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There, London's voice, Get money, money still!
Barnard in spirit, sense, and truth, abounds ; 85 • Pray then what wants he?' Fourscore thousand
pounds; A pension, or such harness for a slave As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have. Barnard thou art a Cit, with all thy worth; But Bug and D*1, Their Honors ! and so forth. Yet ev'ry child another song will sing,
91 • Virtue, brave boys! 'tis virtue makes a king.' True conscious honor is to feel no sin ; He's arm'd without that's innocent within: Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of brass; 95 Compar'd to this a minister's an ass.
And say, to which shall our applause belong, This new court-jargon, or the good old song? The modern language of corrupted peers, Or what was spoke at Cressy, or Poitiers ? 100 Who counsels best? who whispers, . Be but great, • With praise, or infamy, leave that to Fate ; • Get place, and wealth, if possible, with grace ; • If not, by any means, get wealth and place.' For what? to have a box where eunuchs sing, And foremost in the circle eye a king:
Or he who bids thee face with steady view Proud Fortune, and look shallow Greatness
through, And while he bids thee sets th' example too ? If such a doctrine, in St. James's air, 110 Should chance to make the well-dress'd rabble
stare ; If honest S**z take scandal at a spark That less admires the Palace than the Park ; Faith I shall give the answer Reynard gave, • 1 cannot like, dread Sir! your royal cave : 118 • Because I see, by all the tracts about, • Full many a beast goes in, but none come out.' Adieu to Virtue, if you're once a slave : Send her to court, you send her to her grave.
Well, if a king's a lion, at the least 120 The people are a many-headed beast. Can they direct what measures to pursue, Who know themselves so little what to do? Alike in nothing but one lust of gold, Just half the land would buy, and half be sold: 123 Their country's wealth, our mightier misers drain, Or cross, to plunder provinces, the main ; The rest, some farm the poor-box, some the pews; Some keep assemblies, and would keep the stews ; Some with fat bucks on childless dotards fawn; 130 Some win rich widows by their chine and brawn; While with the silent growth of ten per cent, Io dirt and darkness hundreds stink content.
Of all these ways, if each pursues his own, Satire be kind, and let the wretch alone ;
135 But shew me one who has it in his pow'r To act consistent with himself an hour. Sir Job sail'd forth, the ev'ning bright and still, • No place on earth (he cry'd) like Greenwich
• hill!' Up starts a palace ; lo, th' obedient base 140 Slopes at its foot, the woods its sides embrace, The silver Thames reflects its marble face. Now let some whimsey, or that devil within, Which guides all those who know not what
they mean, But give the knight (or give his lady) spleen, • Away, away! take all your scaffolds down, 146 • For Snug's the word: my dear !. we'll live in
• Town.' At am'rous Flavio is the stocking thrown? That very night he longs to lie alone. The fool, whose wife elopes, some thrice a quarter, For matrimonial solace dies a martyr.
151 Did ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch, Transform themselves so strangely as the rich? Well, but the poor-the poor have the same
They change their weekly barber, weekly news,
Tow'r : In short, that reas’ning, high, immortal thing, 185 Just less than Jove, and much above a king : Nay, half in heav'n-except (what's mighty odd) A fit of vapors clouds this demigod ? 188
HORACE, BOOK I. EPISTLE VI.
TO MR. MURRAY.
THIS piece is the most finished of all his imitations, and exe
cuted in the high manner the Italian painters call Con Amore. By which they mean, the exertion of that principle, which puts the faculties on the stretch, and produces the supreme degree of excellence. For the poet had all the warmth of affection for the great lawyer to whom it is addressed; and, indeed, no man ever more deserved to have a poet for his friend. In the obtaining of which, as neither vanity, party, nor fear, had any share, so he supported his title to it by all the offices of true friendship.
ot to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, and to keep them so.' (Plain truth, dear Murray! needs no flow'rs of
speech, So take it in the very words of Creech.) This vault of air, this congregated ball,
5 Self-centred sun, and stars, that run and fall, There are, my Friend ! whose philosophic eyes Look through, and trust the Ruler with bis skies ; To him commit the hour, the day, the year, And view this dreadful All without a fear. 10
Admire we then what earth's low entrails hold, Arabian shores, or Indian seas infold; All the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold?