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Then chearful healths (your mistress shall have place)
And, what's more rare, a poet shall say grace.

Fortune not much of humbling me can boast:
Tho' double tax'd, how little have I lost!
My life's amusements have been just the same,
Before, and after standing armies came.
My lands are sold, my father's house is gone;
I'll hire another's; is not that my own,



And yours, my friends? thro' whose free-op'ning gate
None comes too early, none departs too late ;
For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best,
Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.
'Pray heav'n it last! (cries Swift!) as you go on;
I wish to God this house. had been your own:
Pity to build, without a son or wife;

Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life.'

Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one,
Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon?
What's property? dear Swift! you see it alter
From you to me, from me to Peter Walter;
Or, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's share;
Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir;

Or in pure equity (the case not clear)

The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year:

At best, it falls to some ungracious son,

Who cries, 'My father's damn'd, and all's my own.' Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,

Become the portion of a booby lord;


And Helmsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a scriv'ner or a city knight.

Let lands and houses have what lords they will,
Let us be fix'd, and our own masters still.




To L. Bolingbroke.

(HORACE, I Ep. 1.)

T. JOHN, whose love indulg'd my labours past,
Matures my present, and shall bound my last!
Why will you break the sabbath of my days?
Now sick alike of envy and of praise.
Public too long, ah let me hide my age!
See modest Cibber now has left the stage:
Our gen'rals now, retir'd to their estates,
Hang their old trophies o'er the garden-gates,
In life's cool ev'ning satiate of applause,
Nor fond of bleeding, ev'n in Brunswick's cause.
A voice there is, that whispers in my ear,
('Tis reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear)
'Friend Pope! be prudent, let your muse take

And never gallop Pegasus to death;

Lest stiff, and stately, void of fire or force, You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's horse.'

Farewell then verse, and love, and ev'ry toy, The rhymes and rattles of the man or boy; ·



What right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care-for this is all:
To lay this harvest up, and hoard with haste,
What ev'ry day will want, and most, the last.

But ask not, to what doctors I apply?

Sworn to no master, of no sect am I:

As drives the storm, at any door I knock:

And house with Montagne now, or now with Locke.
Sometimes a patriot, active in debate,

Mix with the world, and battle for the state,
Free as young Lyttelton, her cause pursue,
Still true to virtue, and as warm as true:
Sometimes with Aristippus, or St. Paul,
Indulge my candor, and grow all to all;
Back to my native moderation slide,
And win my way by yielding to the tide.

Long, as to him who works for debt, the day,
Long as the night to her whose love's away,
Long as the year's dull circle seems to run,
When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one :
So slow th' unprofitable moments roll,

That lock up all the functions of my soul;
That keep me from myself; and still delay
Life's instant business to a future day:
That task, which as we follow, or despise,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise:
Which done, the poorest can no wants endure ;
And which not done, the richest must be poor.
Late as it is, I put myself to school,

And feel some comfort, not to be a fool.
Weak tho' I am of limb, and short of sight,

Far from a lynx, and not a giant quite;





I'll do what Mead and Cheselden advise,

To keep these limbs, and to preserve these eyes.
Not to go back, is somewhat to advance,
And men must walk at least before they dance.

Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom move
With wretched av'rice, or as wretched love?

Know, there are words and spells, which can controll Between the fits this fever of the soul;

Know, there are rhymes, which fresh and fresh apply'd
Will cure the arrant'st puppy of his pride.

Be furious, envious, slothful, mad, or drunk,
Slave to a wife, or vassal to a punk,

A Switz, a High-dutch, or a Low-dutch bear;
All that we ask is but a patient ear.

'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor;

And the first wisdom, to be fool no more.
But to the world no bugbear is so great,
As want of figure, and a small estate.
To either India see the merchant fly,
Scar'd at the spectre of pale poverty!

See him, with pains of body, pangs of soul,

Burn through the tropic, freeze beneath the pole !
Wilt thou do nothing for a nobler end,
Nothing, to make philosophy thy friend?
To stop thy foolish views, thy long desires,
And ease thy heart of all that it admires?


Here, wisdom calls: Seek virtue first, be bold!
As gold to silver, virtue is to gold.'

There, London's voice, 'Get money, money still!
And then let virtue follow, if she will.'

This, this the saving doctrine, preach'd to all,
From low St. James's up to high St. Paul;




From him whose quills stand quiver'd at his ear,
To him who notches sticks at Westminster.

Barnard in spirit, sense, and truth abounds;
"Pray then, what wants he?' Fourscore thousand

A pension, or such harness for a slave

As Bug now has, and Dorimant would have.
Barnard, thou art a Cit, with all thy worth!

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But Bug and D*1, their honours, and so forth.

Yet ev'ry child another song will sing,

Virtue, brave boys! 'tis virtue makes a king.'
True, conscious honour is to feel no sin,
He's armed without that's innocent within ;
Be this thy screen, and this thy wall of brass;
Compar'd to this a minister's an ass.

And say, to which shall our applause belong,
This new court-jargon, or the good old song?
The modern language of corrupted peers,
Or what was spoke at Cressy and Poitiers?
Who counsels best? who whispers, 'Be but great,
With praise or infamy leave that to fate;
Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace;
If not, by any means get wealth and place.'
For what? to have a box where eunuchs sing,
And foremost in the circle eye a king.

Or he, who bids thee face with steady view
Proud fortune, and look shallow greatness thro':
And, while he bids thee, sets th' example too?
If such a doctrine, in St. James's air,

Shou'd chance to make the well-drest rabble stare;
If honest S*z take scandal at a spark,

That less admires the palace than the park:




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