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140

Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
Oblige her, and fhe'll hate you while you live:
But die, and fhe'll adore you-then the bust
And temple rife-then fall again to duft.
Last night her lord was all that's good and great;
A knave this morning, and his will a cheat.
Strange! by the means defeated of the ends,
By fpirit robb'd of power, by warmth of friends,
By wealth of followers! without one diftrefs
Sick of herfelf, through very selfishness!
Atoffa, curs'd with every granted prayer,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir.
To heirs unknown defcends th' unguarded ftore,
Or wanders, heaven-directed, to the poor. 150

Pictures, like these, dear madam, to design, Afks no firm hand, and no unerring line; Some wandering touches, fome reflected light, Some flying ftroke alone can hit them right: For how fhould equal colours do the knack? Chameleons who can paint in white and black? "Yet Chloe fure was form'd without a fpot."Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. "With every pleasing, every prudent part, "Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart. 160 She freaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought; But never, never, reach'd one generous thought. Virtue fhe finds too painful an endeavour, Content to dwell in decencies for ever. So very reasonable, fo unmov'd, As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.

She, while her lover pants upon her breast,
Can mark the figures on an Indian cheft;
And when the fees her friend in deep despair,
Obferves how much a chintz exceeds mohair. 170
Forbid it, heaven, a favour or a debt
She e'er thould cancel-but she may forget.
Safe is your fecret ftill in Chloe's ear;
But none of Chloe's fhall you ever hear.
Of all her dears fhe never flander'd one,
But cares not if a thousand are undone.
Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead?
She bids her footman put it in her head.
Chloe is prudent-would you too be wife?
Then never break your heart when Chloe dies. 180

One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen, Which heaven has varnish'd out, and made a

queen:

The fame for ever! and defcrib'd by all
With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball.
Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will,
And how their zeal, and hide their want of fkill.
'Tis well-but, artifts! who can paint or write,
To draw the naked is your true delight.
That robe of quality fo ftruts and fwells.
None fee what parts of nature it conceals:
Th' exacteft traits of body or of mind,
We owe to models of an humble kind.

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 148, in the MS.

190

This death decides; nor lets the bleffing fall
On any one she hates, but on them all,
Curs'd chance this only could afflict her more,
If any part should wander to the poor.

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210

In men we various ruling paffions find; In women, two almost divide the kind; Thofe, only fix'd, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. That, nature gives; and where the leflon taught Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this; by man's oppreffion curft, They feek the fecond not to lose the first.

Men, fome to business, some to pleasure take; But every woman is at heart a rake: Men, fome to quiet, fome to public ftrife; But every lady would be queen for life.

Yet mark the fate of a whole fex of queens: Power all their end, but beauty all the means : 220 In youth they conquer with fo wild a rage, As leaves them fcarce a subject in their age: For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; No thought of peace or happiness at home. But wifdom's triumph is well-tim'd retreat, As hard a fcience to the fair as great! Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendlefs grown, Yet hate repofe, and dread to be alone, Worn-out in public, weary every eye, Nor leave one figh behind them when they die. Pleasures the fex, as children birds, purfue, 231 Still out of reach, yet never out of view; Sure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most, To covet flying, and regret when lost : At laft, to follies youth could fcarce defend, It grows their age's prudence to pretend; Afham'd to own they gave delight before, Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more: As hags hold Sabbaths, lefs for joy than spite, So these their merry, miferable night; Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide, And haunt the places where their honour dy'd.

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 198, in the MS.

Fain I'd in Fulvia spy the tender wife; I cannot prove it on her for my life: And, for a noble pride, I blush no less, Inftead of Berenice to think on Befs. Thus while immortal Cibber only fings

140

[kings,

(As Clarke and Hoadly preach) for queens and The nymph that ne'er read Milton's mighty line, May, if the love and merit verse, have mine.

Ver. 207, in the first edition:

In feveral men we feveral paflions find;
In women, two almoft divide the kind:

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Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing;
So when the fun's broad beam has tir'd the fight,
All mild afcends the moon's more sober light,
Serene in virgin modesty the fhines,
And unobferv'd the glaring orb declines.

