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They might (were Harpax not too wife to spend)
Give Harpax felf the blefling of a Friend;
Or find fome Do&tor that would fave the life
Of wretched Shylock, fpite of Shylock's Wife:
But thoufands die, without or this or that,
Die, and endow a College, or a Cat.

To fome, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate,
T'enrich a Baftard, or a Son they hate.


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 (fays 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:
Damn'd to the Mines, an equal fate betides
The Slave that digs it, and the Slave that hides.
B. Who fuffer thus, mere Charity should own,
Must act on motives powerful, though unknown.
P. Some War, fome Plague, or Famine, they foresee,
Some Revelation hid from you
and me.

Why Shylock wants a meal, the caufe is found;
He thinks a Loaf will rife to fifty pound.
What made Directors cheat in South-fea year?
To live on Venifon when it fold fo dear.
Afk you why Phryne the whole Auction buys?
Phryne forefees a general Excife.




Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous fum?
Alas! they fear a man will coft a plum.
Wife Peter fees the World's respect for Gold,
And therefore hopes this Nation may be fold:
Glorious Ambition! Peter, fwell thy ftore,
And be what Rome's great Didius was before.
The Crown of Poland, venal twice an age,
To juft three millions ftinted modest Gage.
But nobler fcenes, Maria's dreams unfold,
Hereditary Realms, and worlds of Gold.
Congenial fouls; whofe life one Avarice joins,
And one fate buries in th' Afturian Mines.



Much-injur'd Blunt! why bears he Britain's hate? A wizard told him in thefe words our fate: "At length Corruption, like a general flood, 135 (So long by watchful Minifters 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,

Peerefs 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 funk in lucre's fordid charms,


"And France reveng'd of ANNE's and EDWARD'S "arms!"

'Twas no Court-badge, great Scrivener, fir'd thy brain, Nor lordly Luxury, nor City Gain:

No, 'twas thy righteous end, afham'd to fee

Senates degenerate, Patriots difagree,


And nobly wishing Party-rage to cease,

To buy both fides, and give thy Country peace. 150

"All this is madness," cries a sober fage:

But who, my friend, has reason in his rage?
"The Ruling Paffion, be it what it will,
"The Ruling Paffion conquers reason ftill.”
Lefs mad the wildest whimsey we can frame,
Than even that Paffion, if it has no Aim;
For though fuch motives Folly you may call,
The Folly's greater to have none at all.



Hear then the truth: ""Tis Heaven each Paffion fends, "And different men directs to different ends. "Extremes in Nature equal good produce, "Extremes in Man concur to general use." Afk we what makes one keep, and one bestow? That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow, Bids feed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, 165 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 infects, when conceal'd they lie, Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. Who fees pale Mammon pine amidst his ftore, Sees but a backward fteward for the Poor; This year a Refervoir, 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 fhall drink him till they burst. Old Cotta fham'd his fortune and his birth,



Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:


What though (the ufe of barbarous spits forgot)
His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot?

His court with nettles, moats with creffes ftor'd,
With foups unbought and fallads bless'd his board?
If Cotta liv'd on pulfe, 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 fome lone Chartreux ftands the good old Hall, Silence without, and fafts within the wall;

No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor found,
No noontide bell invites the country round:
Tenants with fighs the fmoaklefs towers furvey,
And turn th? unwilling steeds another way:
Benighted wanderers, the foreft o'er,
Curfe the fav'd candle, and unopening door;
While the gaunt maftiff, growling at the gate,
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat...

Not fo his Son: he mark'd this overfight,
And then mistook reverse of wrong for right.
(For what to fhun, will no great knowledge need;
But what to follow, is a task indeed.)




Yet fure,, of qualities deferving praise,

More go to ruin Fortunes, than to raise.

What flaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine,

Fill the capacious 'Squire, and deep Divine!

Yet no mean motives this profufion draws,


His oxen perish in his country's caufe;

'Tis GEORGE and LIBERTY that crowns the cup, And Zeal for that great House which eats him





The woods recede around the naked feat,
The Sylvans groan-no matter-for the Fleet:
Next goes his Wool-to clothe our valiant bands:
Laft, for his Country's love, he fells his Lands.
To town he comes, completes the nation's hope,
And heads the bold Train-bands, and burns a Pope.
And fhall not Britain now reward his toils,
Britain, that pays her Patriots with her Spoils ?
In vain at Court the Bankrupt pleads his caufe,
His thanklefs Country leaves him to her Laws.
The Senfe to value Riches, with the Art
Tenjoy them, and the Virtue to impart,
Not meanly, nor ambitiously pursued,
Not funk by floth, not rais'd by fervitude;
To balance Fortune by a just expence,
Join with Oeconomy, Magnificence;

With Splendor, Charity; with Plenty, Health;
Oh teach us, Bathurft! yet unfpoil'd by wealth!




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 mifapply'd,
In lavish Curio blaz'd a while and dy'd;
There Providence once more fhall fhift the fcere,
And fhewing H-y, teach the golden mean.

After ver. 226, in the MS.

The fecret rare, which affluence hardly join'd,
Which W-n loft, yet B-y ne'er could find:
Still mifs'd by Vice, and fcarce by Virtue hit,
By G's goodness, or by S-'s wit,


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