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For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam ;
No thought of peace or happiness at home.
But wisdom's triumph is well-tim'd retreat,

As hard a science to the fair as great !
Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown,

Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone,
Worn out in public, weary every eye,
Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die.
Pleasures the sex, as children birds, pursue,

Still out of reach, yet never out of view;
Sure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most, That it is known to few, most falling into one of
To covet flying, and regret when lost :

the extremes, avarice or profusion. The point At last, to follies youth could scarce defend,

discussed, whether the invention of money has It grows their age's prudence to pretend;

been more commodious or pernicious to mankind. Asham'd to own they gave delight before,

That riches, either to the avaricious or the proReduc'd to feign it, when they give no more. digal, cannot afford happiness, scarcely neces As hags hold sabbaths, less for joy than spite,

saries. That avarice is an absolute frenzy, So these their merry, miserable night;

without an end or purpose. Conjectures about Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide, the motives of avaricious men. That the conAnd haunt the places where their honour dy'd. duct of men, with respect to riches, can only be See how the world its veterans rewards!

accounted for by the order of Providence, which A youth of frolics, an old-age of cards :

works the general good out of extremes, and Fair to no purpose, artful to no end;

brings all to its great end by perpetual resolutions Young without lovers, old without a friend;

How a miser acts upon principles which appear A fop their passion, but their prize a sot ;

to him reasonable. How a prodigal does the Alive, ridiculous; and dead, forgot!

The due medium, and true use of riches Ah! friend! to dazzle let the vain design;

The Man of Ross. The fate of the profuse and To raise the thought, and touch the heart, be thine! the covetous, in two examples; both miserable in That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring, life and in death. The story of Sir Balaai. Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing : So when the Sun's broad beam has tir'd the sight, P. Who shall decide when doctors disagree, All mild ascends the Moon's more sober light, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me? Serene in virgin modesty she shines,

You hold the word, from Jove to Momus given, And unobserv'd the glaring orb declines.

That man was made the standing jest of Heaven; Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray And gold but sent to keep the fools in play, Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day :

For some to heap, and some to throw away. She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear

But I, who think more highly of our kind, Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear ; (And, surely, Heaven and I are of a mind,) She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Opine, that Nature, as in duty bound, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Deep hid the shining mischief under ground: Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, But when, by man's audacious labour won, Yet has her humour most, when she obeys; Flam'd forth this rival too, its sire, the Sun, Let fops or Fortune fly which way they will, Then careful Heaven supply'd two sorts of men, Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille;

To squander these, and those to hide again. Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all, Like doctors thus, when much dispute has past, And mistress of herself, though china fall.

We find our tenets just the same at last. And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Both fairly owning, riches, in effect, Woman's at best a contradiction still.

No grace of Heaven, or token of th' elect; Heaven when it strives to polish all it can

Given to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil, Its last best work, but forms a softer man ; To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil. Picks from each sex, to make the favourite blest, B. What nature wants, commodious gold bestows; Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest :

'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows. Blends, in exception to all general rules,

P. But how unequal it bestows, observe ; Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools: 'Tis thus we riot, while, who sow it, starve : Reserve with frankness, art with truth ally'd, What nature wants (a phrase I must distrust) Courage with softness, modesty with pride; Extends to luxury, extends to lust : Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new;

Useful, I grant, it serves what life requires, Shakes all together, and produces — you.

But dreadful too, the dark assassin hires. Be this a woman's fame! with this unblest,

B. Trade it may help, society extend : Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest. P. But lures the pirate, and corrupts the friend Phæbus promis'd (I forget the year)

B. It raises armies in a nation's aid : When those blue eyes first open’d on the sphere ; P. But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd. Ascendant Phæbus watch'd that hour with care, In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave, Averted half your parents' simple prayer ;

If secret gold sap on from knave to knave. And gave you beauty, but deny'd the pelf

Once we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak, That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself.

From the crack'd bag the dropping Guinea spoke. The generous god, who wit and gold refines, And jingling down the back-stairs, told the crew, And ripens spirits as he ripens mines,

“ Old Cato is as great a rogue as you." Kept dross for duchesses, the world shall know it, Blest Paper--credit! last and best supply! To you gave sense, goud-humour, and a part. That lends Corruption lighter wings to fly!

old, imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things, But the good bishop, with a meeker air, in pocket states, can fetch or carry kings;


Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care. single leaf shall waft an army o'er,

Yet to be just to these poor men of pelf, r ship off senates to some distant shore ;

Each does but hate his neighbour as himself: leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro

Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides ir fates and fortunes, as the wind shall blow: The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides. segnant with thousands flits the scrap unseen, B. Who suffer thus, mere charity should own, ad silent sells a king, or buys a queen.

