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And what is fame? the meanest have their day,
The greatest can but blaze, and pass away.
Graced as thou art, with all the power of words,
So known, so honour'd, at the House of Lords:
Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,
(More silent far) where kings and poets lie;
Where Murray (long enough his country's pride)
Shall be no more than Tully, or than Hyde !

Rack'd with sciatics, martyr'd with the stone,

Will any mortal let himself alone?

See Ward by batter'd beaux invited over,

And desperate Misery lays hold on Dover.
The case is easier in the mind's disease;

There all men may be cured, whene'er they please.
Would ye be bless'd? despise low joys, low gains;
Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains ;3

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Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.

lines do not seem to warrant such an interpretation: the case is purely hypothetical. He was married shortly afterwards to Lady Betty Finch, daughter of Daniel, Earl of Nottingham. Pope's allusion to his friend Craggs's humble ancestry is not marked by his usual taste. The elder Craggs was originally a footman to Lady Mordaunt, Duchess of Norfolk, and according to Lady M. W. Montagu, "he was trusted by the duchess in all her intrigues, particularly in that with King James II.: and scraped a good deal of money from the bounty of the royal lover." Lady Mary, however, adds that the meanness of his education never appeared in his conversation. The bulk of Craggs's fortune was made as an army contractor, and he was afterwards joint Postmaster-General with Lord Cornwallis. He was deeply involved in the South Sea delusion, and had profited by the public credulity to such an extent that his estate was seized by the House of Commons. He left about a million and a-half of money-amassed, it is said, on purpose to give wealth and honours to his son, the friend of Pope, and one of the Secretaries of the Treasury. The son died of the small-pox, and the old man, broken-hearted, died a few weeks afterwards of apoplexy, brought on, as was supposed, partly by grief, and partly by dread of the examination and exposure of his delinquencies in the South Sea case before the House of Commons.]

3 [Cornbury disdained a pension. On his return from travelling abroad, the Earl of Essex, his brother-in-law, said he had got a pension for him. He replied, "How could you tell, my lord, that I was to be sold, or, at least, how came you to know my price so exactly?" Henry, Viscount Cornbury, was great grandson of Lord Chancellor Clarendon, and brother of the Duchess of Queensberry. He died in 1753, aged forty-three. His lordship was a very amiable and accomplished man, and as a politician, one of the party denominated "Hanoverian Tories."]

But art thou one, whom new opinions sway, One who believes as Tindal leads the way,

Who virtue and a church alike disowns,

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Thinks that but words, and this but brick and stones?
Fly then, on all the wings of wild desire,
Admire whate'er the maddest can admire.

Is wealth thy passion? Hence! from pole to pole,
Where winds can carry, or where waves can roll,
For Indian spices, for Peruvian gold,
Prevent the greedy, or outbid the bold:
Advance thy golden mountain to the skies;
On the broad base of fifty thousand rise,

Add one round hundred, and (if that's not fair)
Add fifty more, and bring it to a square.
For, mark the advantage; just so many score
Will gain a wife with half as many more,
Procure her beauty, make that beauty chaste,
And then such friends-as cannot fail to last.
A man of wealth is dubb'd a man of worth,
Venus shall give him form, and Anstis birth.
(Believe me, many a German prince is worse,
Who, proud of pedigree, is poor of purse.)
His wealth brave Timon gloriously confounds;
Ask'd for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds;
Or if three ladies like a luckless play,
Take the whole house upon the poet's day.

Now, in such exigencies not to need,

Upon my word, you must be rich indeed;

A noble superfluity it craves,

Not for yourself, but for your fools and knaves:
Something, which for your honour they may cheat,
And which it much becomes you to forget.

If wealth alone then make and keep us bless'd,
Still, still be getting, never, never rest.

But if to power and place your passion lie,

If in the pomp of life consist the joy;
Then hire a slave, or (if you will) a lord

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To do the honours, and to give the word;
Tell at your levée, as the crowds approach,
To whom to nod, whom take into your coach,
Whom honour with your hand: to make remarks,
Who rules in Cornwall, or who rules in Berks:

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"This may be troublesome, is near the chair:

That makes three members, this can choose a mayor."
Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest,
Adopt him son, or cousin at the least,

Then turn about, and laugh at your own jest.
Or if your life be one continued treat,

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If to live well means nothing but to eat;
Up, up! cries Gluttony, 'tis break of day,
Go drive the deer, and drag the finny prey;
With hounds and horns go hunt an appetite-
So Russel did, but could not eat at night,
Call'd, happy dog! the beggar at his door,
And envied thirst and hunger to the poor.

