MORAL ESSAYS.
[Price one shilling.]
MORAL ESSAYS, IN FOUR EPISTLES.
BY
ALEXANDER POPE,
ESQ.
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se
Inpediat verbis lassis onerantibus aures:
Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso,
Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae,
Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque
Extenuantis eas consulto.
HOR.
GLASGOW:
Printed by R. URIE, MDCCLIV.
MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE I.
TO Sir RICHARD TEMPLE, Lord COBHAM.
ARGUMENT. Of the Knowlege and Characters of MEN.
THAT it is not sufficient for this knowlege to consider man in the
abstract: books
will not serve the purpose, nor yet our own
experience
singly,
v. 1.
General maxims, unless they be formed upon
both,
will be but notional,
v. 10.
Some peculiarity in every man, characteristic to himself, yet varying from himself,
v. 15.
Difficulties arising from our own passions, fancies, faculties,
etc. v. 31.
The shortness of life, to observe in, and the uncertainty of the
principles of action
in men, to observe by,
v. 37, etc.
Our
own
principle of action often hid from ourselves,
v. 41.
Some few characters plain, but in general confounded, dissembled, or inconsistent,
v. 51.
The same man utterly different in different places and seasons,
v. 71.
Unimaginable weaknesses in the greatest,
v. 70, etc.
Nothing constant and certain but God and Nature,
v. 95.
No judging of the
motives
from the actions; the same actions proceeding from contrary motives, and the same motives influencing contrary actions,
v. 100. II.
Yet to form
characters,
we can only take the
strongest actions
of a man's life, and try to make them
agree:
the utter uncertainty of this, from
nature
itself, and from
policy, v. 120. Characters
given according to the
rank
of men of the world,
v. 135.
And some reason for it,
v. 140. Education
alters the
nature,
or at least
character,
of many,
v. 149. Actions, passions, opinions, manners, humours,
or
principles,
all subject to change. No judging by
nature,
from
v. 158
to
178. III.
It only remains to find (if we can) his
RULING PASSION:
that will certainly influence all the rest, and can reconcile the seeming or real inconsistency of all his actions,
v. 175.
Instanced in the extraordinary character of
Clodio, v. 179.
A caution against mistaking
second qualities
for
first,
which will destroy all possibility of the knowlege of mankind,
v. 210.
Examples of the strength of the
ruling passion,
and its continuation to the last breath,
v. 222, etc.
EPISTLE I.
YES, you despise the man to books confin'd,
Who from his study rails at human kind;
Tho' what he learns he speaks, and may advance
Some gen'ral maxims, or be right by chance.
The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave,
That from his cage cries cuckold, whore, and knave,
Tho' many a passenger he rightly call,
You hold him no philosopher at all.
And yet the fate of all extremes is such,
Men may be read, as well as books, too much.
To observations which ourselves we make,
We grow more partial for th' observer's sake;
To written wisdom, as another's, less:
Maxims are drawn from notions, those from guess.
There's some peculiar in each leaf and grain,
Some unmark'd fibre, or some varying vein:
Shall only man be taken in the gross?
Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss.
That each from other differs, first confess;
Next, that he varies from himself no less:
Add nature's, custom's, reason's, passion's strife,
And all opinion's colours cast on life.
Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds,
Quick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds?
On human actions reason tho' you can,
It may be reason, but it is not man:
His principle of action once explore,
That instant 'tis his principle no more.
Like following life thro' creatures you dissect,
You lose it in the moment you detect.
Yet more; the diff'rence is as great between
The optics seeing, as the objects seen.
All manners take a tincture from our own;
Or come discolour'd thro' our passions shown.
Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies,
Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.
Nor will life's stream for observation stay,
It hurries all too fast to mark their way:
In vain sedate reflections we would make,
When half our knowlege we must snatch, not take.
Oft, in the passions' wild rotation tost,
Our spring of action to ourselves is lost:
Tir'd, not determin'd, to the last we yield,
And what comes then is master of the field.
As the last image of that troubled heap,
When sense subsides, and fancy sports in sleep,
(Tho' past the recollection of the thought)
Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought:
Something as dim to our internal view,
Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do.
True, some are open, and to all men known;
Others so very close, they're hid from none;
(So darkness strikes the sense no less than light)
Thus gracious CHANDOS is belov'd at sight;
And ev'ry child hates Shylock, tho' his soul
Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole.
At half mankind when gen'rous Manly raves,
All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them knaves:
When universal homage Umbra pays,
All see 'tis vice, and itch of vulgar praise.
When flatt'ry glares, all hate it in a queen,
While one there is who charms us with his spleen.
But these plain characters we rarely find;
Tho' strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind:
Or puzzling contraries confound the whole;
Or affectations quite reverse the soul.
The dull, flat falshood serves, for policy:
And in the cunning, truth itself's a lye:
Unthought-of frailties cheat us in the wise;
The fool lies hid in inconsistencies.
See the same man, in vigour, in the gout;
Alone, in company; in place, or out;
Early at bus'ness, and at hazard late;
Mad at a fox-chace, wise at a debate;
Drunk at a borough, civil at a ball;
Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall.
Catius is ever moral, ever grave,
Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave,
Save just at dinner—then prefers, no doubt,
A rogue with ven'son to a saint without.
Who would not praise Patritio's high desert,
His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart,
His comprehensive head! all int'rests weigh'd,
All Europe sav'd, yet Britain not betray'd.
He thanks you not, his pride is in picquette,
New-market-fame, and judgment at a bett.
What made, (say Montagne, or more sage Charron!)
Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?
A perjur'd prince a leaden saint revere,
VER. 89.—
A perjur'd prince
] Louis XI. of France wore in his hat a leaden image of the Virgin Mary, which when he swore by, he feared to break his oath.
A godless regent tremble at a star?
The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit,
VER. 91.
The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit,
] Philip V. of Spain, who, after renouncing the throne for religion, resumed it to gratify his queen; and Victor Amadeus II. king of Sardinia, who resigned the crown, and trying to reassume it, was imprisoned till his death.
Faithless thro' piety, and dup'd thro' wit?
Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule,
And just her wisest monarch made a fool?
Know GOD and NATURE only are the same:
In man, the judgment shoots at flying game;
A bird of passage! gone as soon as found,
Now in the moon perhaps, now under ground.
In vain the sage, with retrospective eye,
Would from th' apparent what conclude the why,
Infer the motive from the deed, and shew
That what we chanc'd was what we meant to do.
Behold! if fortune or a mistress frowns,
Some plunge in bus'ness, others shave their crowns:
To ease the soul of one oppressive weight,
This quits an empire, that embroils a state:
The same adust complexion has impell'd
Charles to the convent, Philip to the field.
Not always actions shew the man: we find
Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind;
Perhaps prosperity becalm'd his breast,
Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east:
Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat,
Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great:
Who combats bravely is not therefore brave,
He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave:
Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,
His pride in reas'ning, not in acting lies.
But grant that actions best discover man;
Take the most strong, and sort them as you can.
The few that glare, each character must mark,
You balance not the many in the dark.
What will you do with such as disagree?
Suppress them, or miscall them policy?
Must then at once (the character to save)
The plain rough hero turn a crafty knave?
Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind,
Perhaps was sick, in love, or had not din'd.
Ask why from Britain Caesar would retreat?
Caesar himself might whisper he was beat.
Why risk the world's great empire for a punk?
Caesar perhaps might answer he was drunk.
But, sage historians! 'tis your task to prove
One action conduct; one, heroic love.
'Tis from high life high characters are drawn:
A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn;
A judge is just, a chanc'lor juster still;
A gownman, learn'd; a bishop, what you will;
Wise, if a minister; but, if a king,
More wise, more learn'd, more just, more ev'ry thing.
Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate,
Born where heav'n's influence scarce can penetrate:
In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like,
They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
Tho' the same sun with all-diffusive rays
Blush in the rose, and in the di'mond blaze,
We prize the stronger effort of his pow'r,
And justly set the gem above the flow'r.
'Tis education forms the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd.
Boastful and rough, your first son is a 'squire;
The next a tradesman, meek, and much a lyar;
Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave;
Will sneaks a scriv'ner, an exceeding knave:
Is he a churchman? then he's fond of pow'r:
A quaker? sly: A presbyterian? sow'r:
A smart free-thinker? all things in an hour.
Ask men's opinions: Scoto now shall tell
How trade increases, and the world goes well;
Strike off his pension, by the setting sun,
And Britain, if not Europe, is undone.
That gay free-thinker, a fine talker once,
What turns him now a stupid silent dunce?
Some God or Spirit he has lately found;
Or chanc'd to meet a minister that frown'd.
