explain the gofpel, Gibbs the law?

Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain,
You'll with your hill or shelter'd seat again.
Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,
Nor in an hermitage fet Dr. Clarke.
Behold Villario's ten years teil complete;
His quincunx darkens, his efpaliers meet;
The wood fupports the plain, the parts unite,
And strength of fhade contends with strength of
light;

A waving glow the bloomy beds difplay,
Blufhing in bright diverfities of day,

With filver-quivering rills mæander'd o'er-
Enjoy them, you: Villario can no more;
Tir'd of the icene parterres and fountains yield,
He finds at laft he better likes a field.

Through his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus ftray'd,

99

Or fate delighted in the thickening shade,
With annual joy the reddening fhoots to greet,
Or fee the stretching branches long to meet!
His fon's fine tafte an opener vista loves,
Foe to the Dyrads of his father's groves;
One boundiefs green, or flourish'd carpet views,
With all the mournf 1 family of yews:
The thriving plants ignoble broomflicks made,
Now sweep thofe alleys they were born to fhade.
At Timon's villa let us pafs a day,

Where all cry out, "What fums are thrown as way.

So proud, fo grand; of that fupendous air,
Soft and agreeable come never there
Greatnefs, with Timon, dwells in such a draught
As brings all Brobdignag before your thought.
To compafs this, his building is a town,

His pond an ocean, his parterre a down:
Who but muft laugh, the mafter when he sees,

A puny infect, fhivering at a breeze!

Lo, what huge heaps of littlenefs around!

The whole, a labour'd quarry above ground, 110
Two Cupids fquirt before: a lake behind
Improves the keennefs of the northern wind.
His gardens next your admiration call,
On every fide you look, behold the wall!
No pleafing intricacies intervene,
No artful wildness to perplex the scene;
Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And half the platform jutt refle&is the other.
The fuffering eye inverted nature fees,
Trees cut to ftatues, ftatues thick as trees; 120
With here a fountain, never to be play'd;
And there a fummer houfe that knows no fhade;
Here Amphitrite fails through myrtle bowers;
There gladiators fight, or die in flowers;
Unwater'd fee the drooping fea-horse mourn,
And fwallows rooft in Nilus' dufty urn.

And now the chapel's filver bell you hear, That fummons you to all the pride of prayer; Light quirks of mufic, broken and uneven, Make the foul dance upon a jig to heaven. On painted ceilings you devoutly ftare, Where fprawl the faints of Verrio or Laguerre, Or gilded clouds in fair expanfion lie, And bring all paradife before your eye. Toreft, the cushion and foft dean invite, Who never mentions hell to ears polite.

150

But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps fcrape the marble hall :
The rich buffet well-coloured ferpents grace,
And gaping Tritons fpew to wash your face.
Is this a dinner? this a genial room!
No. 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.
A folemn facrifice perform'd in state,
You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying course, you'd fwear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there. 160
Between each act the trembling falvers ring,
From foup to fweet-wine, and God bless the
King.

In plenty ftarving, tantaliz'd in state,
And complaifantly help'd to all I hate,
Treated, carefs'd, and tir'd, I take my leave,
Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve;
I curfe fuch lavish cost, and little fkill,
Ard fwear no day was ever paft fo ill.

Yet hence the poor are cloth d, the hungry fed; Health to himself, and to his infants bread, 170 The labourer bears: What his hard heart denies, His charitable vanity supplies.

Another age fhall fee the golden ear
Imbrown the flope, and nod on the parterre,
Deep harvest bury all his pride has plann'd,
And laughing Ceres re-affume the land.
Who then fhall grace, or who improve the foil?
Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle.
'Tis ufc alone but fanctifies expence,

And splendor borrows all her rays from sense. 180
His father's acres who enjoys in peace,
Or makes his neighbours glad, if he increase :
Whofe cheerful tenants blefs their yearly toil,
Yet to their lord owe more than to the foil;
Whole ample lawns are not afham'd to feed
The milky heifer and deserving steed;
Whole rifing forefts, not for pride or show,
But future buildings, future navies, grow:
Let his plantations ftretch from down to down,
Firit fhade a country, and then raife a town. 190
You too proceed! make falling arts your care,
Frect new wonders, and the old repair;
Juces and Palladio to themselves reftore,
And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:
Til kings call forth th' ideas of your mind.
(Proud to accomplish what fuch hands defign'd)
But harbours open, public ways extend,
Pid temples worthier of the god afcend;
Bid the broad archthe dangerous flood contain,
The mole projected break the roaring main; 200

Backto his bounds their fubject fea command, And oli obedient rivers through the land; These honours, peace to happy Britain brings; These are imperial works, and worthy kings.

EPISTLE V.

TO MR. ADDISON,

Occafioned by his Dialogues on Medals.

THIS was originally written in the year 1715, when Mr. Addifon intended to publifh his book of Medals; it was fome time before hewas Secretary of State; but not published till Mr Tickell's edition of his works; at which time the verfes 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.

SEE the wild waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
The very tombs now vanifh'd like their dead;
Imperial wonders rai'd on nations spoil'd, [toil'd:
Where mix'd with flaves the groaning martyr
Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods,
Now drain'd a diftant country of her floods:
Fanes, which admiring gods with pride furvey;
Statues of men, fcarce lefs alive than they!
Some felt the filent ftroke of mouldering age,
Some hoftile fury, fome religious rage.
Barbarian blindnefs, Chriftian zeal confpire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.
Perhaps, by its own ruins fav'd from flame,
Some bury'd marble half preferves a name;
That name the learn'd with fierce disputes pursue,
And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.

ΙΟ

Ambition figh'd the found in vain to trust The faithlefs column and the crumbling buft: 20 Huge moles, whofe fhadow ftretch'd from fhore to

The medal, faithful to its charge of fame, Through climes and agesbears each form and name: In one fhort view fubjected to our eye Gods, emperors heroes, fages, beauties, lie. With fharpen'd fight pale antiquaries pore, Th' infcription value, but the ruft adore.

་ * ་ ། 1

40

This the blue varnish, that the green endears,
The facred ruft of twice ten hundred years!
To gain Pefcennius one employs his schemes,
One grafps a Cecrops in ecftatic dreams.
Poor Vadius, long with learned spleen devour'd,
Can tafle no pleasure ince his fhield was fcour'd:
And Curio, reflefs by the fair-one's fide,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.

Theirs is the vanity, the learning thine:
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, these ftudies thy regard engage;
Thefe pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage:
The verfe and fculpture bore an equal part,
And art reflected images to art.

50

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 honeft face; There, warriors frowning in hiftoric brafs : Then future ages with delight fhall fee How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree; 60 Or in fair feries laurel'd bards be shown, A Virgil there, and here an Addifon. Then shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine) On the caft ore, another Pollio, fhine: With afpect open fhall erect his head, And round the orb in lafting notes be read, "Statesman, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere, "In action faithful, and in honour clear; "Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, "Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend; 72 "Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,

"And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the muse he lov'd”