Must act on motives powerful, though unknown. Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see, P. Some war, some plague, or famine, they foresee, Il, as of old, encumber'd villany!

Some revelation hid from you and me. vuld France or Rome divert our brave designs, Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found; ith all their brandies, or with all their wines ? He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound. bat could they more than knights and 'squires What made directors cheat in South-Sea year ? confound,

To live on venison when it sold so dear. water all the quorum ten miles round? Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys? statesman's slumbers how this speech would Phryne foresees a general excise. spoil!

Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum ? Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil ; diAlas ! they fear a man will cost a plum. ige bales of British cloth blockade the door; Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold, hundred oxen at your levee roar."

And therefore hopes this nation may be sold : Poor Avarice one torment more would find ; Glorious ambition ! Peter, swell thy store, ir could Profusion squander all in kind.

And be what Rome's great Didius was before. tride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet : The crown of Poland, venal twice an age, id Worldly crying coals from street to street, To just three millions stinted modest Gage. hom, with a wig so wild, and mien so maz’d, But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold, y mistakes for some poor tradesman craz’d. Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold. id Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and Congenial souls ; whose life one avarice joins, hogs,

And one fate buries in th' Asturian mines. uld he himself have sent it to the dogs ?

Much-injur’d Blunt! why bears he Britain's hate? s grace will gaine: to White's a bull be led, A wizard told him in these words our fate : ith spurning heels and with a butting head. “ At length Corruption, like a general food,

White's be carry'd, as to ancient games, (So long by watchful ministers withstood,) ir coursers, vases, and alluring dames.

Shall deluge all; and Avarice, creeping on, all then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep,

Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun; ar home six whores, and make his lady weep? Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks, soft Adonis, so perfum’d and fine,

Peeress and butler share alike the box; ive to St. James's a whole herd of swine ? And judges job, and bishops bite the town, filthy check on all industrious skill,

And mighty dukes pack cards for half a crown. spoil the nation's last great trade, quadrille! See Britain sunk in Lucre's sordid charms, ice then, my lord, on such a world we fall, And France reveng'd of Anne's and Edward's iat say you? B. Say? Why take it, gold and

arms !" all.

'Twas no court-badge, great scrivener, fir'd thy brain, P. What riches give us, let us then inquire ? Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain : zat, fire, and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat, No, 'twas thy righteous end, asham'd to see clothes, and fire.

Senates degenerate, patriots disagree, this too little? would you more than live? And nobly wishing party-rage to cease, as ! 'tis more than Turner finds they give. To buy both sides, and give thy country peace. as ! 'tis more than (all his visions past)

“ All this is madness," cries a sober sage: happy Wharton, waking, found at last!

But who, my friend, has reason in his rage ? hat can they give ? to dying Hopkins, heirs; “ The ruling passion, be it what it will, » Chartres, vigour; Japhet, nose and ears? The ruling passion conquers reason still.” in they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow, Less mad the wildest whimsey we can frame, - Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below;

Than even that passion, if it has no aim ; r heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail,

For though such motives folly you may call, 'ith all th' embroidery plaster'd at thy tail ? The folly's greater to have none at all. hey might (were Harpax not too wise to spend) Hear then the truth: “'T'is Heaven cach passion ive Harpax self the blessing of a friend ;

sends, r find some doctor that would save the life And different men directs to different ends. *f wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife; Extremes in Nature equal good produce, ut thousands die, without or this or that,

Extremes in man concur to general use. bie, and endow a college, or a cat.

Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow? 'o some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate, That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow, "enrich a bastard, or a son they hate.

Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, Perhaps you think the poor might have their part; Through reconcil'd extremes of drought and rain, Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his Builds life on death, on change duration founds, heart:

And gives th' eternal wheels to know their rounds, The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule

Riches, like insects, when conceal'd they lie, l'hat every man in want is knave or fool :

Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. . God cannot love" (says Blunt, with tearless eyes) Who sees pale Manmod pine amidst his store, - The wretch lic starves" inel piously denies : Sccs but a backward steward for the poor ;

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This year, a reservoir, to keep and spare ;

Whose table, Wit, or modest Merit share, The next, a fountain, spouting through his heir, Un-elbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or player ? In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst, Who copies yours, or Oxford's better part, And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst. To ease th' oppress'd, and raise the sinking lveart?