Judge we by nature? Habit can efface,
Int'rest o'ercome, or policy take place:
By actions? those uncertainty divides:
By passions? these dissimulation hides:
Opinions? they still take a wider range:
Find if you can, in what you cannot change.
Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes,
Tenets with books, and principles with times.
Search then the RULING PASSION: there, alone,
The wild are constant, and the cunning known;
The fool consistent, and the false sincere;
Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
This clue, once found, unravels all the rest,
The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest.
Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days,
Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise:
Born with whate'er could win it from the wise,
Women and fools must like him or he dies;
Tho' wond'ring senates hung on all he spoke,
The club must hail him master of the joke.
Shall parts so various aim at nothing new?
He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too.
VER. 187. John Wilmot, E. of Rochester, famous for his wit and extravagancies in the time of Charles the second.
Then turns repentant, and his God adores
With the same spirit that he drinks and whores;
Enough if all around him but admire,
And now the punk applaud, and now the fryer.
Thus with each gift of nature and of art,
And wanting nothing but an honest heart;
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt;
And most contemptible, to shun contempt;
His passion still, to covet gen'ral praise,
His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;
A constant bounty which no friend has made;
An angel tongue, which no man can persuade;
A fool with more of wit than half mankind,
Too rash for thought, for action too refin'd:
A tyrant to the wife her heart approves;
A rebel to the very king he loves;
He dies, sad out-cast of each church and state,
And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great.
Ask you why Wharton broke thro' ev'ry rule?
'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool.
Nature well known, no prodigies remain,
Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.
Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake,
If second qualities for first they take.
When Catiline by rapine swell'd his store;
When Caesar made a noble dame a whore;
In this the lust, in that the avarice,
Were means, not ends; ambition was the vice.
That very Caesar, born in Scipio's days,
Had aim'd, like him, by chastity at praise.
Lucullus, when frugality could charm,
Had roasted turnips in the Sabin farm.
In vain th' observer eyes the builder's toil,
But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile.
In this one passion man can strength enjoy,
As fits give vigour, just when they destroy.
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand.
Consistent in our follies and our sins,
Here honest nature ends as she begins.
Old politicians chew on wisdom past,
And totter on in bus'ness to the last;
As weak, as earnest; and as gravely out,
As sober Lanesb'row dancing in the gout.
VER. 231.
Lanesborow
] An ancient nobleman, who continued this practice long after his legs were disabled by the gout. Upon the death of prince George of Denmark, he demanded an audience of the queen, to advise her to preserve her health and dispel her grief by
dancing.
Behold a rev'rend fire, whom want of grace
Has made the father of a nameless race,
Shov'd from the wall, perhaps, or rudely press'd
By his own son, that passes by unbless'd:
Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees,
And envies ev'ry sparrow that he sees.
A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate;
The doctor call'd, declares all help too late:
" Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my soul!
" Is there no hope?—Alas!—then bring the jowl."
The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend,
Still tries to save the hallow'd taper's end,
Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires,
For one puff more, and in that puff expires.
" Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke,
(Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke)
VER. 247.—
the last words that poor Narcissa spoke
] This story, as well as the others, is founded on fact, though the author had the goodness not to mention the names. Several attribute this in particular to a very celebrated actress, who; in detestation of the thought of being buried in woollen, gave these her last orders with her dying breath.
" No, let a charming Chintz, and Brussels lace,
" Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face:
" One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead—
" And—Betty—give this cheek a little red."
The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd
An humble servant to all human kind,
Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir,
" If—where I'm going—I could serve you, Sir?"
" I give and I devise, (old Euclio said,
And sigh'd) "my lands and tenements to Ned.
Your money, Sir?—"My money, Sir, what all?
" Why,—if I must—(then wept) I give it Paul.
" The manor, Sir?—"The manor! hold, he cry'd,
" Not that,—I cannot part with that"—and dy'd.
And you! brave COBHAM, to the latest breath
Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death:
Such in those moments as in all the past,
" Oh, save my country, heav'n!" shall be your last.
VARIATIONS.
After v. 86, in the former editions,
Triumphant leaders, at an army's head,
Hemm'd round with glories, pilfer cloth or bread:
As meanly plunder as they bravely fought,
Now save a people, and now save a groat.
VER. 129. in the former editions,
Ask why from Britain Caesar made retreat?
Caesar himself would tell you he was beat.
The mighty Czar what mov'd to wed a punk?
The mighty Czar would tell you he was drunk.
In the former editions, v. 208.
Nature well known, no Miracles remain.
MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE II.
TO A LADY.
Of the Characters of WOMEN.
NOTHING so true as what you once let fall,
" Most women have no characters at all."
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.
How many pictures of one nymph we view,
All how unlike each other, all how true!
Arcadia's Countess, here, in ermin'd pride,
VER. 7, 8, 10, etc.
Arcadia's Countess,—Pastora by a fountain,—Leda with a swan,—Magdalen,—Cecilia—
] Attitudes in which several ladies affected to be drawn, and sometimes one lady in them all.—The poet's politeness and complaisance to the sex is observable in this instance, amongst others, that, whereas in the Characters of Men, he has sometimes made use of real names, in the Characters of Women, always fictitious.
Is there, Pastora by a fountain side.
VER. 7, 8, 10, etc.
Arcadia's Countess,—Pastora by a fountain,—Leda with a swan,—Magdalen,—Cecilia—
] Attitudes in which several ladies affected to be drawn, and sometimes one lady in them all.—The poet's politeness and complaisance to the sex is observable in this instance, amongst others, that, whereas in the Characters of Men, he has sometimes made use of real names, in the Characters of Women, always fictitious.
Here Fannia, leering on her own good man,
And there, a naked Leda with a swan.
VER. 7, 8, 10, etc.
Arcadia's Countess,—Pastora by a fountain,—Leda with a swan,—Magdalen,—Cecilia—
] Attitudes in which several ladies affected to be drawn, and sometimes one lady in them all.—The poet's politeness and complaisance to the sex is observable in this instance, amongst others, that, whereas in the Characters of Men, he has sometimes made use of real names, in the Characters of Women, always fictitious.
Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
In Magdalen's loose hair and lifed eye,
VER. 7, 8, 10, etc.
Arcadia's Countess,—Pastora by a fountain,—Leda with a swan,—Magdalen,—Cecilia—
] Attitudes in which several ladies affected to be drawn, and sometimes one lady in them all.—The poet's politeness and complaisance to the sex is observable in this instance, amongst others, that, whereas in the Characters of Men, he has sometimes made use of real names, in the Characters of Women, always fictitious.
Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,
VER. 7, 8, 10, etc.
Arcadia's Countess,—Pastora by a fountain,—Leda with a swan,—Magdalen,—Cecilia—
] Attitudes in which several ladies affected to be drawn, and sometimes one lady in them all.—The poet's politeness and complaisance to the sex is observable in this instance, amongst others, that, whereas in the Characters of Men, he has sometimes made use of real names, in the Characters of Women, always fictitious.
With simp'ring angels, palms, and harps divine;
Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it,
If folly grows romantic, I must paint it.
Come then, the colours and the ground prepare!
Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air;
Chuse a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it
Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.
VER. 21. Instances of contrarieties, given even from such characters as are most strongly marked, and seemingly therefore most consistent: as, I. In the Affected, ver. 21, etc.
Rufa, whose eye, quick-glancing o'er the park,
Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark,
Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,
As Sappho's di'monds with her dirty smock;
Or Sappho at her toilet's greazy task,
With Sappho fragrant at an ev'ning mask:
So morning insects that in muck begun,
Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting-sun.
VER. 29 and 37. II. Contrarieties in the Soft-natured.
How soft is Silia! fearful to offend;
The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend.
To her, Calista prov'd her conduct nice;
And good Simplicius asks of her advice.
Sudden, she storms! she raves! you tip the wink,
But spare your censure; Silia does not drink.
All eyes may see from what the change arose,
All eyes may see—a pimple on her nose.
VER. 29 and 37. II. Contrarieties in the Soft-natured.
Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark,
Sighs for the shades—"how charming is a park!"
A park is purchas'd, but the fair he sees
All bath'd in tears—"oh odious, odious trees!"
Ladies, like variegated tulips, show;
'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe;
Fine by defect, and delicately weak,
Their happy spots the nice admirer take.
VER. 45. III. Contrarieties in the Cunning and Artful.
'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd,
Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm'd;
Her tongue hewitch'd as odly as her eyes.
Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise;
Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad;
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create,
As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate.
VER. 53. IV. In the Whimsical.
Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild,
To make a wash, would hardly stew a child;
Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a lover's pray'r,
And paid a tradesman once to make him stare;
Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim,
And made a widow happy, for a whim.
Why then declare good-nature is her scorn,
When 'tis by that alone she can be born?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name?
A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame:
Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking citron with his grace and Chartres:
Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns;
And atheism and religion take their turns;
A very heathen in the carnal part,
Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart.
VER. 69. V. In the Lewd and Vicions.
See sin in state, majestically drunk;
Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk;
Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside,
A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
What then? let blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought:
Such this day's doctrine—in another fit
She sins with poets thro' pure love of wit.
What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain?
Caesar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlema'ne.
As Helluo, late dictator of the feast,
The nose of Hautgout, and the tip of taste,
Critiqu'd your wine, and analyz'd your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat:
So Philomede, lect'ring all mankind
On the soft passion, and the taste refin'd,
Th' address, the delicacy—stoops at once,
And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce.
VER. 87. Contrarieties in the Witty and Refin'd.
Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray;
To toast our wants and wishes, is her way;
Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give
The mighty blessing, "while we live, to live."
Then all for death, that opiate of the soul!
Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl.
Say, what can cause such impotence of mind?
A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind.
Wise wretch! with pleasures too refin'd to please;
With too much spirit to be e'er at ease;
With too much quickness ever to be taught;
With too much thinking to have common thought:
You purchase pain with all that joy can give,
And die of nothing but a rage to live.
Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate,
No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate.
Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends,
Because she's honest, and the best of friends.
Or her, whose life the church and scandal share,
For ever in a passion, or a pray'r.
Or her, who laughs at hell, but (like her grace)
Cries, "Ah! how charming, if there's no such place!"
Or who in sweet vicissitude appears
Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,
The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,
To kill those foes to fair ones, time and thought.
Woman and fool are too hard things to hit;
For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit.
But what are these to great Atossa's mind?
Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind!
Who, with herself, or others, from her birth
Finds all her life one warfare upon earth:
Shines, in exposing knaves, and painting fools,
Yet is, whate'er she hates and ridicules.
No thought advances, but her eddy brain
Whisks it about, and down it goes again.
Full sixty years the world has been her trade,
The wisest fool much time has ever made.
From loveless youth to unrespected age,
No passion gratify'd except her rage.
So much the fury still out-ran the wit,
The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit.
Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell,
But he's a bolder man who dares be well.
Her ev'ry turn with violence pursu'd,
Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude:
To that each passion turns, or soon or late;
Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate:
Superiors? death! and equals? what a curse;
But an inferior not dependant? worse.
Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live:
But die, and she'll adore you—then the bust
And temple rise—then fall again to dust.
Last night, her lord was all that's good and great;
A knave this morning, and his will a cheat.
Strange! by the means defeated of the ends,
By spirit robb'd of pow'r, by warmth of friends,
By wealth of follow'rs! without one distress
Sick of herself thro' very selfishness!
Atossa, curs'd with ev'ry granted pray'r,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir.
To heirs unknown descends th' unguarded store,
Or wanders, heav'n-directed, to the poor.
Pictures like these, dear madam, to design,
Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line;
Some wand'ring touches, some reflected light,
Some flying stroke alone can hit 'em right:
For how should equal colours do the knack?
Chameleons who can paint in white and black?
" Yet Cloe, sure, was form'd without a spot."—
Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot.
" With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part,
" Say, what can Cloe want?"—she wants a heart.
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;
But never, never, reach'd one gen'rous thought.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour,
Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
So very reasonable, so unmov'd,
As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.
She, while her lover pants upon her breast,
Can mark the figures on an Indian chest;
And when she sees her friend in deep despair,
Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair.
Forbid it, heav'n, a favour or a debt
She e'er should cancel—but she may forget.
Safe is your secret still in Cloe's ear;
But none of Cloe's shall you ever hear.
Of all her dears she never slander'd one,
But cares not if a thousand are undone.
Would Cloe know if you're alive or dead?
She bids her footman put it in her head.
Cloe is prudent—would you too be wise?
Then never break your heart when Cloe dies.
One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen,
Which heav'n has varnish'd out, and made a Queen:
THE SAME FOR EVER! and describ'd by all
With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball:
Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will,
And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.
'Tis well—but, artists! who can paint or write,
To draw the naked is your true delight.
That robe of quality so struts and swells,
None see what parts of nature it conceals:
Th' exactest traits of body or of mind,
We owe to models of an humble kind.
If QUEENSBERRY to strip there's no compelling,
'Tis from a handmaid we must take a Helen.
From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing
To draw the man who loves his God, or king:
Alas! I copy, (or my draught would fail)
From honest Mah'met, or plain parson Hale.
VER. 198.
Mah'met,
servant to the late king, said to be the son of a Turkish Bassa, whom he took at the siege of Buda, and constantly kept about his person.
But grant, in public men sometimes are shown,
VER. 199.
But grant, in public, etc.
] in the former editions, between this and the foregoing lines, a want of connection might be perceived, occasioned by the omission of certain
examples
and
illustrations
to the maxims laid down; and though some of these have since been found,
viz.
the characters of Philomede, Atossa, Cloe, and some verses following, others are still wanting, nor can we answer that these are exactly inserted.
A woman's seen in private life alone:
Our bolder talents in full light display'd;
Your virtues open fairest in the shade.
Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide;
There, none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride,
Weakness or delicacy; all so nice,
That each may seem a virtue, or a vice.
In men, we various ruling passions find;
VER. 207. The former part having shewn, that the
particular characters
of women are more various than those of men, it is nevertheless observed, that the
general
characteristic of the sex, as to the ruling passion, is more uniform.
In women, two almost divide the kind:
Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey,
The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.
That nature gives; and where the lesson taught
VER. 211. This is occasioned partly by their
nature,
partly their
education,
and in some degree by
necessity.
Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault?
Experience, this; by man's oppression curst,
They seek the second not to lose the first.
Men, some to bus'ness, some to pleasure take;
But ev'ry woman is at heart a rake:
Men, some to quiet, some to public strife;
But ev'ry lady would be queen for life.
VER. 219. What are the
aims
and the
fate
of this sex?—I. As to
power.
Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens!
Pow'r all their end, but beauty all the means:
In youth they conquer, with so wild a rage,
As leaves them scarce a subject in their age:
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam;
No thought of peace or happiness at home.
But wisdom's triumph is well-tim'd retreat,
As hard a science to the fair as great!
Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown,
Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone,
Worn out in public, weary ev'ry eye,
Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die.
VER. 231—II. As to
pleasure.
Pleasures the sex, as children birds, pursue,
Still out of reach, yet never out of view;
Sure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most,
To covet flying, and regret when lost:
At last, to follies youth could scarce defend,
It grows their age's prudence to pretend;
Asham'd to own they gave delight before,
Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more:
As hags hold sabbaths, less for joy than spight,
So these their merry, miserable night;
Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide,
And haunt the places where their honour dy'd.
See how the world its veterans rewards!
A youth of frolics, an old age of cards;
Fair to no purpose, artful to no end,
Young without lovers, old without a friend;
A fop their passion, but their prize a sot,
Alive, ridiculous, and dead, forgot!
VER. 249. Advice for their true interest.
Ah! friend! to dazzle let the vain design;
To raise the thought, and touch the heart be thine!
That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring,
Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing:
So when the sun's broad beam has tir'd the sight,
All mild ascends the moon's more sober light,
Serene in virgin modesty she shines,
And unobserv'd the glaring orb declines.
Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray
Can make to-morrow chearful as to-day:
She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear
Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear;
She who ne'er answers till a husband cools,
Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules;
Charms by accepting, by submitting sways,
Yet has her humour most, when she obeys;
Let fops or fortune fly which way they will;
Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille;
Spleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all,
And mistress of herself, tho' China fall.
And yet, believe me, good as well as ill,
Woman's at best a contradiction still.
Heav'n, when it strives to polish all it can
Its last best work, but forms a softer man;
Picks from each sex, to make the fav'rite blest,
Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest:
Blends, in exception to all gen'ral rules,
Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools:
Reserve with frankness, art with truth ally'd,
Courage with softness, modesty with pride;
Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new;
Shakes all together, and produces—you.
Be this a woman's fame: with this unblest,
Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest.
This Phoebus promis'd (I forget the year)
When those blue eyes first open'd on the sphere;
Ascendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with care,
Averted half your parent's simple pray'r;
And gave you beauty, but deny'd the pelf
That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself.
The gen'rous god, who wit and gold refines,
And ripens spirits as he ripens mines,
Kept dross for duchesses, the world shall know it,
To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.
VARIATIONS.
VER. 77.
What has not fir'd etc.
] in the MS.
In whose mad brain the mixt ideas roll
Of Tall-boy's breeches, and of Caesar's soul.
After ver. 122. in the MS.
Oppress'd with wealth and wit, abundance sad!
One makes her poor, the other makes her mad.
After ver. 148, in the MS.
This death decides, nor lets the blessing fall
On any one she hates, but on them all.
Curs'd chance! this only could afflict her more,
If any part should wander to the poor.
After ver. 198, in the MS.
Fain I'd in Fulvia spy the tender wife;
I cannot prove it on her, for my life:
And, for a noble pride, I blush no less,
Instead of Berenice to think on Bess.
Thus while immortal Cibber only sings
(As * and H**y preach) for queens and kings,
The nymph, that ne'er read Milton's mighty line,
May, if she love, and merit verse, have mine.
VER. 207, in the first edition,
In sev'ral men we sev'ral passions find;
In women, two almost divide the kind.
MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE III.
TO ALLEN Lord BATHURST.
ARGUMENT. Of the Use of RICHES.
THAT it is known to few, most falling into one of the extremes,
avarice
or
profusion, v. 1, etc.
The point discussed, whether the invention of money has been more commodious, or pernicious to mankind,
v. 21 to 77.
That riches, either to the
avaricious
or the
prodigal,
cannot afford happiness, scarcely necessaries,
v. 89 to 160.
That avarice is an absolute frenzy, without an end or purpose,
v. 113, etc. 152.
Conjectures about the motives of avaricious men,
v. 121 to 153.
That the conduct of men, with respect to riches, can only be accounted for by the
ORDER OF PROVIDENCE,
which works the general good out of extremes, and brings all to its great end by perpetual revolutions,
v. 161 to 178.
How a
miser
acts upon principles which appear to him reasonable,
v. 179.
How a
prodigal
does the same,
v. 199.
The due medium, and true use of riches,
v. 219.
The
man
of
Ross, v. 250.
The fate of the
profuse
and the
covetous,
in two examples; both miserable in life and in death,
v. 300, etc.
The story of Sir
Balaam, v. 339 to the end.
EPISTLE III.
EPISTLE III.] This epistle was written after a violent outcry against our author, on a supposition that he had ridiculed a worthy nobleman merely for his wrong taste. He justified himself upon that article in a letter to the earl of Burlington; at the end of which are these words:
"I have learnt that there are some who would rather be wicked than ridiculous; and therefore it may be safer to attack vices than follies. I will therefore leave my betters in the quiet possession of their idols, their groves, and their high places, and change my subject from their pride to their meanness, from their vanities to their miseries; and as the only certain way to avoid misconstructions, to lessen offence, and not to multiply ill-natured applications, I may probably, in my next, make use of real names instead of fictitious ones."
WHO shall decide, when doctors disagree,
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus giv'n,
That man was made the standing jest of heav'n;
And gold but sent to keep the fools in play,
For some to heap, and some to throw away.
But I, who think more highly of our kind,
(And surely, heav'n and I are of a mind)
Opine, that nature, as in duty bound,
Deep hid the shining mischief under ground:
But when by man's audacious labour won,
Flam'd forth this rival to, its sire, the sun,
Then careful heav'n supply'd two sorts of men,
To squander these, and those to hide agen.
Like doctors thus, when much dispute has past,
We find our tenets just the same at last.
Both fairly owning, riches, in effect,
No grace of heav'n or token of th' elect;
Giv'n to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil,
To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil.
VER. 20. JOHN WARD of Hackney, Esq. member of parliament, being prosecuted by the duchess of Buckingham, and convicted of forgery, was first expelled the house, and then stood on the pillory on the 17th of March 1727. He was suspected of joining in a conveyance with Sir John Blunt, to secrete fifty thousand pounds of that director's estate, forfeited to the south-sea company by act of parliament. The company recovered the fifty thousand pounds against Ward; but he set up prior conveyances of his real estate to his brother and son, and concealed all his personal, which was computed to be one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. These conveyances being also set aside by a bill in Chancery, Ward was imprisoned, and hazarded the forfeiture of his life, by not giving in his effects till the last day, which was that of his examination. During his confinement, his amusement was to give poison to dogs and cats, and see them expire by slower or quicker torments. To sum up the
worth
of this gentleman, at the several aeras of his life; at his standing in the pillory he was
worth above two hundred thousand pounds;
at his commitment to prison, he was
worth one hundred and fifty thousand;
but has been since so far diminished in his reputation, as to be thought a
worse man
by
fifty or sixty thousand.
FR. CHARTRES, a man infamous for all manner of vices. When he was an ensign in the army, he was drummed out of the regiment for a cheat; he was next banished Brussels, and drummed out of Ghent on the same account. After a hundred tricks at the gaming-tables, he took to lending of money at exorbitant interest and on great penalties, accumulating premium, interest, and capital into a new capital, and seizing to a minute when the payments became due; in a word, by a constant attention to the vices, wants, and follies of mankind, he acquired an immense fortune. His house was a perpetual bawdy-house. He was twice condemned for rapes, and pardoned; but the last time not without imprisonment in Newgate, and large confiscations. He died in Scotland in 1731, aged 62. The populace at his funeral raised a great riot, almost tore the body out of the coffin, and cast dead dogs,
etc.
into the grave along with it. The following epitaph contains his character very justly drawn by Dr. Arbuthnot:
HERE continueth to rot
The body of FRANCIS CHARTRES,
Who, with an INFLEXIBLE CONSTANCY,
and INIMITABLE UNIFORMITY of life,
PERSISTED,
In spite of AGE and INFIRMITIES,
In the practice of EVERY HUMAN VICE;
Excepting PRODIGALITY and HYPOCRISY:
His insatiable AVARICE exempted him from the first,
His matchless IMPUDENCE from the second.
Nor was he more singular
in the undeviating
pravity
of his
manners,
Than successful
in
accumulating
WEALTH;
For, without TRADE or PROFESSION,
Without TRUST of PUBLIC MONEY,
And without BRIBE-WORTHY service,
He acquired, or more properly created,
A MINISTERIAL ESTATE.
He was the only person of his time,
Who could CHEAT without the mask of HONESTY,
Retain his primeval MEANNESS
When possessed of TEN THOUSAND a year,
And having daily deserved the GIBBET for what he
did,
Was at last condemned to it for what he
could
not
do.
Oh indignant reader!
Think not his life useless to mankind!
PROVIDENCE connived at his execrable designs,
to give to after-ages
A conspicuous PROOF and EXAMPLE,
Of how small estimation is EXORBITANT WEALTH
in the sight of GOD.
By his bestowing it on the most UNWORTHY of ALL MORTALS.
This gentleman was worth seven thousand pounds a year estate in land, and about one hundred thousand in money.
Mr. WATERS, the third of these worthies, was a man no way resembling the former in his military, but extremely so in his civil capacity; his great fortune having been raised by the like diligent attendance on the necessities of others. But this gentleman's history must be deferred till his death, when his worth may be known more certainly.
What nature wants, commodious gold bestows,
'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows.
But how unequal it bestows, observe,
'Tis thus we riot, while, who sow it, starve:
What nature wants (a phrase I much distrust)
Extends to luxury, extends to lust:
Useful, I grant, it serves what life requires,
But dreadful too, the dark assassin hires:
Trade it may help, society extend.
But lures the pyrate, and corrupts the friend.
It raises armies in a nation's aid.
But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd.
In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave;
If secret gold sap on from knave to knave.
Once, we confess, beneath the patriot's cloke,
VER. 35.—
beneath the patriot's cloke,
] This is a true story, which happened in the reign of William III. to an unsuspected old patriot, who coming out at the back-door from having been closetted by the king, where he had received a large bag of guineas, the bursting of the bag discovered his business there.
From the crack'd bag the dropping guinea spoke,
And gingling down the back-stairs, told the crew,
" Old Cato is as great a rogue as you."
Blest paper-credit! last and best supply!
That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
Gold, imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things,
Can pocket states, can fetch or carry kings;
VER. 42.—
fetch or carry kings;
] In our author's time, many princes had been sent about the world, and great changes of kings projected in Europe. The partition-treaty had disposed of Spain; France had set up a king for England, who was sent to Scotland, and back again; king Stanislaus was sent to Poland, and back again; the duke of Anjou was sent to Spain, and Don Carlos to Italy.
A single leaf shall waft an army o'er,
Or ship off senates to a distant shore;
VER. 44.
