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Whether the chariner sinner it, or saint it,
If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Come then, the colors and the ground
Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air; [pare;
Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it
Catch, ere she change, theCynthia of this minute.
Rufa, whose eye quick glancing o'er the Park,
Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark,
Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,
As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock;
Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task,
With Sappho fragrant at an ev'ning mask :
So morning insects that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun.
How soft is Silia! fearful to offend;
The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend!
To her, Calista prov'd her conduct nice;
And good Simplicius asks of her advice.
Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink,
spare your censure; Silia does not drink.
All eyes may see from what the change arose ;
All eyes may see a pimple on her nose.

Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark, Sighs for the shades-How charming is a park!" A park is purchas'd; but the fair he sees All bath'd in tears—“ Oh odious, odious trees!" Ladies, like variegated tulips, show,


Tis to their changes half their charms we owe
Fine by defect, and delicately weak,
Their happy spots their nice admirer take.
"Twas thus Calypso once cach heart alarm'd,
Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm'd;
Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes;
Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise;
Strange graces still, and stronger flights she had,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad;
Yet ne'er so lure our passion to create,
As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate
Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild,

As Helluo, late dictator of the feast,
The nose of haut-gout, and the tip of taste,
pre-Critiqu'd your wine, and analys'd your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat :
So Philomede, lect'ring all mankind,
On the soft passion, and the taste refin'd,
Th' address, the delicacy, stoops at once,
And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce.

Flavia 's a wit, has too much sense to pray;
To toast our wants and wishes, is her way;
Nor asks of God, but of her stars to give
The mighty blessing," while we live, to live."
Then all for death, that opiate of the soul!
Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl.
Say, what can cause such impotence of mind?
A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind.
Wise wretch with pleasures too refin'd to
With too much spirit to be e'er at ease; [please;
With too much quickness ever to be taught;
With too much thinking to have common

To nuke a wash, would hardly stew a child;
Fas ev'n been prov`d to grant a lover's pray`r,
Kad paid a tradesmen once to make him stare;
Gare aims at Easter, in a Christian trim,
Adinak a widow happy, for a whim.
Why the, der vore good-nature is her scorn,
When 4 tỷ cha clone she can be borne ?
Why piqre all totals, yet affect a name?
A fool to pea are, yet a slave to fame :
Now deep na Tolor and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking cit.on with hisGrace andChartres
Now conscience chill-her, and now passionburns;
And atheism and religion take their turns;
A very Heathen in the carual part,
Yet still a sad good Christian at her heart.

See Sin in state majestically drunk;
Proud as a peeress. prouder as a punk;
Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside,
A teeming mistress, but a barren bride,
What then? let blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd,that noble seat of thought:
Sach this day's doctrine-in another fit
She sins with poets thro' pure love of wit.
What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain?
Casar and Tallboy, Charles and Charlema'ne.

You purchase pain with all that joy can give, And die of nothing but a rage to live.

Turn' then from wits; and look on Simo's


No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate.

Or her that owns her faults, but never mends, Because she 's honest, and the best of friends, Or her, whose life the church and scandal share, For ever in a passion, or a pray'r.

Or he, who laughs at Hell, but (like her Grace) Cries, "Ah! how charming, if there's no such "place!"

Or who in sweet vicissitude appears
Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,
The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,
To kill those foes to fair ones, time and thought!
Woman and fool are too hard things to hit;
For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit.

But what are these to great Atossa's mind?
Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind!
Who, with herself, or others, from her birth
Finds all her life one warfare upon earth:
Shines in exposing knaves, and painting fools,
Yet is whate'er she hates and ridicules..
No thought advances, but her eddy brain
Whisks it about, and down it goes again.
Full sixty years the world has been her trade,
The wisest fool much time has ever made.
From loveless youth to unrespected age,
No passion gratified, except her rage,
So much the fury still outran the wit,
The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit.
Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from


But he's a bolder man who dares be well.
Her ev'ry turn with violence pursu'd,
No more a storm her hate than gratitude :
To that each passion turns or soon or late;
Love, if it makes her yield must make her hate:
Superiors! death! and equals ! what a curse!
But an inferior not dependant! worse.
Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
Oblige her, and she 'll hate you while you live.