260

Oh bleft with temper, whofe unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day: She, who can love a fifter's charms, or hear Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear; She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if the rules him, never shows she rules; Charms by accepting, by submit:ing sways, Yet has her humour most, when she obeys; Let fops or fortune fly which way they will, Difdains all lofs of tickets, or codille; Spleen, vapours, or fmall-pox, above them all, And mistress of herself, though China fail.

270

280

And yet, believe me, good as well as ill Woman's at beft a contradiction ftill. Heaven when it strives to polish all it can Its laft best work, but forms a fofter man; Picks from each sex, to make the favourite bleft. Your love of pleasure, our defire of rest: Blends, in exception to all general rules, Your tafte of follies, with our fcorn of fools: Referve with franknefs, art with truth ally'd, Courage with foftnefs, modesty with pride; Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new; Shakes all together, and produces-You. Be this a woman's fame with this unbleft, Toafts live a fcorn, and queens may die a jest. This Phœbus promis'd (I forget the year) When those blue eyes firft open'd on the sphere; Afcendant Phœbus watch'd that hour with care, Averted half your parents' fimple prayer; And gave you beauty, but deny'd the pelf That buys your fex a tyrant o'er itself. The generous God, who wit and gold refines, And ripens fpirits as he ripens mines, Kept drofs for ducheffes, the world fhall know it, To you gave fense, good humour, and a poet.

EPISTLE III.

TO ALLEN, LORD BATHURST,

Of the Ufe of Richea.

THE ARGUMENT.

290

TEAT it is known to few, moft falling into one of the extremes, avarice or profufion, ver. 1, &c. The point difcuffed, whether the invention of

money has been more commodious or pernicious to mankind ver. 21 to 77. That riches, either to the avaricious or the prodigal, cannot afford happiness, fcarcely neceffaries, ver. 89 to 160, That avarice is an abfolute frenzy, without an end or purpose, ver. 113, &c. 152. Conjectures about the motives of avaricious men, ver. 121 to 153. That the conduct of men, with respect ⚫to riches, can only be accounted for by the order of Providence, which works the general good out of extremes, and brings all to its great end by perpetual revolutions, ver. 161 to 178. How a mifer acts upon principles which appear to him reasonable, ver. 179. How a prodigal does the fame, ver. 199. The due medium, and true ufe of riches, ver. 219. The man of Rofs, ver. 250. The fate of the profufc and the covetous, in two examples; both miferable in life and in death, ver. 300, &c. The story of Sir Balaam, ver. 339 to the end,

THIS epiftle was written after a violent outcry against our Author, on a supposition that he had ridiculed a worthy nobleman merely for his wrong tafte. He juftified himself upon that article in a letter to the Earl of Burlington; at the end of which are thefe words: "I have "learnt that there are some who would rather "be wicked than ridiculous: and therefore it 66 may be fafer to attack vices than follies, "will therefore leave my betters in the quiet poffeffion of their idols, their groves, and their high-places; and change my subject from their pride to their meannefs, from their vanities "to their miferies; and as the only certain way "to avoid misconstructions, to leffen offence, and "not to multiply ill-natured applications, I may. probably in my next, make use of real names "inftead of fictitious ones."

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P. WHO fhall decide, when doctors difagree, And foundest cafuifts doubt, like you and me? You hold the word, from Jove to Momus gives, That man was made the standing jeft of Hea

ven :

And gold but fent to keep the fools in play,
For fome to heap, and fome to throw away.

But I, who think more highly of our kind,
(And, furely, Heaven and I are of a mind)
Opine, that nature, as in duty bound,
Deep hid the shining mischief under ground: I
But when, by man's audacious labour won,
Flam'd forth this rival too, its fire, the fun,
Then careful Heaven fupply'd two forts of men,
To fquander these, and those to hide again.
Like doctors thus, when much difpute ha
paft,

We find our tenets juft the fame at laft.
Both fairly owning, riches, in effect,
No grace of Heaven or token of th' elect;
Given to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil,
To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil. 20
B. What nature wants, commodious gold be
ftows;

'Tis thus we eat the bread another fows,

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P. But lures the pirate, and corrupts the friend. 30
B. It raifes armies in a nation's aid:

P. But bribes a fenate, and the land's betray'd.
In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave,
If fecret gold fap on from knave to knave.
Once, we confcfs, beneath the patriot's cloak,
From the crack'd bag the dropping guinea spoke,
And jingling down the back-fairs, told the crew,
"Old Cato is as great a rogue as you."
Bleft paper-credit! last and best supply!
That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!

