See! fportive fate, to punish aukward pride,
Bids Bubo build, and fends him fuch a guide: 20
A ftanding fermon, at each year's expence,
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence!

You fhow us Rome was glorious, not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of ufe. Yet fhail (my lord) your juft, your noble rules Fiil half the land with imitating fools;

Who random drawings from your sheets shall take,

30

And of one beauty many blunders make;
Load fome vain church with old Theatric flate,
Turn arts of triumph to a garden gate;
Reverse your ornaments, and bang them all
Ón fome patch'd dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall;
Then clap four flices of pilafter on't,
That, lac'd with bits of ruftic, makes a front.
Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar,
Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;
Contcious they act a true Palladian part,
And if they starve, they starve by rules of art.
O't have you hinted to your brother peer,
A certain truth, which many buy too dear:
Something there is more needful than expence,
And fomething previous ev'n to tafte-'tis fenfe :
Good fenfe, which only is the gift of Heaven,
And though no fcience, fairly worth the feven :
A light, which in yourself you must perceive;
Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give.

To build, to plant, whatever you intend,
To rear the column, or the arch to bend,
To fweil the terrace, or to fink the grot;
In all, let nature never be forgot.
Fur treat the goddels like a modeft fair,
Nor over drefs, nor leave her wholly bare;
Let not each beauty every where be spy'd,
Where half the fkill is decently to hide.
He gains all points, who pleafingly confounds,
Suri riles, varies, and conceals the bounds.

40

50

60

Confult the genius of the place in all; That tells the waters or to rife or fall; Or heks th' ambitious hill the heavens to scale, Or fcoops in circling theatres the vale; Calls in the country, catches opening glades, goins willing woods, and varies fhades from thades; Now breaks, or now directs th' intending lines; Paints as you plant, and, as you work, defigns.

Still follow fenle, of every art the foul, Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, Spontaneous beauties all around advance, Start ev'n from difficulty, frike from chance; Nature hall join you; time fhall make it grow A work to wonder at—perhaps a Stow.

70

With out it, proud Verfaills: thy glory falls; And Nero's terraces defert their walls: The vast parterres a thoufand hands fhall make, 10: Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake:

VARIATIONS.

After ver 2, in the MS.

Mu bifhops, lawyers, ftate fmien have the skill to buil 1, to plant, judge paintings, what you will? Then why not helt as we lour treaties draw, #rilyniuni caglain the golyel, Gibb: the law?

Or cut wide views through mountains to the plais,
You'll with your hill or shelter'd feat again.
Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,
Nor in an hermitage fet Dr Clarke.
Behold Villario's ten years toil complete;
His quincunx darkens, his efpaliers meet;
The wood fupports the plain, the parts unite,
And ftrength of fhade contends with strength of
light;

A waving glow the bloomy beds difplay,
Blufhing in bright diverfities of day,

With filver-quivering rills maander'd o'er-
Enjoy them, you Villario can no more;
Tir'd of the fcene parterres and fountains yield,
He finds at last he better likes a field.

Through his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus ftray'd,

9.

Or fate delighted in the thickening fhade,
With annual joy the reddening shoots to greet,
Or fee the firetching branches long to meet!
His fon's fine tafte an opener vifta loves,
Foe to the Dyrads of his father's groves;
One boundless green, or flourish'd carpet views,
With all the mournful family of yews:
The thriving plants ignoble broomflicks made,
Now fweep thofe alleys they were born to fhade.
At Timon's villa let us pafs a day,

Where all cry out, "What fums are thrown away!"

So proud, fo grand; of that ftupendous air,
Soft and agreeable come never there.
Greatnefs, with Timon, dweils in such a draught
As brings all Brobdignag before your thought.
To compafs this, his building is a town,

His pond an ocean, his parterre a down:
Who but must laugh, the mafter when he fees,

A puny infect, thivering at a breeze!

Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!

The whole, a labour'd quarry above ground, 11●
Two Cupids fquirt before: a lake behind
Improves the keennels of the northern wind.
His gardens next your admiration call,
On every fide you look behold the wall!
No pleafing intricacies intervene,
No artful wildnefs to perplex the scene;
Grove nods at grove, cach alley has a brother,
And half the platform jut refle&s the other.
The fuffering eye inverted nature fees,
Trees cut to flatues, ftatues thick as trees;
With here a fountain, never to be play'd;
And there a fummer houfe that knows no fhade;
Here Amphitrite fails through my.tle bowers;
There gladiators fight, or die in flowers;
Unwater'd fee the drooping fea-horfe mourn,
And fwallows rooft in Nilus' dully urn

123

139

My lord advances with majestic mien, Smir with the mighty pleasure to be foen: But feft-by regular approach-pot yetFird through the length of you het terrace sweat; And when up ten fleep ilopes you've dragg'd your Juit at his study-door he'll bleis your eyes thighs, His fudy! with what authors is it itor'd? In books, not authors, curious is my lord; To all their dated backs he turns you round; Thefe aldus printed, thof. Du spel has bound.