R 2

But die, and she 'll adore you then the bust
And temple rise then fail again to dust.
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 spirit robb'd of pow'r, by warmth of friends,
By wealth of followers! without one distress
Sick of herself, thro' very selfishness!
Atossa, curs'd with ev'ry granted pray'r,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir.
To heirs unknown descends th' unguarded store,
Or wanders, Heaven-directed, to the poor.

Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design,Is
Ask no firm hand, and no unerring line;
Some wand'ring touches, some reflected light,
Some flying stroke alone can hit 'em right:
For how should equal colors do the knack?
Cameleons who can paint in white or black?

"Yet Chloe sure was form'd without a spot."
Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot.
"With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part,
Say, what canChloe want?-She wants a heart.
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;
But never, never reach'd one gen'rous thought.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour;
Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
So very reasonable, so 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 chest;
And when she sees her friend in deep despair,
Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair!
Forbid it, Heav'n! a favor or a debt
She e'er could cancel - but she may forget.
Safe is your secret still in Chloe's car;
But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear.
Of all her dears she never slander'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 wise?
Then never break your heart when Chloe dies.

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

The same for ever! and describ'd by all
With truth and goodness,as with crown and ball.
Poets heap virtues, Painters gems at will,
And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.
"Tis well-but, Artists! who can paint or write,
To draw the naked is your true delight.
That robe of quality so struts and swells,
None see what parts of nature it conceals:
Th' exactest traits of body or of mind,
We owe to models of an humble kind.
If Queensberry to strip there's no compelling,
"Iis from a handmaid we must take a Helen.
From peer or bishop, 'tis no easy thing
To draw the man who loves his God, or king:
Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail)
From honest Mah'met, or plai Parson Hale.
But grant, in public, men sometimes are

A woman 's seen in private life alone:

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Our bolder talents in full light display'd;
Your virtues open fairest in the shade.
Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide ;-
There none distinguish 'twixt your shame or
Weakness or delicacy; all so nice, [pride,
That each may seem a virtue or a vice.

In men we various ruling passions find;
In women, two almost divide the kind;
Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey,
The love of pleasure and the love of sway.
That, nature gives; and where the lesson

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but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this; by man's oppression eurst, They seek the second not to lose the first.

Men, some to business, some to pleasure take,
But ev'ry woman is at heart a rake:
Men, soine to quiet, some to public strife;
But ev'ry lady would be queen for life.
Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens!
Pow'r all their end, but beauty all the means:
In youth they conquer with so wild a rage,
As leaves them scarce a subject in their age:
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam;
No thought of peace or happiness at home.
But wisdom's triumph is well-tim'd retreat,
As hard a science to the fair as great!
Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown,
Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone ;
Worn out in public, weary ev'ry eye,
Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die.
Pleasures the sex, as children birds pursue;
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 fost:
At last, to follies youth could scarce defend,
It grows their age's prudence to pretend;
Asham'd to own they gave delight before,
Reduc'd to feign it when they gave no more:
As hags old sabbaths, less for joy than spite,
So these their merry, miserable night;
Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide,
And haunt the places where their honor died.

See how the world its veterans rewards!
A youth of frolics, an old age of cards;
Fajr to no purpose, artful to no end,
Young without lovers, old without a friend;
A fop their passion, but their prize a sot,
Alive, ridiculous, and dead, forgot!

Ah, friend! to dazzle let the vain design;
To raise the thought and touch the heart be thine!
That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the

Flaunts and goes down an unregarded thing:
So when the sun's broad beam has tir'd the sight,
All mild ascends the moon's more sober light;
Serene in virgin modesty she shines,
And, unobserv'd, the glaring orb declines.

Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray
Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day;
She who can love a sister's charms, or hear
Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear;
She who ne'er answers till a husband cools;
Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules :

Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
Yet has her humor inost, when she obeys:
Let Fops or Fortune fly which way they will;
Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille;
Spleen, vapors, or small-pox, above them all,
And mistress of herself, tho' china fall.

