Mean while, with these rude Elements, as I can,
I form My-self, and folace my Defects,
Till Leifure give me Better---Who forbears
To clear his dimmer Sight, because he hopes not
For LYNCEUS' piercing Eyes? or, in despair
Of GLYCON's Strength, neglects t'expell the Gout
From Feet or Hands? What if we may not reach
The Pitch of ancient Worthies? A Degree,
Tho' short of Theirs, will yet deferve our Pains.
The fecond Victor at the Goal bears off
The second Prize: And, if we can no farther,
'Tis yet fome Honour to have gone so far.
Does Jealousy of Want, or real Need,
Or Thirst of Wealth Infatiable, torment

Your fickly Thoughts? Soft Words may be apply'd,
Lenient of Grief, with Power to cure, or ease
The Fever of your Soul. Does Luft of Praise
Immoderate, or impotent Defire

Of Empire, boil in your tumultuous Breast?

Some grave Discourse, with well-purg'd Eyes thrice read, Will calm the Tempeft, and compofe your Mind.

Envious, or Slothful, Paffionate, a Sot,
Or Lover? There is None fo wild a Beaft,
But may be tam'd by Discipline, if once
He lend to wholfome Words a willing Ear.
'Tis Virtue to fhun Vice; and to renounce
Folly, the First Step to Wisdom. Behold!
With what huge Toils of Body and of Mind
You anxiously endeavour to avoid
Difgrace and Poverty; in Your Esteem
The Worft of Evils. For a little Gain
Eager, thro' Sands, Rocks, Storms and Calentures,
And all the Dangers of the Sea you run,
Fearless, to th' utmoft Indies-To remove
Your false Opinions, and to cure your Soul
Of its fond Wishes, will you not so much
As liften to Inftruction, and attend

At Wisdom's Door ?---Who, that may win the Prize
With Honour at th' Olympics, and receive

The Crown from all-applauding Greece, wou'd chufe
To wrestle in a Country-Ring, and boast

His brawny Strength before admiring Clowns ?

Το

To Silver Brafs, Silver to Gold, and Gold

To VIRTUE yields, in Reason's Balance weigh'd.
Oh! Citizens, Firft Money's to be fought;

After That, Virtue. In the Forum, This

Is the perpetual Cant. This, Old and Young
Repeat, their Writing-Tables and their Bags
Under their Arms. If to the Sum requir'd by Law
Of Sefterces, but fix or feven be wanting;
What! tho' You're Brave and Eloquent, of Life
Unblameable, You're a Plebeian ftill,

Rankt with the Vulgar Throng.---The Children yet
Chaunt in the Streets at Play, Do Right, and You
Shall be a King.---Be This thy Wall of Brass,
To know No Crime, to wear No Guilty Face!
Whether d'ye think is beft, That Rofcian Law
Of Rome Degenerate, or This trite Song,
(Lov'd and admir'd by our great Ancestors)
Which crowns the Virtuous with a Diadem?
Is His the better Counfel, who perfuades,
My Son, get Money; Money, if you can,
Justly; if not, get Money till you fland

Above

Above the Crowd, a Knight or Senator :
Or His, who bids you own a generous Soul,
And with a lofty Brow and free Disdain
Answer the Pride of Fortune and her Spite?
But if the Roman People ask me---
--Why
I live not in the Same Opinions---As

In the Same Walls; nor with like Paffion feek
What they pursue, nor what they shun, avoid;
The Answer that the crafty Fox return'd
To the fick Lion, I apply to Them;
Because I fee the Print of Feet all to ye,
None from ye: You're a Beast of many Heads,
All looking different Ways; which then, I pray,
Or whither should I follow? These engross
The Public Works a-great; while Others farm
The Customs; rent the Common Sewers.
With trifling Presents greedy Widows; Some
For Childless Mifers angle, who are caught,
Like Fish, with baited Hook. By Ufury,
A griping Kind, thrive Others. Thus are All
Engag'd a Several Way; and yet scarce One

Some court

Among

Among 'em All, that for a fingle Hour
Affects the fame, true to his firft Defires.

No Haven in the World, No Place excells
The pleafant Baix, fays a Wealthy Lord.

Cover'd with Workmen, ftrait the Lucrine Lake
Some fudden Thought

His Building Fury feels.

Alters the Scheme: To-morrow, Carpenters,
Pack up your Tools, for I intend my Seat

At fair Theanum.

Is the Genial Bed

Rear'd in his Chamber? Oh! the Happiness
Of Batchelors! How bleft th' Unmarried State,
Free from all Cares! If he be fingle still,
He fwears, the Wedded is the Only Life,
And there's No Comfort like a Bofom Friend.
Where shall we find Bands ftrong enough to hold
This changeful PROTEUS? Is the Poor Man then
More fteady? No: He fhifts his Lodgings, Beds,
Tables, Taylors and Baths: They All displease him.
On Holy-days, when he on Tyber fails

In a Hir'd Skiff, he is as Humourfom

As the Rich Lord in his Own Gilded Yacht,
C