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His daughter flaunts a Viscount's tawdry wife;
She bears a coronet and p-x for life.

In Britain's senate he a seat obtains,
And one more pensioner St. Stephen gains.
My lady falls to play; so bad her chance

He must repair it; takes a bribe from France:
The House impeach him; Coningsby harangues;
The Court forsake him, and Sir Balaam hangs.
Wife, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own;
His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown:
The devil and the king divide the prize;
And sad Sir Balaam curses God and dies.

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EPISTLE IV.

TO RICHARD BOYLE EARL OF BURLINGTON.

Of the use of Riches.

THE ARGUMENT.

THE vanity of expence in people of wealth and quality. The abuse of the word Taste, v. 13. That the first principle and foundation in this, as in every thing else, is good sense, v. 40. The chief proof of it is to follow Nature, even in works of mere luxury and elegance. Instanced in architecture and gardening, where all must be adapted to the genius and use of the place, and the beauties not forced into it, but resulting from it, v. 50. How men are disappointed in their most expensive undertakings for want of this true foundation, without which nothing can please long, if at all; and the best examples and rules will be but perverted into something burthensome and ridiculous, v. 65 to 92. A description of the false taste of magnificence; the first grand error of which is to imagine that greatness consists in the size and dimension, instead of the proportion and harmony, of

the whole, v. 97; and the second, either in joining together parts incoherent, or too minutely resembling, or, in the repitition of the same, too frequently, v. 105, &c. A word or two of false Taste in books, in music, in painting, even in preaching and prayer; and, lastly, in entertainments, v. 133, &c.: yet Providence is justified in giving wealth to be squandered in this manner, since it is dispersed to the poor and laborious part of mankind, v. 169. [recurring to what is laid down in the First Book, Ep. ii. and in the Epistle preceding this, v. 159, &c.] What are the proper objects of magnificence, and a proper field for the expence of great men, v. 177, &c. and, finally, the great and public works which become a prince, v. 191, to the end.

"TIS strange the miser should his cares employ
To gain those Riches he can ne'er enjoy:
Is it less strange the prodigal should waste
His wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats;
Artists must chuse his pictures, music, meats.
He buys for Topham drawings and designs,
For Pembroke statues dirty gods and coins;
Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone,
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.
Think we all these are for himself? no more
Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.

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For what has Viro painted, built, and planted? Only to show how many tastes he wanted. What brought Sir Vito's ill got wealth to waste? 15 Some dæmon whisper'd, "Vito! have a taste." Heav'n visits with a taste the wealthy fool, And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule See sportive Fate, to punish aukward pride, Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide: A standing sermon at each years expence, That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence! You show us Rome was glorious, not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of use; Yet shall, my Lord, your just, your noble, rules Fill half the land with imitating fools,

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Who random drawings from your sheets shall take,
And of one beauty many blunders make;

Load some vain church with old theatric state,
Turn arcs of triumph to a garden gate;

Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all

On some patch'd doghole ek'd with ends or wall;
Then clap for slices of pilaster on't,

That lac'd with bits of rustic makes a front;
Shall call the winds thro' long arcades to roar,
Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;
Conscious they act a true Palladian part,
And if they starve they starve by rules of art.
Oft' have you hinted to your brother peer
A certain truth, which many buy too dear:
Something there is more needful than expence,
And something precious ev'n to taste-'tis sense;
Good sense, which only is the gift of Heav'n,
And tho' no science, fairly worth the sev❜n;
A light which in yourself you must perceive;
Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give.

To build, to plant, whatever you intend,
To rear the column, or the arch to bend,
To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot,
In all let nature never be forget;
But treat the goddess like a modest fair,
Nor overdress, nor leave her wholly bare;

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