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1 Why had not I in thofe good times my birth,
'Ere coxcomb-pyes or coxcombs were on earth?
Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear,



m That sweetest mufic to an honeft ear;
(For 'faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong,
The world's good word is better than a fong)
Who has not learn'd, fresh fturgeon and ham-pye
Are no rewards for want, and infamy!
When Luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf,
Curs'd be thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself,
To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame,
Think how pofterity will treat thy name;
And buy a rope, that future times may tell
Thou haft at least bestow'd one penny well.


"Right, cries his Lordship, for a rogue in need

‹‹ To have a Taste is infolence indeed :

"In me 'tis noble, fuits my birth and state, "My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great.” Then, like the Sun, let Bounty spread her ray, 121 And shine that fuperfluity away.

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Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy ftore,
How dar'ft thou let one worthy man be poor?
Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall?
Make Keys, build Bridges, or repair White-hall:
Or to thy Country let that heap be lent,

As M**o's was, but not at five per cent.


preceding morality. Horace was very ferious, and pro

perly fo, when he faid,

'O magnus pofthac inimicis rifus! uterne

" Ad cafus dubios fidet fibi certius? hic, qui Pluribus affuerit mentem corpufque fuperbum; An qui contentus parvo metuenfque futuri,

In pace, ut fapiens, aptarit idonea bello?


✓ Quo magis his credas: puer hunc ego parvus


Integris opibus novi non latius ufum,


Quam nunc accifis. Videas, metato in agello,

Cum pecore et gnatis, fortem mercede colonum,
Non ego, narrantem, temere edi luce profesta
Quidquam, praeter * olus fumofae cum pede pernae.
Ac mihi feu longum poft tempus venerat hofpes,
Sive operum vacuo gratus conviva per imbrem
Vicinus; bene erat, non pifcibus urbe petitis,

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cur, Improbe! carae

Non aliquid patriae tanto emetiris acervo.

He remembered, and hints with juft indignation, at those luxurious Patricians of his old party; who, when they had agreed to establish a fund in the caufe of Freedom, under the conduct of Brutus, could never be perfuaded to withdraw from their expenfive pleasures what was fufficient for the fupport of fo great a caufe. He had prepared his

* Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind, Prepares a dreadful jeft for all mankind.


And " who ftands fafeft? tell me, is it he
That spreads and fwells in puff'd Prosperity,
Or bleft with little, whofe preventing care
In peace provides fit arms against a war?


▾ Thus BETHEL fpoke, who always fpeaks his thought,

And always thinks the very thing he ought:

His equal mind I copy what I can,

And as I love, would imitate the Man.

In South-fea days not happier, when furmis'd



The Lord of Thousands, than if now w Excis'd; 140

In forest planted by a Father's hand,

Than in five acres now of rented land.

Content with little, I can piddle here

On brocoli and mutton, round the year;

But ancient friends (tho' poor, or out of play)

That touch my bell, I cannot turn away.

'Tis true, no Turbots dignify my boards,

But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords:


apology for this liberty, in the preceding line, where he pays a fine compliment to Auguftus:


Templa ruunt antiqua Deûm? :

which oblique Panegyric the Imitator has very properly turned into a juft ftroke of fatire.

Et nux ornabat menfas, cum duplice ficu.

Poft hoc ludus erat a cuppa potare magistra :

Ac venerata Ceres, ita culmo furgeret alto,

Explicuit vino contractae feria frontis.

Saeviat atque novos moveat Fortuna tumultus !

Quantum hinc imminuet? quanto aut ego parcius,

aut ves,

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O pueri, nituiftis, ut huc novus incola venit ?


VER. 156. And, what's more rare, a Poet fhall fay Grace] The pleasantry of this line confifts in the supposed rarity of a Poet's having a table of his own; or a fense of gratitude for the bleffings he receives. But it contains,

To Hounflow-heath I point and Banfted-down,

Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my


a From yon old walnut-tree a show'r shall fall;
And grapes, long ling'ring on my only wall,
And figs from ftandard and efpalier join;
The dev'l is in you if you cannot dine:


Then 'chearful healths (your Mistress shall have place) And, what's more rare, a Poet shall fay Grace. 156 Fortune not much of humbling me can boast;

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Tho' double tax'd, how little have I loft?
My Life's amusements have been just the same,
Before, and after Standing Armies came.
My lands are fold, my father's house is gone;
I'll hire another's; is not that my own,


And yours, my friends? thro' whose free-opening gate None comes too early, none departs too late;

(For I, who hold fage Homer's rule the best, 165 Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.) "Pray heav'n it laft! (cries SWIFT!) as you go on; "I wish to God this houfe had been your own: "Pity! to build, without a fon or wife: "Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life." Well, if the ufe be mine, can it concern one, Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon?



too, a fober reproof of People of Condition, for their unmanly and brutal difufe of fo natural a duty.

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