Or ship off senates to some distant shore;
] Alludes to several ministers, counsellors, and patriots banished in our times to Siberia, and to that MORE GLORIOUS FATE of the PARLIAMENT of PARIS, banished to Pontoise in the year 1720.
A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro
Our fates and fortunes, as the winds shall blow:
Pregnant with thousands flits the scrap unseen,
And silent sells a king, or buys a queen.
Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see,
Still, as of old, incumber'd villainy!
Could France or Rome divert our brave designs,
With all their brandies or with all their wines? [found,
What could they more than knights and squires con-
Or water all the quorum ten miles round?
A statesman's slumbers how this speech would spoil!
" Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil;
" Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door;
" A hundred oxen at your levee roar."
Poor avarice one torment more would find;
Nor could profusion squander all in kind.
Astride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet;
And Worldly crying coals from street to street,
Whom with a wig so wild, and mein so maz'd,
VER. 63. Some misers of great wealth, proprietors of the coal-mines, had entered at this time into an association to keep up coals to an extravagant price, whereby the poor were reduced almost to starve, till one of them, taking the advantage of underselling the rest, defeated the design. One of these misers was worth ten thousand, another seven thousand a year.
Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman craz'd.
Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs,
VER. 65.
Colepepper,
] Sir WILLIAM COLEPEPPER, bart. a person of an ancient family, and ample fortune, without one other quality of a gentleman, who, after ruining himself at the gaming-table, past the rest of his days in sitting there to see the ruin of others; preferring to subsist upon borrowing and begging, rather than to enter into any reputable method of life, and refusing a post in the army which was offered him.
Could he himself have sent it to the dogs?
His grace will game: to White's a bull be led,
With spurning heels, and with a butting head.
To White's be carry'd, as to ancient games,
Fair coursers, vases, and alluring dames.
Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep,
Bear home six whores, and make his lady weep?
Or soft Adonis so perfum'd and fine,
Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine?
Oh filthy check on all industrious skill,
To spoil the nation's last great trade, quadrille!
Since then, my lord, on such a world we fall,
What say you? B. Say? why take it, gold and all.
P. What riches give us let then enquire:
Meat, fire and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat, clothes, and fire.
Is this too little? would you more than live:
Alas! 'tis more than Turner finds they give.
VER. 82.
Turner
] One, who, being possessed of three hundred thousand pounds, laid down his coach, because interest was reduced from five to four per cent. and then put seventy thousand into the charitable corporation for better interest; which sum having lost, he took it so much to heart, that he kept his chamber ever after. It is thought he would not have outlived it, but that he was heir to another considerable estate, which he daily expected, and that by this course of life he saved both clothes and all other expences.
Alas! 'tis more than (all his visions past)
Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last!
VER. 84.
Unhappy Wharton,
] A nobleman of great qualities, but as unfortunate in the application of them, as if they had been vices and follies. See his character in the first epistle.
What can they give! to dying Hopkins' heirs?
VER. 85.
Hopkins,
] A citizen, whose rapacity obtained him the name of Vulture Hopkins. He lived worthless, but died
worth three hundred thousand pounds,
which he would give to no person living, but left it so as not to be inherited till after the second generation. His counsel representing to him how many years it must be, before this could take effect, and that his money could only ly at interest all that time, he expressed great joy thereat, and said,
"They would then be as long in spending, as "he had been in getting it."
But the Chancery afterwards set aside the will, and gave it to the heir at law.
To Chartres, vigour; Japhet, nose and ears?
VER. 86.
Japhet, nose and ears?
] JAPHET CROOK, alias Sir Peter Stranger, was punished with the loss of those parts, for having forged a conveyance of an estate to himself, upon which he took up several thousand pounds. He was at the same time sued in Chancery for having fraudulently obtained a will, by which he possessed another considerable estate, in wrong of the brother of the deceased. By these means he was
worth
a great sum, which (in reward for the small loss of his ears) he enjoyed in prison till his death, and quietly left to his executor.
Can they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow,
In Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below;
Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail,
With all th' embroid'ry plaister'd at thy tail?
They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)
Give Harpax self the blessing of a friend;
Or find some doctor that would save the life
Of wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife:
But thousands die, without or this or that,
Die, and endow a college, or a cat.
VER. 96.
Die, and endow a college, or a cat.
] A famous duchess of R. in her last will left considerable legacies and annuities to her cats.
To some, indeed, heav'n grants the happier fate,
T' enrich a bastard, or a fon they hate.
Perhaps you think the poor might have their part.
Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his heart:
VER. 100.
Bond damns the poor, etc.
] This epistle was written in the year 1730, when a corporation was established to lend money to the poor upon pledges, by the name of the
Charitable Corporation;
but the whole was turned only to an iniquitous method of enriching particular people, to the ruin of such numbers, that it became a parliamentary concern to endeavour the relief of those unhappy sufferers, and three of the mangers, who were members of the house, were expelled. By the report of the committee, appointed to inquire into that iniquitous affair, it appears, that when it was objected to the intended removal of the office, that the poor, for whose use it was erected, would be hurt by it, Bond, one of the directors, replied,
Damn the poor.
That
"God hates the poor,"
and,
"That every man in want is knave or fool,"
etc.
were the genuine apothegms of some of the persons here mentioned.
The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule,
That ev'ry man in want is knave or fool:
" God cannot love (says Blunt, with tearless eyes)
" The wretch he starves"—and piously denies:
But the good bishop, with a meeker air,
Admits, and leaves them, providence's care.
Yet to be just to these poor men of pelf,
Each does but hate his neighbour as himself:
Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides
The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides.
Who suffer thus, mere charity should own,
Must act on motives pow'rful, tho' unknown.
P. Some war, some plague, or famine they foresee,
Some revelation hid from you and me.
Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found,
He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound.
What made directors cheat in South-sea year?
To live on ven'son when it sold so dear.
VER. 118.
To live on ven'son].
In the extravagance and luxury of the South-sea year, the price of a haunch of venison was from three to five pounds.
Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys?
Phryne foresees a general excise.
VER. 120.—
general excise.
] Many people about the year 1733, had a conceit that such a thing was intended, of which it is not improbable this lady might have some intimation.
Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum?
Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum.
Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold,
VER. 123.
Wise Peter
] PETER WALTER, a person not only eminent in the wisdom of his profession, as a dextrous attorney, but allowed to be a good, if not a safe, conveyancer; extremely respected by the nobility of this land, tho' free from all manner of luxury and ostentation: his wealth was never seen, and his bounty never heard of, except to his own son, for whom he procured an employment of considerable profit, of which he gave him as much as was
necessary.
Therefore the taxing this gentleman with any ambition, is certainly a great wrong to him.
And therefore hopes this nation may be sold:
Glorious ambition! Peter, swell thy store,
And be what Rome's great Didius was before.
VER. 126.
Rome's great Didius
] A Roman lawyer, so rich as to parchase the empire when it was set to sale upon the death of Pertinax.
The crown of Poland, venal twice an age,
VER. 127.
The crown of Poland, etc.
] The two persons here mentioned were of quality, each of whom in the Missisippi despised to realize above
three hundred thousand pounds;
the gentleman with a view to the purchase of the crown of Poland, the lady on a vision of the like royal nature. They since retired into Spain, where they are still in search of gold in the mines of the Asturies.
To just three millions stinted modest Gage.
But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold,
Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold.
Congenial souls! whose life one av'rice joins,
And one fate buries in th' Asturian mines.
Much injur'd Blunt! why bears he Britain's hate?
VER. 133.
Much injur'd Blunt!
] Sir JOHN BLUNT, originally a scrivener, was one of the first projectors of the South-sea company, and afterwards one of the directors and chief managers of the famous scheme in 1720. He was also one of those who suffered most severally by the bill of pains and penalties on the said directors. He was a dissenter of a most religious deportment, and professed to be a great believer. Whether he did really credit the prophecy here mentioned is not certain, but it was constantly in this very style he declaimed against the corruption and luxury of the age, the partiality of parliaments, and the misery of party-spirit. He was particularly eloquent against
avarice
in great and noble persons, of which he had indeed lived to see many miserable examples. He died in the year 1732.
A wizard told him in these words our fate:
" At length corruption, like a gen'ral flood,
" So long by watchful ministers withstood,
" Shall deluge all; and av'rice creeping on,
" Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun;
" Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks,
" Peeress and Butler share alike the box,
" And judges job, and bishops bite the town,
" And mighty dukes pack cards for half a crown.
" See Britain sunk in lucre's sordid charms,
" And France reveng'd of ANNE'S and EDWARD'S arms!"
'Twas no court-badge, great scriv'ner! fir'd thy brain,
Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain:
No, 'twas thy righteous end, asham'd to see
Senates degen'rate, patriots disagree,
And nobly wishing party-rage to cease,
To buy both sides, and give thy country peace.