40

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60

Poor avarice one torment more would find;
Nor could profufion fquander all in kind.
Aftride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet:
And Worldly crying coals from freet to street,
Whom, with a wig fo wild, and mien so maz'd,
Pity mistakes for fome poor tradesman craz'd.
Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and
hogs,

Could he himself have fent it to the dogs?
His Grace will game: to White's a bull be led,
With fpurning heels and with a butting head.
To White's be carry'd as to ancient games,
Fair courfers, vases, and alluring dames.
Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he fweep,
Bear him fix whores, and make his lady weep?
Or foft Adonis, fo perfum'd and fine,
Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine?
Oh filthy check on all induftrious skill,

70

To spoil the nation's last great trade, quadrille!

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Is this too little? would you more than live?
Alas! 'tis more than Turner finds they give.
Alas! 'tis more than (all his visions past)
Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last!
What can they give? to dying Hopkins, heirs;
To Chartres, vigour; Japhet, nose and ears?
Can they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow,
In Fulvia's buckle eafe the throbs below;
Or heal, old Narfes, thy obfcener ail,
With all th' embroidery plaifter'd at thy tail? 90
They might (were Harpax not too wife to spend)
Give Harpax felf the blefling of a friend;
Or find some doctor that would fave the life
Of wretched Shylock, fpite of Shylock's wife:
But thousands die, without or this or that,
Die, and endow a college, or a cat.

To fome, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate,
T'enrich a baftard, or a fon they hate.

Perhaps you think the poor might have their part;

Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his heart:

100

The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule That every man in want is knave or fool: "God cannot love (fays Blunt, with tearless eyes) "The wretch he ftarves"-and pioufly denies : But the good bishop, with a meeker air, Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care.

Yet to be just to thefe poor men of pelf,
Each does but hate his neighbour as himself:
Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides
The flave that digs it, and the flave that hides. 110
B. Who fuffer thus, mere charity fhould own,
Muft act on motives powerful, though unknown.
P. Some war, fome plague, or famine, they
forefee,

Some revelation hid from you and me.
Why Shylock wants a meal, the caufe is found;
He thinks a loaf will rife to fifty pound.
What made directors cheat in South-Sca year?
To live on venifon when it fold dear.
Afk you why Phryne the whole auction buys?
Phryne forefees a general excife.

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Why fhe and Sappho raife that monftrous fum ? Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum.

Wife Peter fees the world's refpe& for gold, And therefore hopes this nation may be fold: Glorious ambition! Peter, fwell thy ftore, And be what Rome's great Didius was before. The crown of Foland, venal twice an age, To just three millions ftinted modeft Gage. But nobler fcenes, Maria's dreams unfold, Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold.

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VARIATIONS.

After ver. 50, in the MS.

To break a truft were Peter brib'd with wine, Peter 'twould pofe as wife a head as thine.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 77. Since then, &c.] In the former Ed. Well then, fince with the world we ftand or fall, Come take it, as we find it, gold and all.

Congenial fouls; whofe life one avarice joins,
And one fate buries in th' Austrian mines.
Much-injur'd Blunt! why bears he Britain's
hate?

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140

A wizard told him in thefe words our fate: "At length corruption, like a general flood, (bo long by watchful minifters withstood) "Shall deluge all; and avarice, creeping on, Spread like a low-borne mift, and blot the fun; "Statefman and patriot ply alike the stocks, "Peerefs and butler there alike the box. *And judges job, and bishops bite the town, "And mighty dukes pack cards for half a crown. "See Britain funk in lucre's fordid charms, "And France reveng'd of Anne's and Edward's "arms!" [brain, 'Twas no court badge, great fcrivener, fir'd thy Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain:

No, 'twas thy righteous end, asham'd to fee Senates degenerate, patriots disagree, And nobly wishing party-rage to cease, To buy both fides, and give thy country peace. "All this is madness,” cries a sober sage: 151 But who, my friend, has reason in his rage? “The ruling paffion, be it what it will, "The ruling paffion conquers reafon ftill." Lefs mad the wildeft whimsey we can frame, Than even that paffion, if it has no aim; For though fuch motives folly you may call, The folly's greater to have none at all. Hear then the truth: "'Tis Heaven each paf"fion fends,