Old Cotta sham'd his fortune and his birth, Where'er he shines, oh Fortune, gild the scene, Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth :

And angels guard him in the golden mean! What though (the use of barbarous spits forgot) There, English Bounty yet a while may stand, His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot? And Honour linger ere it leaves the land. His court with nettles, moats with cresses stor'd, But all our praises why should lords engross? With soups unbought and sallads bless'd his board ? Rise, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross: If Cotta liv'd on pulse, it was no more

Pleas'a Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, Than Bramins, saints, and sages did before : And rapid Severn hoarse applause "resounds. To cram the rich, was prodigal expense,

Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry And who would take the poor from Providence ?

brow? Like some lone Chartreux stands the good old Hall, From the dry rock who bade the waters flow? Silence without, and fasts within the wall;

Not to the skies in useless columns tost, No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor sound, Or in proud falls magnificently lost; No noontide bell invites the country round: But clear and artless pouring through the plain Tenants with sighs the smokeless/towers survey, Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. And turn th' unwilling steeds another way: Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er,

Whose seats the weary traveller repose ? Curs d the sav'd candle, and unopening door ; Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ? While the gaunt mastiff, growling at the gate, “ The Man of Ross,” each lisping babe replies. Aflrights the beggar whom he longs to eat. Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread!

Not so his son : he mark'd this oversight, The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread : And then mistook reverse of wrong for right. He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state, (For what to shun, will no great knowledge need; Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate; But what to follow, is a task indeed.)

Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans hlest, Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise,

The young who labour, and the old who rest. More go to ruin fortunes, than to raise.

Is any sick ? the Man of Ross relieves, What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine, Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives Fill the capacious 'squire, and deep divine !

Is there a variance ? enter but his door, Yet no mean motives this profusion draws,

Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more.
His oxen perish in his country's cause;

Despairing quacks with curses fled the place,
'Tis George and Liberty that crowns the cup, And vile attorneys, now an useless race.
And zeal for that great house which eats him up. B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue
The woods recede around the naked seat,

What all so wish, but want the power to do!
The Sylvans groan

— no matter - for the fleet: Oh say, what sums that generous hand supply? Next goes his wool.

- to clothe our valiant bands: What mines to swell that boundless charity ? Last, for his country's love, he sells his lands. P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, To town he comes, completes the nation's hope, This man possest — five hundred pounds a year. And heads the bold train-bands, and burns a pope. Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw And shall not Britain now reward his toils, Britain that pays her patriots with her spoils ? Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays. In vain at court the bankrupt pleads his cause, B. And what? no monument, inscription, stone ? His thankless country leaves him to her laws. His race, his form, his name almost unknown? The sense to value riches, with the art

P. Who builds a church to God, and not to Fame, T enjoy them, and the virtue to impart,

Will never mark the marble with his name :
Not meanly, nor ambitiously pursued,

Go, search it there, where to be born and die,
Not sunk by sloth, nor rais'd by servitude ; Of rich and poor makes all the history ;
To balance fortune by a just expense,

Enough, that Virtue fill’d the space between;
Join with economy, magnificence;

Prov'd by the ends of being, to have been.
With splendour, charity; with plenty, health ; When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend
Oh teach us, Bathurst ! yet unspoil'd by wealth! The wretch, who living sav'd a candle's end;
That secret rare, between th' extremes to move Shouldering God's altar a vile image stands,
Of mad Good-nature, and of mean Self-love. Belies his features, nay extends his lands;
B. To worth or want well-weigh’d, be bounty That live-long wig, which Gorgon's self might own,

Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.
And ease, or emulate, the care of Heaven; Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend !

Whose measure full o'erflows on human race) And see, what comfort it affords our end.
Mend Fortune's fault, and justify her grace.

In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung,
Wealth in the gross is death, but life diffus'd; The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung,
As poison heals, in just proportion us'd :

On once a flock-bed, but repair’d with straw, In heaps, like ambergris, a stink it lies,

With tape-ty'd curtains, never meant to draw, But well dispers’d, is incense to the skies.

The George and Garter dangling from that led P. Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats? Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that Great Villers lies — alas, how chang'd from him, cheats.

That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim! Is there a lord, who knows a cheerful noon Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcore, Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buttoon?

The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and Love ;

your blaze!


Or just as gay, at council, in a ring

What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit,
Of mimick'd statesmen, and their merry king. And God's good providence, a lucky hit.
No wit to flatter, left of all his store !

Things change their titles, as our manners turn : No fool to laugh at, which he valued more.

His compting-house employ'd the Sunday morn: There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, Seldom at church, ('twas such a busy life,) And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends. But duly sent his family and wife.

His grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee, There (so the devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide And well (he thought) advis'd him, “Live like me!" My good old lady catch'd a cold, and dy'd. As well his grace reply'd, “ Like you, Sir John ! A nymph of quality admires our knight; That I can do, when all I have is gone."

He marries, bows at court, and grows polite : Resolve me, Reason, which of these are worse, Leaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair) Want with a full, or with an empty purse ?

The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air : Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd, First, for his son a gay commission buys, Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd ? Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies ; Cutler saw tenants break, and houses fall,

His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife; For very want he could not build a wall.

She bears a coronet and p-x for life. His only daughter in a stranger's power,

In Britain's senate he a seat obtains, For very want; he could not pay a dower.

And one more pensioner St. Stephen gains. A few grey hairs his reverend temples crown'd, My lady falls to play : so bad her chance, 'Twas very want that sold them for two pound. He must repair it; takes a bribe from France: What! ev'n deny'd a cordial at his end,

The house impeach him, Coningsby harangues ; Banish'd the doctor, and expellid the friend ? The court forsake him, and Sir Balaam hangs : What but a want, which you perhaps think mad, Wife, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own, Yet numbers feel, the want of what he had ! His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown: Cutler and Brutus dying, both exclaim,

The devil and the king divide the prize,
“ Virtue ! and Wealth! what are ye but a name !". And sad Sir Balaam curses God and dies.
Say, for such worth are other worlds prepar'd ?
Or are they both, in this, their own reward ?
A knotty point! to which we now proceed.

But you are tir'd - I'll tell a tale. B. Agreed.
P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies

Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;
There dwelt a citizen of sober fame,
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;
Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth ;

His word would pass for inore than he was worth.
One solid dish his week-day meal affords,

The vanity of expense in people of wealth and And added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's :

quality. The abuse of the word taste. That Constant at church, and 'Change; his gains were the first principle and foundation in this, as in sure,

every thing else, is good sense. The chief proof His givings rare, save farthings to the poor. of it is to follow Nature, even in works of mere

The devil was piqu’d such saintship to behold, luxury and elegance. Instanced in architecture And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old ; and gardening, where all must be adapted to the But Satan now is wiser than of yore,

genius and use of the place, and the beauties And tempts by making rich, not making poor. not forced into it, but resulting from it. How

Rous'd by the prince of air, the whirlwinds sweep men are disappointed in their most expensive The surge, and plunge his father in the deep; undertakings, for want of this true foundation, Then full against his Cornish lands they roar, without which nothing can please long, if at all; And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore. and the best examples and rules will be but perSir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,

verted into something burthensome and ridiculous, He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes : A description of the false taste of magnificence; " Live like yourself," was soon my lady's word; the first grand errour of which is, to imagine that And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board. greatness consists in the size and dimension, inAsleep and naked as an Indian lay,

stead of the proportion and harmony of the whole; An honest factor stole a gem away:

and the second, either in joining together parts He pledg'd it to the knight, the knight had wit, incoherent, or too minutely resembling, or in the So kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit.

repetition of the same too frequently. A word or Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought, two of false taste in books, in music, in painting, " I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat;

even in preaching and prayer, and lastly in enterWhere once I went to church, I'll now go twice - tainments. Yet Providence is justified in giving And am so clear too of all other vice."

wealth to be squandered in this manner, since it The tempter saw his time : the work he ply'd; is dispersed to the poor and laborious part of Stocks and subscriptions pour on every side,

mankind. What are the proper objects of magTill all the demon makes his full descent

nificence, and a proper field for the expense of In one abundant shower of cent per cent,

great men; and finally the great and public Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole,

works which become a prince, Then dubs director, and secures his soul.

Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit, 'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit ; To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy ;

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Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste The vast parterres a thousand tands shall make, His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can taste? Lo! Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake: Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats ;

Or cut wide views through mountains to the plaia, Artists must choose his pictures, music, meats: You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again. He buys for Topham drawings and designs; Ev'n in an ornament its place remark, For Pembroke statues, dirty gods, and coins; Nor in an hermitage set Dr. Clarke. Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone, Behold Villario's ten years' toil complete; And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane. His quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet; Think we all these are for himself ? no more The wood supports the plain, the parts unite, Than his fine wife, alas ! or finer whore.

And strength of shade contends with strength of For what has Virro painted, built, and planted ?

Only to show how many tastes he wanted. A waving glow the bloomy beds display,
What brought Sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste? Blushing in bright diversities of day,
Some demon whisper'd, “ Visto! have a taste. With silver-quivering rills meander'd o'er-
Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool, Enjoy them, you! Villario can no more ;
And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule.

Tir'd of the scene parterres and fountains yield,
See ! sportive Fate, to punish awkward pride, He finds at last he better likes a field.
Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide : Through his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus
A standing sermon, at each year's expense,

stray'd, That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence! Or sate delighted in the thickening shade,

You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse, With annual joy the reddening shoots to greet, And pompous buildings once were things of use. Or see the stretching branches long to meet! Yet shall

, my lord, your just, your noble rules His son's fine taste an opener Vista loves, Fill half the land with imitating fools ;

Foe to the Dryads of his father's groves; Who random drawings from your sheets shall take, One boundless green, or flourish'd carpet views And of one beauty many blunders make;

With all the mournful family of yews : Load some vain church with old theatric state, The thriving plants, ignoble broomsticks made, Turn arts of triumph to a garden-gate;

Now sweep those alleys they were born to shade. Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all At Timon's villa let us pass a day, On some patch'd dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall; Where all cry out, “ What sums are thrown away" Then clap four slices of pilaster on 't,

So proud, so grand; of that stupendous air, That, lac'd with bits of rustic, makes a front. Soft and agreeable come never there. Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar, Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door ;

As brings all Brobdignag before your thought. Conscious they act a true Palladian part,

To compass this, his building is a town, And if they starve, they starve by rules of art. His pond an ocean, his parterre a down :

Oft have you hinted to your brother peer, Who but must laugh, the master when he sees, A certain truth, which many buy too dear :

A puny insect, shivering at a breeze! Something there is more needful than expense, Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around ! And something previous ev'n to taste -

'tis sense :

The whole a labour'd quarry above ground.
Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, Two Cupids squirt before: a lake behind
And, though no science, fairly worth the seven : Improves the keenness of the northern wind.
A light which in yourself you must perceive; His gardens next your admiration call,
Jones and Le Notre have it not to give.

On every side you look, behold the wall!
To build, to plant, whatever you intend, No pleasing intricacies intervene,
To rear the column, or the arch to bend,

No artful wildness to perplex the scene;
To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot;

Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, In all, let Nature never be forgot.

And half the platform just reflects the other But treat the goddess like a modest fair,

The suffering eye inverted Nature sees, Nor over-dress, nor leave her wholly bare;

Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees; Let not each beauty every where be spy'd,

With here a fountain, never to be play'd ; Where half the skill is decently to hide.

And there a summer-house that knows no shade ; He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bowers; Surprizes, varies, and conceals the bounds.

There gladiators fight, or die in flowers; Consult the genius of the place in all;

Unwater'd see the drooping sea-horse mourn, That tells the waters or to rise, or fall;

And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn. Or helps th' ambitious hill the heavens to scale, My lord advances with majestic mien, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;

Smit with the mighty pleasure to be seen : Calls in the country, catches opening glades, But soft - by regular approach — not yet Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades; First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat ; Now breaks, or now directs th' intending lines ; And when up ten steep slopes you've dragg'd your Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.

thighs, Still follow sense, of every art the soul,

Just at his study-door he'll bless your eyes Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, His study! with what authors is it stor'd ? Spontaneous beauties all around advance,

In books, not authors, curious is my lord; Start ev'n from difficulty, strike from chance ; To all their dated backs he turns you round; Nature shall join you ; Time shall make it grow These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound. A work to wonder at - perhaps a Stow.

Lo, some are vellum, and the rest as good Without it, proud Versailles ! thy glory falls ; For all his lordship knows, but they are wood. And Nero's terraces desert their walls :

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