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There all alone, and compliments apart,
If, when the more you drink the more you crave, You tell the doctor; when the more you have The more you want, why not, with equal ease, Confess as well your folly as disease? The heart resolves this matter in a trice, 'Men only feel the smart, but not the vice.' When golden angels cease to cure the evil, You give all royal witchcraft to the Devil : When servile chaplains cry, that birth and place Endue a peer with honour, truth, and grace, Look in that breast, most dirty dean! be fair, Say, can you find out one such lodger there? Yet still, not heeding what your heart can teach, You go to church to hear these flatterers preach. Indeed, could wealth bestow, or wit or merit, A grain of courage, or a spark of spirit, The wisest man might blush, I must agree, If D*** loved sixpence more than he.
If there be truth in law, and use can give A property, that's yours on which you live. Delightful Abs-court, if its fields afford Their fruits to you, confesses you its lord: All Worldly's hens, nay, partridge, sold to town, His venison too a guinea makes your own: He bought at thousands what with better wit You purchase as you want, and bit by bit: Now, or long since, what difference will be found? You pay a penny, and he paid a pound.
Heathcote himself, and such large acred men, Lords of fat E'sham, or of Lincoln Fen, Buy every stick of wood that lends them heat, Buy every pullet they afford to eat.
Yet these are wights who fondly call their own
Estates have wings, and hang in Fortune's power,
By sale, at least by death, to change their lord.
And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer, fall.
Who, if they have not, think not worth their care. Talk what you will oftaste, my friend! you'll find Two of a face as soon as of a mind.
Why of two brothers, rich and restless one Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun; The other slights, for women, sports, and wines, All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines:
Why one, like Bu**, with pay and scorn content, Bows and votes on in court and parliament;
One, driven by strong benevolence of soul,
How free or frugal I shall pass my days;
What is❜t to me (a passenger, God wot) Whether my vessel be first-rate or not? The ship itself may make a better figure, But I that sail, am neither less nor bigger. I neither strut with every favouring breath, Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth: In power, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, placed Behind the foremost, and before the last.
But why all this of avarice? I have none.'
I wish you joy, sir, of a tyrant gone:
With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,
In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire?
Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please.
BOOK IV. ODE I,
AGAIN? new tumults in my breast?
As in the gentle reign of my Queen Anne.
Nor circle sober fifty with thy charms.
Mother too fierce of dear desires!
Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires:
There spread round Murray all your blooming loves;
Noble and young, who strikes the heart
To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend:
Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind :
Make but his riches equal to his wit.
Then shall thy form the marble grace,
Sacred to social life and social love,
Shall call the smiling Loves and young Desires;
For me the vernal garlands bloom no more.
my cheek the' involuntary tear?
Absent I follow through the' extended dream; Now, now I seize, I clasp thy charms,
And now you burst (ah, cruel!) from my arms,