161

"And different men directs to different ends.
“Extremes in nature equal good produce,
"Extremes in man concur to general use."
Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow?
That power who bids the ocean ebb and flow,
Bids feed-time, harvest, equal course maintain,
Through reconcil'd extremes of drought and rain,
Builds life on death, on change duration founds,
And gives th' eternal wheels to know their rounds.
Riches, like infects, when conceal'd they lie,
Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. 170
Who fees pale Mammon pine amidst his store,
Sees but a backward fteward for the poor;
This year a refervoir, to keep and spare;
The next a fountain, fpouting through his heir,
In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst,
And men and dogs fhall drink him till they burst.
Old Cotta fham'd his fortune and his birth,
Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:
What though (the use of barbarous spits forgot)
His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot?
His court with nettles, moats with creffes ftor'd,
With foups unbought and fallads blefs'd his board?
If Cotta liv'd on pulfe, it was no more
Than Bramins, faints, and fages did before;
To cram the rich, was prodigal expence,
And who would take the poor from Providence?
Like fome lone Chartreux ftands the good old hall,
Silence without, and fasts within the wall;
No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor found,
No noontide bell invites the country round: 190
Tenants with fighs the smokeless towers furvey,
And turn th' unwilling steeds another way:

180

Benighted wanderers, the foreft o'er,
Curfe the fav'd candle, and unopening door;
While the gaunt mastiff, growling at the gate,
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat.

200

Not fo his fon: he mark'd this oversight, And then mistook reverse of wrong for right. (For what to fhun, will no great knowledge need : But what to follow, is a task indeed), Yet fure, of qualities deferving praise, More go to ruin fortunes, than to raise. What flaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine, Fill the capacious 'fquire, and deep divine! Yet no mean motives this profufion 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 feat, 209 The Sylvans groan-no matter-for the fleet: Next goes his wool-to clothe our valiant bands: Laft, for his country's love, he fells his lands. To town he comes, completes the nation's hope, And heads the bold train-bands, and burns a Pope: And shall not Britain now reward his toils, Britain, that pays her patriots with her spoils? In vain at court the bankrupt pleads his cause, His thanklefs country leaves him to her laws.

220

The fenfe to value riches, with the art T' enjoy them, and the virtue to impart, Not meanly, nor ambitiously purfued, Not funk by floth, not rais'd by fervitude; To balance fortune by a juft expence, Join with economy, magnificence; With fplendour, charity; with plenty, health; Oh teach us, Bathurst! yet unfpoil'd by wealth ! That fecret rare, between th' extremes to move Of mad good-nature, and of mean self-love.

B. To worth or want well-weigh'd, be bounty

given,

230

And eafe, or emulate, the care of Heaven;
(Whose measure full o'erflows on human race)
Mend fortune's fault, and justify her grace.
Wealth in the grofs is death, but life diffus'd;
As poifon heals, in juft proportion us'd:
In heaps, like ambergris, a ftink it lies,
But well difpers'd, is incenfe to the skies.

P. Who ftarves by nobles, or with nobles eats? The wretch that trufts them, and the rogue that cheats.

Is there a lord, who knows a cheerful noon
Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon!

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 218, in the Ms.

240

Where one lean herring furnish'd Cotta's board,
And nettles grew, fit porridge for their lord;
Where niad good-nature, bounty mifapply'd,
In lavish Curio blaz'd a while and dy'd;
There Providence once more fhall shift the scene,
And fhewing H-y, teach the golden mean.

After ver. 226, in the MS.

The fecret rare, which affluence hardly join'd,
Which W-n loft, yet B-y ne'er could find:
Still mifs'd by vice, and scarce by virtue hit,
By G's goodness, or by S-'s wit,

Whofe table, wit, or modeft merit share,
Un-elbow'd by a gamefter, pimp, or player?
Who copies your's, or Oxford's better part,
To eafe th' opprefs'd, and raise the finking heart?
Where'er he fhines, oh fortune, gild the scene,
And angels guard him in the golden mean!
There, English bounty yet a while may stand,
And honour linger ere it leaves the land.