" All this is madness," cries a sober sage:
But who, my friend, has reason in his rage?
" The ruling passion, be it what it will,
" The ruling passion conquers reason still."
Less mad the wildest whimsey we can frame,
Than ev'n that passion, if it has no aim;
For tho' such motives folly you may call,
The folly's greater to have none at all.
Hear then the truth: "'Tis heav'n each passion sends,
" And diff'rent men directs to diff'rent ends,
" Extremes in nature equal good produce,
" Extremes in man concur to gen'ral use."
Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow?
That POW'R who bids the ocean ebb and flow,
Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain,
Thro' reconcil'd extremes of drought and rain,
Builds life on death, on change duration founds,
And gives th' eternal wheels to know their rounds.
Riches, like insects, when conceal'd they lie,
Wait but for wings, and in their season fly.
Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store,
Sees but a backward steward for the poor;
This year a reservoir, to keep and spare:
The next, a fountain, spouting thro' his heir,
In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst,
And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.
Old Cotta sham'd his fortune and his birth,
Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:
What tho' (the use of barb'rous spits forgot)
His kitchen vy'd in coolness with his grot!
His court with nettles, moats with cresses stor'd,
With soups unbought and sallads bless'd his board
If Cotta liv'd on pulse, it was no more
Than bramins, saints, and sages did before;
To cram the rich was prodigal expence,
And who would take the poor from providence?
Like some lone Chartreux stands the good old hall,
Silence without, and fasts within the wall;
No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor sound,
No noontide bell invites the country round:
Tenants with sighs the smokeless tow'rs survey,
And turn th' unwilling steeds another way:
Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er,
Curs'd the sav'd candle, and unop'ning door;
While the gaunt mastiff growling at the gate,
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat.
Not so his son, he mark'd this oversight,
And then mistook reverse of wrong for right.
(For what to shun will no great knowlege need,
But what to follow, is a task indeed.)
Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise,
More go to ruin fortunes, than to raise.
What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine,
Fill the capacious 'squire, and deep divine!
Yet no mean motive this profusion draws,
His oxen perish in his country's cause;
'Tis GEORGE and LIBERTY that crowns the cup,
And zeal for that great house which eats him up.
The woods recede around the naked seat,
The sylvans groan—no matter—for the fleet:
Next goes his wool—to clothe our valiant Bands,
Last, for his country's love, he fells his lands.
To town he comes, completes the nation's hope,
And heads the bold train-bands, and burns a pope.
And shall not Britain now reward his toils,
Britain, that pays her patriots with her spoils?
In vain at court the bankrupt pleads his cause,
His thankless country leaves him to her laws.
The sense to value riches, with the art
T' enjoy them, and the virtue to impart,
Not meanly, nor ambitiously pursu'd,
Not sunk by sloth, nor rais'd by servitude;
To balance fortune by a just expence,
Join with oeconomy, magnificence;
With splendor, charity; with plenty, health;
Oh teach us, BATHURST! yet unspoil'd by wealth!
That secret rare, between th' extremes to move,
Of mad good-nature, and of mean self-love.
To worth or want well-weigh'd, be bounty giv'n,
And ease, or emulate, the care of heav'n;
(Whose measure full o'erflows on human race)
Mend fortune's fault, and justify her grace.
Wealth in the gross is death, but life diffus'd;
As poison heals, in just proportion us'd:
In heaps, like ambergrise, a stink it lies,
But well dispers'd, is incense to the skies.
Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats?
The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that cheats.
Is there a lord, who knows a chearful noon
Without a fiddler, flatt'rer, or buffoon?
Whose table, wit, or modest merit share,
Un-elbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or play'r!
Who copies your's, or OXFORD'S better part,
VER. 243. OXFORD'S
better part,
] Edward Harley, earl of Oxford. The son of Robert, created earl of Oxford, and earl Mortimer by queen Anne. This nobleman died regretted by all men of letters, great numbers of whom had experienced his benefits. He left behind him one of the most noble libraries in Europe.
To ease th' oppress'd, and raise the sinking heart?
Where-e'er he shines, oh fortune, gild the scene,
And angels guard him in the golden mean!
There, English bounty yet a while may stand,
And honour linger ere it leaves the land.
But all our praises why should lords engross?
Rise, honest muse! and sing the MAN of ROSS:
VER. 250.
The
MAN
of
ROSS:] The person here celebrated, who with a small estate actually performed all these good works, and whose true name was almost lost (partly by the title of the
Man of Ross
given him by way of eminence, and partly by being buried without so much as an inscription) was called Mr. John Kyrle. He died in the year 1724, aged 90, and lies interred in the chancel of the church of Ross in Herefordshire.
Pleas'd Vaga echoes thro' her winding bounds,
And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow?
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow?
Not to the skies in useless columns tost,
Or in proud falls magnificently lost,
But clear and artless, pouring thro' the plain
Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.
Whose cause-way parts the vale with shady rows?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose?
Who taught that heav'n-directed spire to rise?
" The MAN of ROSS," each lisping babe replies.
Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread!
The MAN of ROSS divides the weekly bread:
He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state,
Where age and want sit smiling at the gate:
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans blest,
The young who labour, and the old who rest.
Is any sick! the MAN of ROSS relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives.
Is there a variance; enter but his door,
Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more.
Despairing quacks with curses fled the place,
And vile attorneys, now an useless race.
Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue
What all so wish, but want the pow'r to do
Oh say, what sums that gen'rous hand supply?
What mines to swell that boundless charity?
Of debts, and taxes, wife and children clear,
This man possest—five hundred pounds a year,
Blush, grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze!
Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays.
And what? no monument, inscription, stone?
His race, his form, his name almost unknown?
Who builds a church to God, and not to fame,
Will never mark the marble with his name:
Go, search it there, where to be born and die,
Of rich and poor makes all the history;
Enough, that virtue fill'd the space between;
Prov'd, by the ends of being, to have been.
When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend
The wretch, who living sav'd a candle's end:
Should'ring God's altar a vile image stands,
Belies his features, nay extends his hands;
That live-long wig which Gorgon's self might own,
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.
VER. 296.
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.
] The poet ridicules the wretched taste of carving large perriwigs on busto's, of which there are several vile examples in the tombs at Westminster and elsewhere.
Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend!
And see, what comfort it affords our end.
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung,
The flowers of plaister, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw,
With tape-ty'd curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
When tawdy yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villers lies—alas! how chang'd from him,
VER. 305.
Great Villers lies—
] This lord, yet more famous for his vices than his misfortunes, having been possessed of about 50,000 l. a year, and passed through many of the highest posts in the kingdom, died in the year 1687, in a remote inn in Yorkshire, reduced to the utmost misery.
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,
VER. 307.
Cliveden
] A delightful palace, on the banks of Thames, built by the D. of Buckingham.
The bow'r of wanton Shrewsbury and love;
VER. 308.
Shrewsbury
] The countess of Shrewsbury, a woman abandoned to gallantries. The earl her husband was killed by the duke of Buckingham in a duel; and it has been said that during the combat she held the duke's horses in the habit of a page.
Or just as gay, at council, in a ring
Of mimick'd statesmen, and their merry king.
No wit to flatter, left of all his store!
No fool to laugh at, which he valu'd more.
There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame; this lord of useless thousands ends.
His grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee,
And well (he thought) advis'd him, "Live like me."
As well his grace reply'd, "Like you, Sir John?
" That I can do, when all I have is gone."
Resolve me, reason, which of these is worse,
Want with a full, or with an empty purse?
Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd,
Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd?
Cutler saw tenants break, and houses fall,
For very want; he could not build a wall.
His only daughter in a stranger's pow'r,
For very want; he could not pay a dow'r.
A few gray hairs his rev'rend temples crown'd,
'Twas very want that sold them for two pound.
What ev'n deny'd a cordial at his end,
Banish'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend?
What but a want, which you perhaps think mad,
Yet numbers feel, the want of what he had!
Cutler and Brutus, dying both exclaim,
" Virtue! and wealth! what are ye but a name!"
Say, for such worth are other worlds prepar'd?
Or are they both, in this their own reward?
A knotty point! to which we now proceed.
But you are tir'd—I'll tell a tale—B. Agreed.
Where London's column, pointing at the skies
VER. 339.
Where London's column,
] The Monument built in the memory of the fire of London, with an inscription importing that city to have been burnt by the Papists.
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lyes;
There dwelt a citizen of sober fame,
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;
Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth;
His word would pass for more than he was worth.