And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Woman 's at best a contradiction still. Heaven, when it strives to polish alt it can, Its last best work, but forms a softer man; Picks from each sex, to make the fav'rite blest, Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest: Blends, in exception to all gen'ral rules, Your taste of follies with our scorn of fools; Reserve with frankness, art with truth allied, Courage with softness, modesty with pride; Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new, Shakes all together, and produces You.

B. It raises armies in a nation's aid: [tray'd.
P. But bribes a senate, and the land 's be-
In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave,
If secret gold sap on from knave to knave.
Once, we confess, beneath the patriot's cloke,
From the crack'd bag the dropping guinea spoke,
And, jingling down the back-stairs, told the crew,
“Old Cato is as great a rogue as you.”
Blest paper-credit! last and best supply!
That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
Gold, imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things;
Can pocket states, can fetch or carry kings;
A single leaf shall waft an army o'er,
Or ship off senates to some distant shore;
A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro
Our fates and fortunes, as the wind shall blow :
Pregnant with thousands flits the scrap unseen,
And silent sells a king, or buys a queen.

Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see,
Still, as of old, encumber'd villany!
Could France or Rome divert our brave designs
With all their brandies, or with all their wines?
What could they more than knights and 'squires

Be this a woman's famie; with this unblest,
Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest.
This Phoebus promis'd (I forget the year)
When those blue eyes first open'd on their sphere;
that hour with eare,
Averted half your parents' simple pray'r;
And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf
That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself.
The gen'rous god, who wit and gold refines,
And ripens spirits, as he ripens mines,
Kept dross for duchesses, the world shall know it,"
To you gave sense, good-humor, and a poet.


To Allen, Lord Bathurst.

P. Who shall decide, when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me? You hold the word, from Jove to Monus given, That man was made the standing jest of heaven: And gold but sent to keep the fools in play, For some to heap, and some to throw away.

But I, who think more highly of our kind (And surely, Heaven and I are of a mind,) Opine, that nature, as in duty bound, Deep hid the shining mischief under ground: But when by man's audacious labor wou, Flam'd forth this rival to its sire the sun, Then careful Heaven supplied two sorts of men; To squander these, and those to hide agen.

Like doctors thus, when much dispute has We find our tenets just the same at last. "[pass'd, Both fairly owning, riches in effect

No grace
of Heaven, or token of th' elect;
Giv'n to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil,
ToWard, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil.

B. What nature wants, commodious gold be"Tis thus we eat the bread another sows. [stows;

P. But how unequal it bestows, observe, 'Tis thus we riot, while who sow it starve: What nature wants (a phrase I must distrust) Extends to luxury, extends to lust: Useful, I grant, it serves what life requires; But, dreadful too, the dark assassin hires.

B. Trade it may help, society extend:
P. Butlures the pirate, and corrupts the friend.

Or water all the quornm ten miles round?
A statesman's shimbers how this speech would
Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil;[spoil!
"Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door:
A hundred oxen at your levee roar."
Poor avarice one torment more would find;
Nor could profusion squander all in kind.
Astride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet ;
And Worldly crying coals from street to street;
Whom, with a wig so wild, and men so maz'd,
Pity mistakes for some poor tradesinen craz'd.
Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and
Could he himself have sent it to the dogs? [hogs,
His Grace will game: to White's a bull be led,
With spurning heels and with a butting head.
To White's be carried, as to antient games,
Fair coursers, vases, and alluring dames.
Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep,
Bear home six whores, and make his lady weep.
Or soft Adonis, so perfum'd and fine,
Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine?
O filthy check on all industrious skill,
To spoil the nation's last great trade, Quadrille !
Since then, my lord, on such a world we fall,
What say you? B. Say; Why take it, gold and all.