And now the chapel's filver bell you hear, That fummons you to all the pride of prayer; Light quirks of mufic, broken and uneven, Make the foul dance upon a jig to heaven. On painted ceilings you devoutly ftare, Where (prawl the faints of Verrio or Laguerre, Or gilded clouds in fair expanfion lie, And bring all paradife before your eye. Toreft, the cushion and foft dean invite, Who never mentions hell to ears polite.

150

But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps fcrape the marble hall :
The rich buffet well-c loured ferpents grace,
And gaping Tritons fpew to wash your face.
Is this a dinner? this a genial room!
No. 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.
A folemn facrifice perform'd in ftate,
You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there. 160
Between each act the rembling falvers ring,
From foup to fweet-wine, and God bless the
King.

In plenty ftarving, tantaliz'd in state,
And complaifantly help'd to all I hate,
Treated, carefs'd, and tir'd, I take my leave,
Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve;
I curfe fuch lavish coft, and little skill,
And fwear no day was ever paft fo ill.

Yet hence the poor are cloth d, the hungry fed; Health to himself, and to his infants bread, 170 The labourer bears: What his hard heart denies, His charitable vanity fupplies.

Another age fhall fee the golden ear Imbrown the flope, and nod on the parterre, Deep harvest bury all his pride has plann'd, And laughing Ceres re-affume the land.

Who then shall grace, or who improve the foil? Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle. 'Tis ufe alone but fanctifies expence,

And splendor borrows all her rays from sense. 180
His father's acres who enjoys in peace,
Or makes his neighbours glad, if he increase :
Whole cheerful tenants blefs their yearly toil,
Yet o their lord owe more than to the foil;
Whole ample lawns are not afham'd to feed
The milky heifer and deferving fteed;
Whole ring forefts, not for pride or show,
But future buildings, future navies, grow:
Let his plantations ftretch from down to down,
Firt fhade a country, and then raife a town. 190
You too proceed! make falling arts your care,
Erect new wonders, and the old repair;
Jones and Palladio to themfelves restore,
And be whate'er Vitruvius was before :
Till kings call forth th' ideas of your mind.
(Proud to accomplish what fuch hands defign'd)
Bid harbours open, public ways extend,
Pid temples worthier of the god afcend;
Bid the broad archthe dangerous flood contain,
The mole projected break the roaring main; 2co

Backto his bounds their subject fea command, And oll obedient rivers through the land; These honours, peace to happy Britain brings; These are imperial works, and worthy kings.

EPISTLE V.

TO MR. ADDISON,

Occafioned by bis Dialogues on Medals.

THIS was originally written in the year 1715, when Mr. Addison intended to publish his book of Medals; it was fome time before hewas Secretary of State; but not published till Mr. Tickell's edition of his works; at which time the verfes on Mr. Craggs, which conclude the poem, were added, viz. in 1720.

As the third Epifle treated of the extremes of avarice and profufion; and the fourth took up one particular branch of the latter, namely, the vanity of expence in people of wealth and quality, and was therefore a corollary to the third; fo this treats of one circumftance of that vanity, as it appears in the common collectors of old coins; and is, therefore, a corollary to the fourth.

SEE the wild waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
The very tombs now vanifh'd like their dead;
Imperial wonders rai-'d on nations spoil'd, [toil'd:
Where mix'd with flaves the groaning martyr
Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods,
Now drain'd a distant country of her floods :
Fanes, which admiring gods with pride furvey;
Statues of men fcarce lefs alive than they!
Some felt the filent ftroke of mouldering age,
Some hoftile fury, fome religious rage.
Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.
Perhaps, by its own ruins fav'd from flame,
Some bury'd marble half preserves a name;
That name the learn'd with fierce difputes pursue,
And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.