One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's:
Constant at Church, and Change; his gains were sure,
His givings rare, save farthings to the poor.
The dev'l was piqu'd such saintship to behold,
And long'd to tempt him like good Job of old:
But Satan now is wiser than of yore,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.
Rouz'd by the prince of air, the whirlwinds sweep
The surge, and plunge his father in the deep;
Then full against his Cornish lands they rore,
VER. 355.
Cornish
] The author has placed the scene of these shipwrecks in Cornwall, not only from their frequency on that coast, but from the inhumanity of the inhabitants to those to whom that misfortune arrives: when a ship happens to be stranded there, they have been known to bore holes in it to prevent its getting off; to plunder, and sometimes even to massacre the people: nor has the parliament of England been yet able wholly to suppress these barbarities.
And two rich ship-wrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes:
" Live like yourself," was soon my lady's word;
And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board.
Asleep and naked as an Indian lay,
An honest factor stole a gem away:
He pledg'd it to the knight; the knight had wit,
So kept the di'mond, and the rogue was bit.
Some scruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought,
" I'll now give six-pence where I have a groat;
" Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice—
" And am so clear too of all other vice."
The tempter saw his time; the work he ply'd;
Stocks and subscriptions pour on every side,
'Till all the Daemon makes his full descent
In one abundant show'r of cent per cent,
Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole,
Then dubs director, and secures his soul.
Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit,
Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit;
What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit,
And God's good providence, a lucky hit.
Things change their titles, as our manners turn:
His compting-house employ'd the sunday-morn:
Seldom at church ('twas such a busy life)
But duly sent his family and wife.
There (so the dev'l ordain'd) one Christmas-tide
My good old lady catch'd a cold and dy'd.
A nymph of quality admires our knight;
He marries, bows at court, and grows polite:
Leaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair)
The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air:
First, for his son a gay commission buys,
Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies:
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.
VARIATIONS.
After ver. 50. in the MS.
To break a trust were Peter brib'd with wine,
Peter! 'twould pose as wise a head as thine.
VER. 77.
Since then, etc.
] In the former edit.
Well then, since with the world we stand or fall,
Come take it as we find it, gold and all.
VER. 200. Here I found two lines in the poet's MS.
" Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise,
" More go to ruin fortunes than to raise.
After ver. 218. in the MS.
Where one lean herring furnish'd Cotta's board,
And nettles grew, fit porridge for their lord;
Where mad good-nature, bounty misapply'd,
In lavish Curio blaz'd a while and dy'd;
There providence once more shall shift the scene,
And shewing H
Y, teach the golden mean,
After ver. 226. in the MS.
That secret rare, with affluence hardly join'd,
Which W
n lost, yet B
y ne'er could find;
Still miss'd by vice, and scarce by virtue hit,
By G
's goodness, or by S
's wit.
After ver. 250. in the MS.
Trace humble worth beyond Sabrina's shore,
Who sings not him, oh may he sing no more!
VER. 287. thus in the MS.
The register inrolls him with his poor,
Tells he was born and dy'd, and tells no more.
Just as he ought, he fill'd the space between;
Then stole to rest, unheeded and unseen.
VER. 337. in the former editions,
That knotty point, my lord, shall I discuss,
Or tell a tale?—A tale.—It follows thus.
IMITATIONS.
VER. 182.
With soups unbought,
]
—dapibus mensas onerabat inemptis.
VIRG.
MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE IV.
TO RICHARD BOYLE, Earl of BURLINGTON.
ARGUMENT. Of the Use of RICHES.
THE vanity of expence in people of wealth and quality. The abuse of the word
taste, ver. 13.
That the first principle and foundation in this, as in every thing else, is
good sense, ver. 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,
ver. 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 but be perverted into something
burdensome
or ridiculous,
ver. 65, etc. 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, ver. 97.
and the second, either in joining together
parts incoherent,
or too
minutely resembling,
or in the
repetition
of the
same
too frequently,
ver. 105, etc. A
word or two of false taste in
books,
in
music,
in
painting,
even in
preaching
and
prayer,
and lastly in
entertainments, ver. 133, etc.
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,
ver. 190
[recurring to what is laid down in the first book, ep.
ii.
and in the epistle preceeding this,
ver. 159,
etc.] What are the
proper objects
of magnificence, and a proper field for the expence of
great men, ver. 177, etc.
and finally the great and public works, which become a
prince, ver. 191, to the end.
EPISTLE IV.
'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, meates:
He buys for Topham, drawings and designs,
VER. 7.
Topham
] A gentleman famous for a judicious collection of drawings.
For Pembroke, statues, dirty gods, and coins;
Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone,
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.
VER. 10.
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.
] Two eminent physicians; the one had an excellent library, the other the finest collection in Europe of natural curiositles; both men of great learning and humanity.
Think we all these are for himself? no more
Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.
For what has Virro painted, built, and planted?
Only to show, how many tastes he wanted.
What brought Sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste?
Some Daemon whisper'd "Visto! have a taste."
Heav'n visits with a taste the wealthy fool,
And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule.
VER. 18.
Ripley
] This man was a carpenter, employed by a first minister, who raised him to an architect, without any genius in the art; and after some wretched proofs of his insufficiency in public buildings, made him comptroller of the board of works.
See! sportive fate, to punish aukward pride,
Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide:
A standing sermon, at each year's expence,
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence!
You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,
VER 23. The earl of Burlington was then publishing the designs of Inigo Jones, and the antiquities of Rome by Palladio.
And pompous buildings once were things of use.
Yet shall (my lord) your just, your noble rules
Fill half the land with imitating-fools;
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 dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall;
Then clap four slices of pilaster on't,
That, lac'd with bits of rustic, makes a front.
Shall call the winds thro' long arcades to rore,
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 previous ev'n to taste—'tis sense:
Good sense, which only is the gift of heav'n,
And tho' no science, fairly worth the seven:
A light, which in yourself you must perceive;
Jones and Le Notre have it not to give.
VER. 46. Inigo Jones the celebrated architect, and Mr. Le Notre, the designer of the best gardens of France.
To build, to plant, what ever you intend,
To rear the column, or the arch to bend,
To swell the terras, or to sink the grot;
In all, let nature never be forgot.
But treat the goddess like a modest fair,
Nor over-dress, nor leave her wholly bare;
Let not each beauty ev'ry where be spy'd,
Where half the skill is decently to hide.
He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,
Surprizes, varies, and conceals the bounds.
Consult the genius of the place in all;
That tells the waters or to rise, or fall;
Or helps th' ambitious hill the heav'ns to scale,
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;
Calls in the country, catches op'ning glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades;
Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines;
Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.
Still follow sense, of ev'ry art the soul,
Parts answ'ring parts shall slide into a whole,
Spontaneous beauties all around advance,
Start ev'n from difficulty, strike from chance;
Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow
A work to wonder at—perhaps a STOW.
VER. 70. The seat and gardens of the lord Viscount Cobham in Buckinghamshire.
Without it, proud Versailles! thy glory falls;
And Nero's terraces desert their walls:
The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make,
LO! COBHAM comes, and floats them with a lake:
Or cut wide views thro' mountains to the plain,
You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again.
VER. 75, 76.
Or cut wide views thro' mountains to the plain, You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again.
] This was done in Hertfordshire, by a wealthy citizen, at the expence of above 5000 l. by which means (merely to overlook a dead plain) he let in the north-wind upon his house and parterre, which were before adorned and defended by beautiful woods.
Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,
Nor in an hermitage set Dr. Clarke.
VER. 78.—
set Dr. Clarke.
] Dr. S. Clarke's busto placed by the queen in the Hermitage, while the Dr. duly frequented the court.
Behold Villario's ten-years toil complete;
His quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet;
The wood supports the plain, the parts unite,
And strength of shade contends with strength of light;
A waving glow the bloomy beds display,
Blushing in bright diversities of day,
With silver-quiv'ring rills maeander'd o'er—
Enjoy them, you! Villario can no more;
Tir'd of the scene parterres and fountains yield,
He finds at last he better likes a field.
Thro' his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus stray'd,
Or sat delighted in the thick'ning shade,
With annual joy the red'ning shoots to greet,
Or see the stretching branches long to meet!
His son's fine taste an op'ner Vista loves,
Foe to the dryads of his father's groves;
One boundless green, or flourish'd carpet views,
VER. 95. The two extremes in parterres, which are equally faulty; a
boundless green,
large and naked as a field, or a
flourished carpet,
where the greatness and nobleness of the piece is lessened by being divided into too many parts, with scrolled works and beds, of which the examples are frequent.
With all the mournful family of yews;
VER. 96.—
mournful family of Yews;
] Touches upon the ill taste of those who are so fond of ever-greens (particularly Yews which are the most tonsile) as to destroy nobler forest-trees, to make way for such little ornaments as pyramids of dark-green continually repeated, not unlike a funeral procession.
The thriving plants, ignoble broomsticks made,
Now sweep those alleys they were born to shade.
At Timon's Villa let us pass a day,
VER. 99.
At Timon's Villa
] This description is intended to comprize the principles of a false taste of magnificence, and to exemplify what was said before, that nothing but good sense can attain it.
Where all cry out, "What sums are thrown away!
So proud, so grand; of that stupendous air,
Soft and agreeable come never there.
Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught
As brings all Brobdignag before your thought.
To compass this, his building is a town,
His pond an ocean, his parterre a down:
Who but must laugh, the master when he sees,
A puny insect, shiv'ring at a breeze!
Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
The whole, a labour'd quarry above ground,
Two Cupids squirt before: a lake behind
Improves the keenness of the northern wind.
His gardens next your admiration call,
On ev'ry side you look, behold the wall!
No pleasing intricacies intervene,
No artful wildness to perplex the scene;
Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other.
The suffring eye inverted nature sees,
Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees;
With here a fountain, never to be play'd;
And there a summer-house, that knows no shade;
Here Amphitrite sails thro' myrtle bow'rs;
There gladiators fight, or die in flow'rs;
VER. 124. The two statues of the
gladiator pugnant
and
gladiator moriens.
Un-water'd see the drooping sea-horse mourn,
And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn.
My lord advances with majestic mien,
Smit with the mighty pleasure, to be seen:
But soft—by regular approach—not yet—
First thro' the length of yon hot terrace sweat;
VER. 130. The
approaches
and
communication
of house with garden, or of one part with another, ill-judged, and inconvenient.
And when up ten steep slopes you've drag'd your thighs,
Just at his study-door he'll bless your eyes.
His study! with what authors is it stor'd?
VER. 133.
His study, etc.
] The false taste in books; a satire on the vanity in collecting them, more frequent in men of fortune, than the study to understand them. Many delight chiefly in the elegance of the print, or of the binding; some have carried it so far, as to cause the upper shelves to be filled with painted books of wood; others pique themselves so much upon books in a language they do not understand, as to exclude the most useful in one they do.
In books, not authors, curious is my lord;
To all their dated backs he turns you round;
These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound.
Lo some are vellom, and the rest as good
For all his lordship knows, but they are wood.
For Locke or Milton 'tis in vain to look,
These shelves admit not any modern book.
And now the chapel's silver bell you hear,
That summons you to all the pride of pray'r:
Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,
Make the soul dance upon a jig to heav'n.
On painted cielings you devoutly stare,
VER. 145.—And in
painting
(from which even Italy is not free) of naked figures in churches,
etc.
which has obliged some popes to put draperies on some of those of the best masters.
Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,
VER. 146.
Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,
] Verrio (Antonio) painted many cielings, etc. at Windsor, Hamptoncourt, etc. and Laguerre at Blenheim-castle, and other places.
On gilded clouds in fair expansion ly,
And bring all paradise before your eye.
To rest, the cushion and soft Dean invite,
Who never mentions hell to ears polite.
VER. 150.
Who never mentions hell to ears polite.
] This is a fact; a reverend Dean, preaching at court, threatened the sinner with punishment in
"a place which he thought it not decent to name in so polite an assembly."
But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall:
The rich buffet well-colour'd serpents grace,
VER. 153. Taxes the incongruity of
ornaments
(though sometimes practised by the ancients) where an open mouth ejects the water into a fountain, or where the shocking images of serpents, etc. are introduced in grottos or buffets.
And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face.
Is this a dinner? this a genial room?
VER. 155.
Is this a dinner, etc.
] The proud festivals of some men are here set forth to ridicule, where pride destroys the ease, and formal regularity all the pleasurable enjoyment of the entertainment.
No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.
A solemn sacrifice, perform'd in state,
You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there.
VER. 160.
Sancho's dread doctor
] See Don Quixote, chap. xlvii.
Between each act the trembling salvers ring,
From soup to sweet-wine, and God bless the king.
In plenty starving, tantaliz'd in state,
And complaisantly help'd to all I hate,
Treated, caress'd, and tir'd, I take my leave,
Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve;
I curse such lavish cost, and little skill,
And swear no day was ever past so ill.
Yet hence the poor are cloth'd, the hungry fed;
VER. 169.
Yet hence the poor, etc.
] The
moral
of the whole, where PROVIDENCE is justified in giving wealth to those who squander it in this manner. A bad taste employs more hands, and diffuses expence more than a good one. This recurs to what is laid down in Book I. Ep. ii. ver. 230-7, and in the epistle preceding this, ver. 161, etc.
Health to himself, and to his infants bread
The lab'rer bears: what his hard heart denies,
His charitable vanity supplies.
Another age shall see the golden ear
Imbrown the slope, and nod on the parterre,
Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd,
And laughing Ceres re-assume the land.
Who then shall grace, or who improve the soil?
Who plants like BATHURST, or who builds like BOYLE.
'Tis use alone that sanctifies expence,
And splendor borrows all her rays from sense.
His father's acres who enjoys in peace,
Or makes his neighbours glad, if he encrease:
Whose chearful tenants bless their yearly toil,
Yet to their lord owe more than to the soil;
Whose ample lawns are not asham'd to feed
The milky heifer and deserving steed;
Whose rising forests, not for pride or show,
But future buildings, future navies, grow:
Let his plantations stretch from down to down,
First shade a country, and then raise a town.
You too proceed! make falling arts your care,
Erect new wonders, and the old repair;
Jones and Palladio to themselves restore,
And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:
Till kings call forth th' ideas of your mind,
VER. 195, 197,
etc. 'Till kings—bid harbors open, etc.
] The poet, after having touched upon the proper objects of magnificence and expence, in the private works of great men, comes to those great and public works which become a prince. This poem was published in the year 1732, when some of the new-built churches, by the act of queen Anne, were ready to fall, being founded in boggy land (which is satirically alluded to in our author's imitation of Horace, lib. ii. sat. 2.
Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall)
others were vilely executed, thro' fraudulent cabals between undertakers, officers,
etc.
Dagenham-breach had done very great mischiefs; many of the highways throughout England were hardly passable; and most of those which were repaired by turnpikes were made jobs for private lucre, and infamously executed, even to the enterance of London itself: the proposal of building a bridge at Westminster had been petitioned against and rejected; but in two years after the publication of this poem, an act for building a bridge passed through both houses. After many debates in the committee, the execution was left to the carpenter above-mentioned, who would have made a wooden one; to which our author alludes in these lines,
Who builds a bridge that never drove a pile?
Should Ripley venture, all the world would smile.
See the notes on that place.
(Proud to accomplish what such hands design'd)
Bid harbors open, public ways extend,
VER. 195, 197,
etc. 'Till kings—bid harbors open, etc.
] The poet, after having touched upon the proper objects of magnificence and expence, in the private works of great men, comes to those great and public works which become a prince. This poem was published in the year 1732, when some of the new-built churches, by the act of queen Anne, were ready to fall, being founded in boggy land (which is satirically alluded to in our author's imitation of Horace, lib. ii. sat. 2.
Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall)
others were vilely executed, thro' fraudulent cabals between undertakers, officers,
etc.
Dagenham-breach had done very great mischiefs; many of the highways throughout England were hardly passable; and most of those which were repaired by turnpikes were made jobs for private lucre, and infamously executed, even to the enterance of London itself: the proposal of building a bridge at Westminster had been petitioned against and rejected; but in two years after the publication of this poem, an act for building a bridge passed through both houses. After many debates in the committee, the execution was left to the carpenter above-mentioned, who would have made a wooden one; to which our author alludes in these lines,
Who builds a bridge that never drove a pile?
Should Ripley venture, all the world would smile.
See the notes on that place.
Bid temples, worthier of the god, ascend;
Bid the broad arch the dang'rous flood contain,
The mole projected break the roring main;
Back to his bounds their subject sea command,
And roll obedient rivers thro' the land:
These honours, peace to happy Britain brings,
These are imperial works, and worthy kings.
VARIATIONS.
After ver. 22. in the MS.
Must bishops, lawyers, statesmen, have the skill
To build, to plant, judge paintings, what you will?
Then why not Kent as well our treaties draw,
Bridgman explain the gospel, Gibs the law?
THE END.
Just published,
Printed uniformly with this,
I. ESSAY on CRITICISM.
II. ESSAY on MAN.