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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,

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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, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.) ❝ Pray heaven it laft! (cries Swift!) as you go on; "I wish to God this house had been your own: "Pity! to build, without a fon 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 fee it alter From you to me, from me to e Peter Walter ; Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's share; Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir; Or in pure f equity (the cafe not clear) The Chancery takes your rents for twenty year : At best, it falls to fome g ungracious son, Who cries, "My father's damn'd, and all's my

d

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own."

Shades,

O pueri, nituiftis, ut huc b novus incola venit?
Nam propriae telluris herum natura neque illum,
Nec me, nec quemquam ftatuit. nos expulit ille;
Illum aut d nequities aut e vafri inscitia juris,
Poftremum expellet certe f vivacior heres.
g Nunc ager Umbreni fub nomine, nuper Ofelli
Dictus erat: nulli proprius; fed cedit in usum

h Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,
Become the portion of a booby Lord;

And Hemfley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a Scrivener, or a City Knight,

i Let lands and houses have what lords they will,

Let Us be fix'd, and our own masters still.

h

Nunc mihi, nunc alii. quocirca vivite fortes,
Fortiaque adverfis opponite pectora rebus.

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BOOK I.

EPISTLE I.

TO LORD BOLINGBROKE.

ST. JOHN, whofe love indulg'd my labours paft,

Matures my prefent, and shall bound my last!
Why b will you break the Sabbath of my days?
Now fick alike of Envy and of Praise.
Public too long, ah let me hide my Age!
See modeft Cibber now has left the Stage:
Our Generals now, d retir'd to their Estates,
Hang their Old Trophies o'er the Garden gates,
In Life's cool Evening fatiate of Applaufe,

Nore fond of bleeding, ev'n in BRUNSWICK's cause. f A voice there is, that whispers in my ear,

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('Tis Reason's voice, which fometimes one can hear) "Friend Pope! be prudent, let your s Muse take "breath,

"And never gallop Pegafus to death;

EPISTOLA I.

RIMA dicte mihi, fumma dicende camena,

PRIM

"Let

b Spectatum fatis, et donatum jam rude, quaeris, Maecenas, iterum antiquo me includere ludo. Non eadem eft aetas, non mens. c Veianius, armis a Herculis ad poftem fixis, latet abditus agro; Ne populum e extrema toties exoret arena.

f Eft mihi purgatam crebro qui perfonet aurem ; Solve g fenefcentem mature fanus equum, ne

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"Left ftiff, and stately, void of fire or force,
"You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's horse."
Farewell then h Verfe, and Love, and every Toy,
The Rhymes and Rattles of the Man or Boy;
What i right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care-for this is All:

To lay this k harvest up, and hoard with haste,
What every day will want, and most, the last.

But ask not, to what 1 Doctors I apply?
Sworn to no Mafter, of no Şect am I :

As drives the m ftorm, at any
y door I knock :

And house with Montagne now, or now with Locke,
Sometimes a n Patriot, active in debate,*

Mix with the World, and battle for the State,
Free as young Lyttelton, her caufe pursue,
Still true to Virtue, and as warm as true:
Sometimes with Ariftippus, or St. Paul,
Indulge my candour, and grow all to all;

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Peccet ad extremum ridendus, et ilia ducat.

Nunc itaque et b verfus, et caetera ludicra pono:
Quid i verum atque decens, curo et rogo, et omnis in

hoc fum:

k Condo, et compono, quae mox depromere poffim.
Ac ne forte roges, 1 quo me duce, quo Lare tuter:
Nullius addictus jurare in verba magiftri,

m Quo me cunque rapit tempeftas, deferor hofpes.
Nunc agilis fio, et merfor n civilibus undis,
Virtutis verae cuftos, o rigidufque fatelles :
VOL. II.

Back to my P native Moderation flide,

And win my way by yielding to the tide.

4 Long, as to him who works for debt, the day, 35 Long as the Night to her whofe Love's away, Long as the Year's dull circle seems to run,

When the brisk Minor pants for twenty-one;
So flow th' unprofitable moments roll,

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That lock up all the Functions of my foul
That keep me from myself; and still delay
Life's inftant business to a future day:
Thats talk, which as we follow, or defpife,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise :
Which done, the pooreft can no wants endure;
And which not done, the richest must be poor.
t Late as it is, I put myself to school,

And feel fome " comfort, not to be a fool.

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w Weak though I am of limb, and short of fight, Far from a Lynx, and not a Giant quite :

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I'll

Nunc in Ariftippi › furtim praecepta relabor
Et mihi res, non me rebus, fubjungere conor.

q Ut nox longa, quibus mentitur amica; diefque
Lenta videtur opus debentibus: ut piger annus
Pupillis, quos dura premit cuftodia matrum :
Sic mihi tarda fluunt ingrataque tempora, quae spem
Confiliumque morantur agendi gnaviter • id, quod
Aeque pauperibus prodeft, locupletibus aeque,
Aeque neglectum pueris fenibufque nocebit.

u

* Reftat, ut his ego me ipfe regam " folerque elementis: Non poffis oculo quantum contendere Lynceus ;

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