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That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught Is but to please, can Pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this; by Man's oppression curft, They seek the second, not to lose the first.

Men, fome to Bus'nefs, fome to Pleasure take; But ev'ry Woman is at heart a Rake: Men, some to Quiet, Tome to public Strife; But ev'ry Lady would be Queen for Life.

IBID. p. 131.

And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Woman's at best a contradiction ftill. Heav'n, when it strives to polish all it can Its fast best work, but forms a softer Man; Picks from each sex, to make the Fav’rite blest, Your love of Pleasure, our desire of Reft: 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.

IBID. p. 137

WE AL T H. 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;

A fingle

A fingle leaf shall waft an Army o'er,
Or ship off Senates, to some diftant Shore;
A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro
Our fates and fortunes, as the wind shall blow :
Pregnant with thousands flits the Scrap unseen,
And filent 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? What could they more than Knights and 'Squires

confound, Or water all the Quorum ten miles round? A statesman's slumbers how this speech would fpoil ! « 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 mien so maz'd, Pity mistakes for some

tradesman craz'd. Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs, 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 Courfers, Vases, and alluring Dames. N 2


Shall IBID. p. 143.

Shall then Txorio, if the nakes he sweep,
Bear bone fix Whores, and make his Lady weep?
Or soft Adonis, fo 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 yreat 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 us then inquire ? 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. Alas! 'tis more than (all his vifions past) Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at laft! What can they give ? to dying Hopkins, Heirs ; To Chartres, Vigour; Japhet, Nose and Ears Can they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow, In Fulvia's búckle ease the throbs below; Or heal, old Narfes, thy obscener ail, With all th'embroid'ry plaifter'd at thy tail? They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend) Give Harpax' felf 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. To fome, indeed, Heav'n grants the happier fate, T'enrich a Bastard, or a Son they hate.


OLD Cotta sham'd his fortune and his birth,
Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth :
What though (the use of barb'rous fpits forgot)
His kitchen vy'd in coolness with his grot?
His court with nettles, moats with cresses stor’d,
With foups 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 fome 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 fighs the smoakless tow’rs survey,
And turn th’unwilling steeds another

Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er,
Curse the fav'd candle, and unop'ning door ;
While the gaunt maftiff growling at the gate,..
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat.

IBID. p. 150.

THE MAN OF ROSS. BUT all our praises why should Lords engross? