"Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door; "A hundred oxen at your levee roar." Poor Avarice one torment more would find; His Grace will game: to White's a Bull be led, Drive to St. James's a whole herd of fwine? To spoil the nation's laft great trade, Quadrille! Meat, Fire, and Cloaths. B. What more? P. Meat, Is this too little? would you more than live? Can they, in gems bid Pallid Hippia glow, With all the embroidery plaister'd at thy tail? 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 tearlefs 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 and the Slave that hides. mere Charity fhould own, The Slave that digs it, B. Who fuffer thus, Muft act on motives powerful, tho' unknown. P. Some war, fome plague, or famine they forefee, Some Revelation hid from you and me. Why Shylock wants a meal, the caufe is found, What made Directors cheat in South-fea year! Afk you why Phryne the whole Auction buys? Why she and Sappho rais'd that Monft'rous fum? Wife Peter fees the World's refpect for Gold, Much injur'd Blunt; why bears he Britain's hate? Shall deluge all; And Avarice creeping on, "Spread like a low-born mift, and blot the fun; "Statesman and Patriot ply alike the Stocks, Peerefs and Butler fhare alike the Box, "And Judges job, and Bishops bite the town, "And mighty Dukes pack cards for half a crown. "See Britain funk in lucres' fordid charms, [arms!" "And France reveng'd of ANNE's and EDWARD'S '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 And nobly wishing Party-rage to cease, Hear then the truth: "'Tis Heav'n each paffion fends "And different men directs to different ends, "Extremes in Nature equal good produce, Extremes in Man concur to general ufe.” Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow? That POWER who bids the ocean ebb and flow, Bids feed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, Thro' 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 feason fly. Who fees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the Poor; This year a Refervoir, to keep and spare; The next a Fountain, spouting thro' his Heir, In lavish ftreams 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, His court with nettles, moats with creffes ftor'd, Than Bramins, Saints, and Sages did before; To cram the Rich was prodigal expence, And who would take the Poor from Providence? No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor found, Curfe the fav'd candle, and unop'ning door; Not fo his Son, he mark'd this overfight, More go to ruin Fortunes, than to raise. What flaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine, |