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Our bolder talents in full life display'd;
Your virtues open fairest in the shade.
Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide;
There, none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride.
Weakness or delicacy; all so nice,
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 taught Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this; by man's oppression curst, They seek the second not to lose the first.

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

Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens!
Power all their end, but beauty all the means: 220
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 every eye,

Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die. 230
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 lost :


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 give no more,
As hags hold 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 honour dy d.
See how the world its veterans rewards!
A youth of frolics, an old-age of cards ;
Fair 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; [250
To raise the thought, and touch the heart, be thine!
That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring,
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 chearful 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 humour most, when she obeys;


Ver. 207, in the first edition:

In several men we several passions find; In women, two almost divide the kind.

Let fops or Fortune fly which way they will,
Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille;
Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all,
And mistress of herself, though china fall.



And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Woman's at best a contradiction still. Heaven when it strives to polish all it can Its last best work, but forms a softer man; Picks from each sex, to make the favourite blest, Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest: Blends, in exception to all general rules, Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools: Reserve with frankness, art with truth ally'd, Courage with softness, modesty with pride; Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new ; Shakes all together, and produces-you. Be this a woman's fame! 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 the sphere; Ascendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with care, Averted half your parents' simple prayer; And gave you beauty, but deny'd the pelf That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself. The generous god, who wit and gold refines, And ripens spirits as he ripens mines, Kept dross for dutchesses, the world shall know it, To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.






THAT it is known to few, most falling into one of the extremes, avarice or profusion, ver. 1, &c. The point discussed, 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, scarcely necessaries, ver. 89 to 160. That avarice is an absolute 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 miser acts upon principles which appear to him reasonable, ver. 179. How a prodigal does the same, ver. 199. The due medium, and true use of riches, ver. 219. The man of Ross, ver. 250. The fate of the profuse and the covetous, in two examples; both miserable in life and in death, ver. 300, &c. The story of Sir Balaam, ver. 339 to the end.


THIS Epistle was written after a violent outcry against our author, on a supposition that he had ridiculed a worthy nobleman merely for his wrong taste. He justified himself upon that article in a letter to the earl of Burlington; at the end of which are these words: "I have learnt that there are some who would rather

be wicked than ridiculous: and therefore it may be safer to attack vices than follies. I will therefore leave my betters in the quiet posses. sion of their idols, their groves, and their highplaces; and change my subject from their pride to their meanness, from their vanities to their miseries; and as the only certain way to avoid misconstructions, to lessen offence, and not to multiply ill-natured applications, I may probably in my next make use of real names instead of fictitious ones."

P. WHO shall decide when doctors disagree,
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus 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 labour won,
Flam'd forth this rival too, its sire, the Sun,
Then careful Heaven supply'd two sorts of men,
To squander these, and those to hide again,


Like doctors thus, when much dispute has past,
We find our tenets just the same at last,
Both fairly owning, riches, in effect,

No grace of Heaven, or token of th' elect;
Given to the fool, the mat, the vain, the evil,
To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil. 20
B. What nature wants, commodious gold bestows;
'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows.

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

P. But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd.
In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave,
If secret gold sap on from knave to knave.
Once we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak,
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 yon."
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 villainy! Could France or Rome divert our brave designs, With all their brandies, or with all their wines? What could they more than knights and 's quires Or waterall the quorum ten miles round? [confound,


After ver. 50, in the MS.

To break a trust were Peter brib'd with wine, Peter! 'twould pose as wise a head as thine.

A statesman's slumbers how this speech would spoil
"Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil;
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 mien so maz'd, Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman craz'd, Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs, Could he himself have sent it to the dogs? His grace will game: to White's a bull be led, With spurning heels and with a butting head. To White's be carry'd, as to ancient 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? Oh 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 clothes. B. What more? P. Meat, clothes, and fire. 80

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 ease the throbs below;
Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail,
With all th' embroidery plaister'd at thy tail? 90
They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)
Give Harpax self the blessing of a friend;
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,

T' enrich a bastard, or a son they hate,
To some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate,


Perhaps you think the poor might have their part; Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his heart: The grave sir Gilbert holds it for a rule That every man in want is knave or fool: "God cannot love" (says Blunt, 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: Dama'd to the mines, an equal fate betides [110 The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides.

B. Who suffer thus, mere charity should own, Must act on motives powerful, though unknown. P. Some war, some plague, or famine, they foresee, 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 venison when it sold so dear.