P. What riches give us, let us then inquire: Meat, fire, and clothe. B. What more? P. Meat, clothes, and fire.

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, vigor; Japhet, nose and ears
Can they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow?
In Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below?
Or heal, old Narses, the obscener ail,
With all th' embroidery plaster'd at thy tail?
They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)
Give Harpax self the blessing of a friend;

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Or find some doctor that would save the life
Of wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife:
But thousands die, without or this or that;
Die, and endow a college, or a cat!
To some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate,
Tenrich a bastard, or a son they hate.
Perhaps you think the poor might have their
Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his
The grave sir Gilbert holds it for a rule,
That ev'ry man in want is knave or fool :
God cannot love (saysBlunt, with tearless eyes)
The wretch he starves' and piously denies:
But the good bishop, with a meeker air,
Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care.


Yet to be just to these poor men of pelf,
Each does but hate his neighbour as himself:
Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides
The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides.
B.Who suffer'd thus, mere charity should own,
Must act on motives powerful, tho' unknown.
P.Somewar,someplague,orfaminethey foresce,
Some revelation hid from you and me.
Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found;
He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound.
What made directors cheat in South-sea year?
To live on ven'son when it sold so dear,
Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys?
Phryne foresees a general exercise.
Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum?
Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum.

Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold,
And therefore hopes this nation may be sold:
Glorious ambition! Peter, swell thy store,
And be what Rome's great Didius was before.

The crown of Poland, venal twice an age, To just three millions stinted modest Gage. But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold, Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold. Congenial souls! whose life one av rice joins, And one fate buries in th' Austrian mines. Much-injur❜dBlunt!why bearsheBritain'shate? A wizard told him in the words our fate : "At length corruption, like a gen'ral flood "(So long by watchful ministers withstood), "Shall deluge all; and av'rice, creeping on, "Spread like alow-born mist, and blot the sun; "Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks, "Peeress and butler share alike the box, "And judges job, and bishops bite the town, "And mighty dukes pack cards for half a crown. "See Britain sunk in lucre's sordid charms,


And France reveng'd of Anne's and Edward's

'Twas no court badge, great Scriv'ner! fir'd thy
Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain :
No, 'twas thy righteous end, asham'd to see
Senates degei'rate, patriots disagree,
And nobly wishing party-rage to cease,
To buy both sides, and give thy country peace.
"All this is madness," cries a sober sage:
But who, my friend, has reason in his rage?
"The ruling passion, be it what it will,
"The ruling passion conquers reason still."

Less mad the wildest whimsy we can frame,
Than even that passion, if it has no aim;
For though such motives folly you may call,
The folly's greater to have none at all.
Hear then the truth: ""Tis heaven each
"6 passion sends,

And diff'rent men directs to diff'rent ends.
"Extremes in nature equal good produce;
Extremes in man concur to gen'ral use."
Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow?
That Pow'r who bids the ocean ebb and flow,
Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain,
Thro' 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 insects, when conceal'd they lie,
Wait but for wings, and in their season fly.
Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store,
Sees but a backward steward for the poor :
This year a reservoir, to keep and spare;
The next, a fountain, spouting thro' his heir,
In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst;
And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.

Old Cotta sham'd his fortune and his birth,
Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:
What tho' (the use of barb'rous spits forgot)
His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot?
His court with nettles, moats with cresses stor'd,
With soups unbought and salads blest his board?
If Cotta liv'd on pulse, it was no more
Than Bramins, Saints, and Sages did before;
To cram the rich was prodigal expence ;
And who would take the poor from Providence?
Like some loneChartreux stands the good old hall,
Silence without, and fasts within the wall:
No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor sound,
No noontide bell invites the country round;
Tenants with sighs the smokeless tow'rs survey,
And turn th' unwilling steeds another way :
Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er,
Curse the sav'd candle, and unop'ning door;
While the gaunt mastiff, growling at the gate,
Affrights the beggar, whom he longs to eat.