Ambition figh'd the found in vain to trust The faithlefs column and the crumbling buft: 20 Huge moles, whose shadow stretch'd from fhore to

The medal, faithful to its charge of fame, Through climesand ages bears each form and name In one fhort view fubjected to our eye God, emperors heroes, fages, beauties, lie. With fharpen'd fight pale antiquaries pore, Th' infcription value, but the ruft adore,

240

His library (where bufts of poets dead
And a true Pindar flood without a head),
Receiv'd of wits an undiftinguifh'd race,
Who first his judgment afk'd, and then a place:
Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his feat,
And flatter'd every day, and fome days eat;
Tiil, grown more frugal in his riper days, praife.
He paid fome bards with port, and fome with
To for a dry rehearsel was affign'd,
And others (harder fill) he paid in kind.
Dryden alere (what wonder!) came not nigh,
Dryden alone efcap'd this judging eye:
But ftill the great have kindnefs in referve,
He help'd to bury whom he help'd to ftarve.
May fome choice patron blefs each grey goofe
quill!

May every Bavius have his Bufo ftill!

250

So when a ftatefman wants a day's defence,
Or envy holds a whole week's war with fenfe,
Or fimple pride for fiattery makes demands,
May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands!
Bleft be the great! for those they take away,
And thofe they left me; for they left me Gay:
Left me to fee neglected genius bloom,
Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb:
Of all thy blamelefs life the fole return
My verfe, and Queerfberry weeping o'er thy urn!
Oh, let me live my own, and die fo too! 261.
(To live and die is all I have to do :)
Maintain a poet's dignity and ease,

[pleafe:

And fee what friends, and read what books I
Above a patron, though I condefcend
Son etimes to call a minifter my friend.
I was not bo:n for courts or great affairs;
I pay my delts, believe, and fay my prayers;
Can fleep without a poem in my head,
Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead.

270

Why am I afk'd what next fhall fee the light? Heavens! was I born for nothing but to write? Has life no joys for me? or (to be grave) Have I no friend to ferve, no foul to fave? “I found him close with Swift—indeed? no doubt (Cries prating Balbus) fomething will come out." "'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will. "No, fuch a genius never can lie ftill;" Ard then for mine obligingly miflakes The first lampoon Sir Will or Bubo makes. Poor, guiltlefs I and can I chose but smile, When every coxcomb knows me by my flyle?

Curft be the verfe, how well foe'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe,

280

290

Give virtue fcandal, innocence a fear,
Or from the foft-ey'd virgin steal a tear!
But he who hurts a harmlefs neighbour's peace,
Infults fall'n worth, or beauty in distress,
Who loves a lie, lame flander helps about,
Who writes a libel, or who copies out :
That fop, whofe pride affects a patron's name,
Yet abfent, wounds an author's honest same :
Who can your merit felfifhly approve,
And fhow the fenfe of it without the love;
Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend ;
Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say,
And, if he lie not, must at least betray:
Who to the Dean and filver Bell can fwear,
And fees at Cannons what was never there; 300
Who reads but with a luft to misapply,
Make fatire a lampoon, and fiction lie.

A lafh like mine no honeft man fhall dread,
But all fuch babbling blockheads in his ftead.
Let Sporus tremble-A. What? that thing of
filk,

Sporus, that mere white curd of afs's milk?
Satire of fenfe, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt, that ftinks and ftings;
Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
Yet wit ne'er taftes, and beanty ne'er enjoys:
So well-bred fpaniels civilly delight
In'mumbling of the game they dare not bite.
Eternal fmiles his emptinefs betray,

As fhallow ftreams run dimpling all the way. Whether in florid impotence he speaks,

310

And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks; Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad,

Half froth, half venom, fpits himself abroad, 320
In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies,

Or fpite, or smut, or rhymes, or blafphemies.
His wit all fee faw, between that and this,
Now high, now low, now mafter up, now mifs,
And he himself one vile antithefis.
Amphibious thing that, ading either part,
The trifling head or the corrupted heart,
Frp at the toilet, flatterer at the board,
Now trips a lady, and now ftruts a lord.
Eve's tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest, 330
A cherub's face, a reptile all the reft.
Beauty that fhocks you, parts that none will truft,
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the duft.
Not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool,
Not lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool,

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 234, in the MS.

To bards reciting he vouchfaf'd a nod,
And fnaff'd their incenfe like a gracious God.
After ver. 270, in the MS.

[fill Friendships from youth I fought, and feek them Fame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it will. The world I knew, but made it not my school, And in a courfe of flattery liv'd no fool.

Alterver 282, in the MS.

P. What if I ing Auguftu: great and good? 4. You did to lately, was it underflood?

VARIATIONS.

Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound,
As rumbling Dennis or a Norfolk hound;
With George and Frederic roughen every verse,
Then fmooth up all, and Caroline rehearse.
P. No-the high task to lift up kings to gods,
Leave to court fermons, and to birth-day odes.
On themes like thefe, fuperior far to thine,
Let laurel'd Cibber and great Arnal shine.
Why write at all? A. Yes, filence if you keep,
The town, the court, the wits, the dunces weep.