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


Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys?
Phryne foresees a general excise.
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 avarice joins,
And one fate buries in th' Asturian mines.
Much-injur'd Blunt! why bears he Britain's
A wizard told him in these words our fate: [hate?
"At length Corruption, like a general flood,
(So long by watchful ministers withstood)
Shall deluge all; and Avarice, creeping on,
Spread like a low-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 arms!"
'Twas no court-badge, great scrivener, fir'd thy
Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain :
No, 'twas thy righteous end, asham'd to see
Senates degenerate, patriots disagree,
And nobly wishing pa.ty-rage to cease,


No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabór sound,
No noontide bell invites the country round:
Tenants with sighs the smoakless towers survey,
And turn th' unwilling steeds another way:
Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er,
Curs'd the sav'd candle, and unopening 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 need;
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 hecatombs, what floods of wine,
Fill the capacious 'squire, and deep divine!
Yet no mean motives this profusion 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 seat,
The Sylvans groan-no matter-for the fleet: 210
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 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 thankless country leaves him to her laws.
The sense to value riches, with the art

To buy both sides, and give thy country peace. 130 T' enjoy them, and the virtue to impart,

"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 whimsey we can frame,
Than even that passion, if it has no aim;
For though such motives foty you may call,
The folly's greater to have none at all.



Hear then the truth: 'Tis Heaven each passion
And different men directs to different ends. 160
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 seed-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 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 through 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 though (the use of barbarous spits forgot)
His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot?
His court with nettles, moats with cresses stor❜d,
With soups unbought and sallads bless'd 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 expense,
And who would take the poor from Providence?
Like some lone Chartreux stands the good old Hall,
Silence without, and fasts within the wall;



Not meanly, nor ambitiously pursued,
Not sunk by sloth, nor rais'd by servitude;
To balance fortune by a just expense,
Join with economy, magnificence;
With splendour, charity; with plenty, health;
Oh teach us, Bathurst! yet unspoil'd by wealth!
That secret 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

And ease, 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 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 chearful noon [cheats.
Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon? 240
Whose table, Wit, or modest Merit share,
Un-elbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or player?

After ver. 218, in the MS.

Where one lean herring furnish'd Cotta's board,
And nettles grew, fit porridge for their lord;
Where mad Good-nature, bounty misapply'd,
In lavish Curio blaz'd awhile, and dy'd;
There Providence once more shall shift the scene,
And showing H-y, teach the golden mean.
After ver. 226, in the MS.

The secret rare, which Affluence hardly join'd,
Which W-n lost, yet B-y ne'er could find;
Still miss'd by Vice, and scarce by Virtue hit,
By G's goodness, or by S-'s wit.

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But all our praises why should lords engross? Rise, honest Muse! and sing the MAN of Ross: 250 Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? From the dry rock who bade the waters flow? Not to the skies in 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 causeway 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; Hin portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans blest, The young who labour, and the old who rest. Is any sick? the Man of Ross relieves, [270 Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives. Is there a variance? enter but his door, Balk'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 power to do! Oh say, what sums that generous hand supply? What mines to swell that boundless charity?

P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possest-five hundred pounds a year. 280 Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze!

Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays.

B. And what? no monument, inscription, stone? 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, 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; Shouldering God's altar a vile image stands, Belies his features, nay extends his hands; That live-long wig, which Gorgon's self might own, Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone. Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend ! And see, 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,

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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 strove with dirty red,
Great Villers 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 bower of wanton Shrewsbury and Love;
Or just as gay, at council, in a ring

Of mimick'd statesmen, and their merry king. 310
No wit to flatter, left of all his store!

No fool to laugh at, which he valued more.
There, victor of his health, of 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 reply'd, "Like you, sir John?
That I can do, when all I have is gone."
Resolve me, Reason, which of these are 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 power,
For very want; he could not pay a dower.
A few grey hairs his reverend temples crown'd,
"Twas very want that sold them for two pound.
What! ev'n deny'd a cordial at his end,
Banish'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend? 330
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 skies
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; 340
There dwelt a citizen of sober fame,

A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;
Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth;
His word would pass for more than he was worth.
One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
And added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's:
Constant at church, and Change; his gains were
His givings rare, save farthings to the poor. [sure,
The devil was piqu'd such saintship to behold,
And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old;
But Satan now is wiser than of yore,


And tempts by making rich, not making poor.
Rous'd by the prince of air, the whirlwinds sweep
The surge, and plunge his father in the deep;
Then full against his Cornish lands they roar,
And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks.
He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes:
"Live like yourself," was soon my lady's word;
And lo! two puldings smoak'd upon the board.360
Asleep and naked as an Indian lay,

An honest factor stole a gem away:

He pledg'd it to the knight, the knight had wit,
So kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit.


