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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 sold, my father's house is gone ; 155 I'll hire another's; is not that my own, And yours, my friends ? through whose free op’ning

gate None comes too early, none departs too late ; (For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.) 160 “ Pray Heav'n it last! (cries Swift) as you go on « I wish to God this house had been your own : “ Pity! to build, without a son or wife : Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life.” Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one, 165 Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon ? What's property ? dear Swift ! you see it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter ; Or, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's share ; Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir ;

170 Or, in pure equity, (the case not clear,) The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year : At best, it falls to some ungracious son, Who cries, “ My father's damn'd, and all's my



VER. 152. double tax’d,] An additional tax was laid on the estates of papists and nonjurors.

Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford, 175
Become the portion of a booby lord ;
And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a scriv'ner or a city knight.
Let lands and houses have what lords they will,
Let us be fix’d, and our own masters still. 180

Ver. 175. that to Bacon could) Gorhambury, near St. Alban's, a fine and venérable old mansion.

Ver. 177. proud Buckingham's, &c.] Villiers Duke of Buckingham.





ST. John, whose love indulg'd my labours past,

Matures my present, and shall bound my last !
Why will you break the Sabbath of my days?
Now sick alike of envy and of praise.
Public too long, ah let me hide my age !

See modest Cibber now has left the stage :
Our Gen’rals now, retir'd to their estates,
Hang their old trophies o’er the garden gates,
In life's cool ev'ning satiate of applause,
Nor fond of bleeding, ev'n in BRUNSWICK's cause.

A voice there is, that whispers in my ear, ('Tis reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear,) “ Friend Pope! be prudent, let your muse take “ And never gallop Pegasus to death ; [breath, " Lest stiff, and stately, void of fire or force, 15 “ You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's " horse."

Farewell Ver. 3. Sabbath of my days ?) 1. e. The 49th year, the age of the author.



Farewell then verse, and love, and ev'ry toy,
The rhymes and rattles of the man or boy ;
What right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care- for this is all :
To lay this harvest up, and hoard with haste
What ev'ry day will want, and most, the last.

But ask not, to what doctors I apply?
Sworn to no master, of no sect am I:
As drives the storm, at any door I knock: 25
And house with Montagne now, or now with Locke.
Sometimes a patriot, active in debate,
Mix.with the world, and battle for the state,
Free as young Lyttelton, her cause pursue,
Still true to virtue, and as warm as true :

30 Sometimes with Aristippus, or St. Paul, Indulge my candor, and grow all to all; Back to my native moderation slide, And win my way by yielding to the tide.

34 Long, as to him who works for debt, the day, Long as the night to her whose love's away, Long as the year's dull circle seems to run, When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one : So slow th' unprofitable moments roll, That lock up all the functions of my

40 That keep me from myself; and still delay Life's instant business to a future day:



Ver. 29. Free as young Lyt!elton,] Afterwards the celebrated Lord Lyttelton.

That task, which as we follow, or despise,
The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise.
Which done, the poorest can no wants endure ; 45
And which not done, the richest must be poor.

Late as it is, I put myself to school,
And feel some comfort, not to be a fool.
Weak tho' I am of limb, and short of sight,
Far from the lynx, and not a giant quite ; 50
I'll do what Mead and Cheselden advise,
To keep these limbs, and to preserve these eyes.
Not to go back, is somewhat to advance,
And men must walk at least before they dance.

Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom move 55 With wretched av'rice, or as wretched love? Know, there are words, and spells, which can control Between the fits this fever of the soul; Know, there are rhymes, which fresh and fresh apply'd Will cure the arrant'st puppy of his pride.

Be furious, envious, slothful, mad, or drunk,
Slave to a wife, or vassal to a punk,
A Switz, a High-Dutch, or a Low-Dutch bear;
All that we ask is but a patient ear.

'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor;
And the first wisdom, to be fool no more.
But to the world no bugbear is so great,
As want of figure, and a small estate.
To either India see the merchant fly,
Scar'd at the spectre of pale poverty !

70 See


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