But all our praises why should lords engross!
Rife, honeft mufe; and fing the Man of Rofs: 250
Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds,
And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.
Who hung with woods yon mountain's fultry
brow?

From the dry rock who bade the waters flow?
Not to the fkies in ufelefs columns toft,
Or in proud falls magnificently loft,

But clear and artlefs, pouring through the plain
Health to the fick, and folace to the fwain.
Whofe caufeway parts the vale with fhady rows?
Whofe feats the weary traveller repose ? 260
Who taught that heaven-directed fpire to rife!
"The Man of Rofs," each lifping babe replies.
Behold the market-place with poor o'erfpread!
The Man of Rofs divides the weekly bread:
He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state,
Where age and want fit fmiling at the gate;
Him portion'd maids apprentic'd orphans bleft,
The young who labour, and the old who reft.
Is any fick? the Man of Rofs relieves, 269
Preferibes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives.
Is there a variance? enter but his door,
Blk'd are the courts, and contest is no more,
Delpairing quacks with curfes fled the place,
And vile attorneys, now an useless race.

B. Thrice happy man! enabled to purfue
What all so with, but want the power to do!
Oh fay, what fums that generous hand supply?
What mines to iwell that boundle Is charity

P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man poffet-five hundred pounds a-year. Bluth, grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze!

Ye little ftars! hide your diminish'd rays.

281

B. And what no monument, infcription, ftone? His race, his form, his name almoft unknown?

P. Who builds a church.to God, and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name: Go, fearch it there, where to be born and die, Of rich and poor makes all the history; Enough, that virtue til'd the space between; Prov'd by the ends of being, to have been. When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend The wretch, who living fav'd a candle's end;

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 250, in the MS.

Trace humble worth beyond Sabrina's shore,
Who fings not him, oh may he ting no more!
Ver. 187. Thus in the MS.

The register inrolls him with his poor,
Tells he was born, and dy'd, and tells no more.
Juft as he ought, he fill'd the space between;
han ftole to re, unheeded and unfeen.

290

Shouldering God's altar a vile image flands,
Belies his features, nay extends his hands;
That live-long wig, which Gorgon's felf might own,
Eternal buckle takes in Parian tone.

Behold what bleflings wealth to life can lend!
And fee, what comfort it affords our end.

In the worst inn's worft room, with mat half-hung,
The floors of plafter, and the walls of dung, 300
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw,
With tape-ty'd curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Where tawdry yellow ftrove with dirty red,
Great Villers lies-alas! how chang'd from him,
That life of pleasure, and that foul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,
The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love;
Or juft as, gay, at council, in a ring

Of mimick'd statefmen, and their merry king. 310
No wit to flatter, left of all his ftore!
No fool to laugh at, which he valued more.
There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame, this lord of ufelefs thousands ends.
His Grace's fate fage Cutler could forefee,
And well (he thought) advis'd him, "Live like
me!"

As well his Grace reply'd, "Like you, Sir John?
"That I can do, when all I have is gone."
Refolve me, reafon, which of thefe are worse,
Want with a full, or with an empty purfe? 320
Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confefs'd,
Arife, and tell me, was thy death more blefs'd?
Cutler faw tenants break, and houfes 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,
'I'was very want that fold them for two pound.
What! even deny'd a cordial at his end,
Banifh'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend? 330
What but a want, which yo perhaps think mad,
Yet numbers feel, the want of what he had!
Cutler and Brutus dying, both exclaim,

Virtue and wealth what are ye but a name!"
Say, for fuch worth are other worlds prepar'd?
Or are they both, in this, their own reward?
A knotty point! to which we now proceed.
But you are tir'd—I'll tell a tale-B. Agreed.

P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; 340 There dwelt a citizen of fober fame, A plain good man, and Balaam was his name; Religious, punctual, frugal, and fo forth; His word would pafs for more than he was worth. One folid difh his week-day meal affords, An added pudding folemniz'd the Lord's: [fure, Conftant at church, and Change; his gains were His givings rare, fave farthings to the poor.

The devil was piqu'd fuch fain:fhip to behold, And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old: 350

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 337. In the former editions. That knotty point, my Lord, fhall I discuse, Or tell a tale-A tale-it follows thus.

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