Ver. 337. In the former editions,

That knotty point, my lord, shall I discuss, Or tell a tale,?-a tale-it follows this.

Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought,
"I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat;
Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice-
And ath so clear too of all other vice."
The tempter saw his time: the work he ply'd;
Stocks and subscriptions pour on every side,
Till all the demon makes his full descent
In one abundant shower of cent per cent,
Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole,
Then dubs director, and secures his soul.


Behold sir Balaam, now a man of spirit, Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit;' What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit, And God's good providence, a lucky hit. Things change their titles, as our manners turn: His compting-house employ'd the Sunday morn: Seldom at church, ('twas such a busy life) But duly sent his family and wife. There (so the devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide My good old lady catch'd a cold, and dy'd.



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 : First, for his son a gay commission buys, Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies: His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife; She bears a coronet and p-x for life. In Britain's senate be a seat obtains, And one more pensioner St. Stephen gains. My lady falls to play: so bad her chance, He must repair it; takes a bribe from France; The house impeach him, Coningsby harangues; The court forsake him, and sir Balaam hangs : Wife, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own, His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown: 400 The devil and the king divide the prize, And sad sir Balaam curses God and dies.





THE vanity of expense in people of wealth and quality. The abuse of the word taste, ver. 13. That the first principle and foundation in this, as in every thing else, is good sense, ver. 40. The chief proof of it is to follow Nature, even in works of mere luxury and elegance. Instanced in architecture and gardening, where all must be adapted to the genius and use of the place, and the beauties not forced into it, but resulting from it, ver. 50. How men are disappointed in their most expensive undertakings, for want of this true foundation, without which nothing can please long, if at all; and the best examples and rules will be but perverted into something burthensome and ridiculous, ver. 65, &c. to 92. A description of the false taste of magnificence; the first grand errour of which is, to imagine that greatness consists in the size and dimension, instead of the proportion and

harmony of the whole, ver. 97, and the second, either in joining together parts incoherent, or too minutely resembling, or in the repetition of the same too frequently, ver. 105, &c. A word or two of false taste in books, in music, in painting, even in preaching and prayer, and lastly, in entertainments, ver. 133, &c. Yet Providence is justified in giving wealth to be squandered in this manner, since it is dispersed to the poor and laborious part of mankind, ver. 169, [recurring to what is laid down in the first book, Ep. ii. and in the Epistle preceding this, ver. 159, &c.] What are the proper objects of magnificence, and a proper field for the expense of great men, ver. 177, &c. and finally the great and public works which become a prince, ver. 191, to the end.


THE extremes of avarice and profusion being treated of in the foregoing epistle; this takes up one particular branch of the latter, the vanity of expense in people of wealth and quality; and is therefore a corollary to the preceding, just as the epistle on the characters of women is to that of the knowledge and characters of men. It is equally remarkable for exactness of method with the rest. But the nature of the subject, which is less philosophical, makes it capable of being analyzed in a much narrower compass.

'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy :
Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste
His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats;
Artists must choose his pictures, music, meats:
He buys for Topham drawings and designs;
For Pembroke statues, dirty gods, and coins;
Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone,
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane. 10
Think we all these are for himself? no more
Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.

For what has Virro painted, built, and planted?
Only to show how many tastes he wanted.
What brought sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste?
Some demon whisper'd, "Visto? have a taste."
Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool,
And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule.
See! sportive Fate, to punish awkward pride,
Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide: 20
A standing sermon, at each year's expense,
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence!

You show us, Rome was glorious,. not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of use. Yet shall (my lord) your just, your noble rules Fill half the land with imitating fools; Who random drawings from your sheets shall take, And of one beauty many blunders make;


After ver. 22, in the MS.

Must bishops, lawyers, statesmen, have the skill To build, to plant, judge paintings, what you will? Then why not Kent as well our treaties draw, Bridgman explain the gospel, Gibbs the law ?

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