Not so his son, he mark'd this oversight,
And then mistook reverse of wrong for right.
(For what to shun will no great knowledge niced;
But what to follow is a task indeed.)
Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise,
More go to ruin fortunes than to raise,
What slaughter'd hecatonibs, with floods of wine,
Fill the capacious 'squire, and deep divine!
Yet no mean motive this profusion draws,
His oxen perish in his country's cause;
[brain,Tis George and Liberty that crowns the cup,
And zeal for that great house which eats him up.
The woods recede around the naked seat,
The sylvans groan
no matter for the fleet :
Next goes his wool-to clothe our valiant bands:
Last, for his country's love, he sells his lands.
To town he comes, completes the nation's hope,
And heads the bold train-bands, and burns a

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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 thankless country leaves him to her laws.
The sense to value riches, with the art
Tenjoy them, and the virtue to impart,
Not ineanly, nor ambitiously pursued,
Not sunk by sloth, nor rais'd by servitude;
To balance fortune by a just expence,
Join with economy, magnificence;
With splendor, charity; with plenty, health!
Oh teach us, Bathurst! yet unspoil'd by wealth!
That secret rare, between the extremes to move,
Of mad good-nature, and of mean self-love.

B. To worth or want well weigh'd be bounty
And ease or emulate the care of Heaven; [given,
(Whose measure full o'erflows on human race)
Mend fortune's fault, and justify her grace.
Wealth in the gross is death, but life diffus'd;
As poison heals, in just proportion us'd :
In heaps, like ambergris, a stink it lies:
But well dispers'd is incense to the skies.
P.Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats?
The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that

Is there a lord, who knows a cheerful noon
Without a fiddler, Hatt'rer, or buffoon?
Whose table wit or modest merit share,
Unelbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or play'r?
Who copies yours, or Oxford's better part,
To ease th' opprest, and raise the sinking heart?
Where'er he shines, O fortune gild the scene,
And angels guard him in the golden mean!
There English bounty yet awhile my stand,
And honor linger ere it leaves the land.

But all our praises why should lords engross?
Rise, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross:
Pleas'd Vaga echoes thro' her winding bounds,
And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry


From the dry rock who hade the waters flow?
Not to the skies ia useless columns tost,
Or in proud falls magnificently lost,
But clear and artless, pouring through the plain
Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.
Whose canseway parts the vale with shady rows?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose?
Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?
The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies.
Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread!
The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread:
He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state,
Where age and want sit smiling at the gate;
Him portion'd maids, apprentic dorphans bless'd,
The young who labor, and the old who rest.
Is any sick? the Man of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives.
Is there a variance? enter but his door,
Baulk'd are the courts, and contest is no more.
Despairing quacks with curses fled the place,
And vile attorneys, now an useless race.

B. Thrice happy man enabled to pursue
What all so wish, but want the pow'r to do!
Oh say, what sums that gen'rous hand supply!
What mines to swell that boundless charity?

P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possess'd five hundred pounds a-yearBlush, grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze!

Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays.

B. And what?nomonument, inscription, stone?
His race, his form, his name almost unknown?
P.Who builds a church toGod, and not tofame,
Will never mark the marble with his name!
Go, search 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 sav'd a candle's end;
Should'ring God's altar a vile image stands,
Belies his features, nay extends his hands;
That live-long wig which Gordon's self ́might
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone. [own.
Behold what blessings wealth to e can lead !
And see what comfort it affords our end.
In the worstinn's worst room, withmat half hung,
The floors of plaister, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw,
With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villiers lies—alas! how chang'd from him
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,
The bow'r of wanton Shrewsbury and love;
Or just as gay, at council, in a ring
Of mimic statesmen, and their merry king,
No wit to flatter left of all his store!
No fool to laugh at, which he valued more.
There, victor of his health, his fortune, friends,
And fame-this lord of useless thousands ends.

His grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee, And well (he thought) advis'd him, "Live like "me."

As well his grace replied, “Like
Sir John!
"That I can do, when all I have is gone."
Resolve me, Reason, which of these is worse,
Want with a full, or with an empty purse?
Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd;
Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd?
Cutler saw tenants break, and houses fall,
For very want; he could not build a wall.
His only daughter in a stranger's pow'r,
For very want; he could not pay a dow'r.
A few grey hairs his rev'rend temples crown'd,
"Twas very want that sold them for two pound.
What even denied a cordial at his end,
Banish'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend!
What but a want, which you 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 such 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
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; [skies,
R 4

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