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'Why had not I in thofe good times
"To have a Tafte is infolence indeed:
Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy store,
finely. But if ever there was an Original in Poetry it was Pope. But his fancy was fo corrected by his judgment, and his imitation fo fpirited by his genius, that what he improved ftruck the vulgar eye more strongly than what he invented.
* Templa ruunt antiqua Deûm? cur, improbe, carae
Quo magis his credas: puer
Integris opibus novi non latius usum,
VER. 122. As M* *o's uas, &c.] I think this light stroke of fatire ill placed; and that it hurts the dignity of the preceding morality. Horace was very ferious, and properly fo, when he faid,
"cur, Improbe! carae
"Non aliquid patriae tanto emetiris acervo.”
He remembered, and hints with just 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 expensive pleasures what was fufficient for the fup
Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall?
per cent. 'Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her
Prepares a dreadful jeft for all mankind.
And who ftands fafeft? tell me, is it he 125
* Thus BETHEL fpoke, who always fpeaks his thought,
And always thinks the very thing he ought: 130 His equal mind I copy what I can,
And as I love, would imitate the Man.
In South-fea days not happier, when surmis'd The Lord of Thousands, than if now "Excis'd; In forest planted by a Father's hand,
Than in five acres now of rented land.
port of fo great a caufe. He had prepared his apology for this liberty, in the preceding line, where he pays a fine compliment to Auguftus :
which oblique Panegyric the Imitator has very properly turned into a direct ftroke of fatire.
VER. 133. In South-Sea days not happier, &c.] Mr. Pope had South-fea stock, which he did not fell out. It was valued at between twenty and thirty thousand pounds when it fell.
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,
Sed pullo atque boedo: tum penfilis uva fecundas
Et nux ornabat menfas, cum duplice ficu.
Poft hoc ludus erat cuppa potare magistra :
Ac vencrata Ceres, ita culmo furgeret alto,
Saeviat atque novos moveat Fortuna tumultus! Quantum hinc imminuet? quanto aut ego parcius,
O pueri, nituiftis, ut huc novus incola venit ?
VER. 150. And, what's more rare, a Poct fhall fay Grace.] The pleafantry of this line confifts in the fuppofed rarity of a Poet's having a table of his own; or a fenfe of gra titude for the bleffings he receives. But it contains, too,
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 myThames affords: To Hounslow-heath I point, and Bansted-down, Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own:
'From yon old walnut-tree a show'r fhall fall; 145 And grapes, long ling'ring on my only wall, And figs from standard and espalier 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. 150 Fortune not much of humbling me can boast; Tho' double tax'd, how little have I lost?
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; 155 I'll hire another's; is not that my own, friends? thro" whofe free-op'ning
None comes too early, none departs too late;
a fober reproof of people of condition, for their unmanly and brutal difufe of fo natural a duty.