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Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud Courts, withdraw your
Ye little Stars! hide your diminish'd rays.
B. And what? no monument, infcription, ftone? His race, his form, his name almost 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 fill'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; Shouldering God's altar a vile image stands, Belies his features, nay extends his hands; That live-long wig, which Gorgon's felf might own, Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.
Behold what bleffings Wealth to life can lend!
And fee, what comfort it affords our end.
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung,
The floors of plaister, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw,
Ver. 287. Thus in the MS.
The Regifter inrolls him with his Poor,
Tells he was born, and dy'd, and tells no more.
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Great Villers lies-alas! how chang'd from him, 305
Of mimick'd Statesmen, and their merry King.
No Fool to laugh at, which he valued more,
Refolve me, Reason, which of these are worse,
Want with a full, or with an empty purse?
Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd,
Arife, and tell me, was thy death more blefs'd?
For very want; he could not build a wall.
For very want; he could not pay a dower.
A few gray hairs his reverend temples crown'd, 'Twas very want that fold them for two pound. What! even deny'd a cordial at his end,
Banish'd the Doctor, and expell'd the friend?
Cutler and Brutus, dying, both exclaim,
"Virtue! and Wealth! what are ye but a name !”
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;
His word would pass for more than he was worth.
An added pudding folemniz'd the Lord's:
Conftant at Church, and Change; his gains were sure,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.
Ver. 337. In the former Editions,
That knotty point, my Lord, fhall I discuss,
"Live like yourself," was foon my Lady's word; And lo! two puddings smoak'd upon the board. Afleep and naked as an Indian lay,
An honeft factor ftole a Gem away:
He pledg'd it to the knight, the knight had wit,
The Tempter faw his time; the work he ply'd;
Behold Sir Balaam now a man of fpirit,
And God's good Providence, a lucky Hit.
His Compting-house employ'd the Sunday-morn: 380 Seldom at Church, ('twas such a busy life)
But duly fent his family and wife.
There (fo the Devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide
A Nymph of Quality admires our Knight;
First, for his Son a gay Commiffion buys,
Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies:
In Britain's Senate he a feat obtains,