Or shall we every decency confound,

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Through taverns, stews, and bagnios take our round,

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Go dine with Chartres, in each vice outdo
K-l's lewd cargo, or Ty-y's crew,*

From Latian syrens, French Circæan feasts,

Return well travell'd, and transform'd to beasts;

Or for a titled punk, or foreign flame,

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Renounce our country, and degrade our name?
If, after all, we must with Wilmot own,5

The cordial drop of life is love alone,
And Swift cry wisely, "Vive la Bagatelle!"
The man that loves and laughs, must sure do well.
Adieu-if this advice appear the worst,
E'en take the counsel which I gave you first:
Or better precepts if you can impart,
Why do, I'll follow them with all my heart.

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4 [Lords Kinnoul and Tyrawley, two ambassadors noted for wild immo. rality. The latter returned from Lisbon in 1742, and, as Horace Walpole states, brought three wives and fourteen children with him, one of the wives being a Portuguese, with long black hair plaited down to the bottom of her back. He lived to the age of eighty-five, dying in 1773.] 5 The Earl of Rochester.

THE FIRST EPISTLE

OF THE

SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

[Published in 1737. Pope prefixed to it the following

ADVERTISEMENT.

"The reflections of Horace, and the judgments passed in his Epistle to Augustus, seemed so seasonable to the present times, that I could not help applying them to the use of my own country. The author thought them considerable enough to address them to his Prince, whom he paints with all the great and good qualities of a Monarch, upon whom the Romans depended for the increase of an absolute empire. But to make the poem entirely English, I was willing to add one or two of those which contribute to the happiness of a free people, and are more consistent with the welfare of our neighbours. "This Epistle will show the learned world to have fallen into two mistakes: one, that Augustus was a patron of Poets in general, whereas he not only prohibited all but the best writers to name him, but recommended that care even to the civil magistrate: Admonebat Prætores, ne paterentur Nomen suum obsolefieri, &c. The other, that this piece was only a general Discourse of Poetry, whereas it was an Apology for the Poets, in order to render Augustus more their patron. Horace here pleads the cause of his contemporaries, first, against the taste of the town, whose humour it was to magnify the authors of the preceding age; secondly, against the Court and nobility, who encouraged only the writers for the Theatre; and lastly, against the Emperor himself, who had conceived them of little use to the Government. He shows (by a View of the Progress of Learning, and the change of taste among the Romans) that the introduction of the polite arts of Greece had given the writers of his time great advantages over their predecessors; that their morals were much improved, and the licence of those ancient poets restrained: that Satire and Comedy were become more just and useful; that whatever extravagances were left on the stage, were owing to the ill taste of the nobility; that poets, under due regulations, were in many respects useful to the State; and concludes, that it was upon them the Emperor himself must depend for his fame with posterity.

"We may further learn from this Epistle, that Horace made his court to

this great Prince by writing with a decent freedom toward him, with a just contempt of his low flatterers, and with a manly regard to his own character." Pope's imitation is a Satire on George II.—the British Augustus-and on the follies and flatteries of the age. He also reviews the literature of that and preceding reigns; and concludes with an ironical panegyric on the King, conceived and expressed in his happiest manner. ]

TO AUGUSTUS.

WHILE you, great patron of mankind! sustain

The balanced world, and open all the main ;

Your country, chief, in arms abroad defend,
At home, with morals, arts, and laws amend;
How shall the Muse, from such a monarch, steal
An hour, and not defraud the public weal?
Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,
After a life of gen'rous toils endured,
The Gaul subdued, or property secured,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd,
Or laws establish'd, and the world reform'd;
Closed their long glories with a sigh, to find
The unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
All human virtue, to its latest breath,
Finds envy never conquer'd, but by death.
The great Alcides, every labour pass'd,
Had still this monster to subdue at last.
Sure fate of all, beneath whose rising ray
Each star of meaner merit fades away!
Oppress'd we feel the beam directly beat,
Those suns of glory please not till they set.

To thee, the world its present homage pays,
The harvest early, but mature the praise:
Great friend of liberty! in kings a name
Above all Greek, above all Roman fame:
Whose word is truth, as sacred and revered,
As Heaven's own oracles from altars heard.
Wonder of kings! like whom, to mortal eyes
None e'er has risen, and none e'er shall rise.
Just in one instance, be it yet confess'd
Your people, sir, are partial in the rest:

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