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The fool, whose wife elopes some thrice a quarter,
For matrimonial solace dies a martyr.

Did ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch,
Transform themselves so strangely as the rich ?
Well, but the poor---the poor have the same itch ;
They change their weekly barber, weekly news,
Prefer a new japanner to their shoes,

156 Discharge their garrets, move their beds, and run (They know not whither) in a chaise and one ; They hire their sculler, and when once abroad, Grow sick, and damn the climate - like a lord. 160

You laugh, half beau, half sloven if I stand, My wig all powder, and all snuff my band ; You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary, White gloves, and linen worthy Lady Mary! But when no prelate's lawn with hair-shirt lin'd, Is half so incoherent as my mind, When (each opinion with the next at strife, One ebb and Aow of follies all my life) I plant, root up; I build, and then confound; Turn round to square, and square again to round; You never change one muscle of your face, 171 You think this madness but a common case, Nor once to Chanc'ry, nor to Hale apply ; Yet hang your lip, to see a seam awry! Careless how ill I with myself agree,

175 Kind to my dress, my figure, not to me, Is this my guide, philosopher, and friend? This he, who loves me, and who ought to mend?



Who ought to make me (what he can, or none)
That man divine whom wisdom calls her own; 180
Great without title, without fortune bless’d;
Rich ev'n when plunder'd, honour'd while oppress'd;
Lov'd without youth, and follow'd without pow'r;
At home, tho' exild; free, tho' in the Tow'r;
In short, that reas'ning, high, immortal thing, 185
Just less than Jove, and much above a king,
Nay, half in heav'n-except (what's mighty odd)
A fit of vapours clouds this demy-god.





“ NOT to admire, is all the art I know,

To make men happy, and to keep them so.' (Plain truth, dear MURRAY, needs no flow'rs of

speech, So take it in the very words of Creech.) This vault of air, this congregated ball,

5 Self-center'd sun, and stars that rise and fall, There are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes Look through, and trust the Ruler with his skies, To him commit the hour, the day, the year, And view this dreadful all without a fear. Admire we then what earth's low entrails hold, Arabian shores, or Indian seas ínfold ; All the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold? Or popularity? or stars and strings? The mob's applauses, or the gifts of kings? 15



* Afterwards the celebrated Lord Mansfield. This was written 1737.

VER. 4. Creech.] From whose translation of Horace the two frst Sines are taken. VOL. III



Say with what eyes we ought at courts to gaze,
And pay the great our homage of amaze?

If weak the pleasure that from these can spring,
The fear to want them is as weak a thing :
Whether we dread, or whether we desire,
In either case, believe me, we admire ;
Whether we joy or grieve, the same the curse,
Surpriz'd at better, or surpriz'd at worse.
Thus good or bad, to one extreme betray
Th' unbalanc'd mind, and snatch the man away ; 25
For virtue's self may too much zeal be had ;
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.

Go then, and if you can, admire the state Of beaming diamonds, and reflected plate; Procure a Taste to double the surprize, And gaze on Parian charms with learned eyes : Be struck with bright brocade, or Tyrian dye, Our birth-day uobles' splendid livery. If not so pleas’d, at council-board rejoice, To see their judgments hang upon thy voice ; 35 From morn to night, at Senate, Rolls, and Hall, Plead much, read more, dine late, or not at all. But wherefore all this labour, all this strife? For fame, for riches, for a noble wife? Shall one whom nature, learning, birth, conspir'd To form, not to admire, but be admir'd,

41 Sigh, while his Chloe blind to wit and worth Weds the rich dulness of some son of earth?



Yet time ennobles, or degrades each line;
It brighten’d Craggs's, and may darken thine :

And what is fame ? the meanest have their day,
The greatest can but blaze, and pass away.
Grac'd as thou art, with all the pow'r of words,
So known, so honour'd, at the House of Lords :
Conspicuous scene ! another yet is nigh,

50 (More silent far,) where kings and poets lie ; Where MURRAY (long enough his country's pride) Shall be no more than Tully, or than Hyde !

Rack'd with sciatics, martyr'd with the stone,
Will any mortal let himself alone ?
See Ward by batter'd beaus invited over,
And desp'rate misery lays hold on Dover.
The case is easier in the mind's disease ;
There all men may be cur'd, whene'er they please.
Would ye be blest ? despise low joys, low gains ;
Disdain whatever CORNBURY disdains ;

61 Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.

But art thou one, whom new opinions sway, One who believés as Tindal leads the




Ver. 45. It brighten'd Craggs's,] His father had been in a low situation; but, hy industry and ability, got to be post master general and agent to the Duke of Marlborough.

Ver: 56. 57. Ward - Dover.] Celebrated empirics.

Ver. 61. Whatever CORNBURY disdains ;] When Lord Cornþury returned from his travels, the late Earl of Essex, bis brotherin-law, told him he had got a handsome pension for him. To which Lord Cornbury answered with a composed dignity -- How could you tell, my Lord, that I was to be sold ; or, at least, how came you to know my price so exactly? To this anecdote Pope alludes.

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