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'Why had not I in thofe good times
Ere coxcomb-pyes or coxcombs were on earth?
Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear,
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, "freshfturgeon and ham-pye
Are no rewards for want, and infamy!
When Luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf, 105
Curs'd by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself,
To friends, to fortune, to mankind a fhame,
Think how posterity will treat thy name;
And buy a rope, that future times may
Thou haft at least bestow'd one penny well. 110
« Right,” cries his Lordship, " for a rogue in

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"To have a Tafte is infolence indeed:
"In me 'tis noble, fuits my birth and state,
Mywealth unwieldy, and my heap too great."
Then, like the Sun, let' Bounty spread her ray, 115
And shine that fuperfluity away.

Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy store,
How dar'ft thou let one worthy man be poor?


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
Non aliquid patriae tanto emetiris acervo ?
Uni nimirum tibi recte femper erunt res?
O magnus pofthac inimicis rifus! uterne
"Ad cafus dubios fidet fibi certius? hic, qui
Pluribus affuêrit mentem corpufque fuperbum;
An qui contentus parvo metuensque futuri,
In pace, ut fapiens, aptarit idonea bello?

Quo magis his credas: puer
puer hunc


Integris opibus novi non latius usum,
Quam nunc accifis. Videas, metato in agello,
Cum pecore et gnatis, fortem mercede colonum,
Non ego, narrantem, temere edi luce profesta

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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?
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. 'Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her


Prepares a dreadful jeft for all mankind.

And who ftands fafeft? tell me, is it he 125
That spreads and fwells in puff'd Prosperity,
Or bleft with little, whose 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: 130 His equal mind I copy what I can,

And as I love, would imitate the Man.

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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.

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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 :

66 quare
"Templa ruunt antiqua Deûm ?"

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,
Explicuit vino contractae feria frontis.

Saeviat atque novos moveat Fortuna tumultus! Quantum hinc imminuet? quanto aut ego parcius,


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aut vos,

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


yours, my


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.

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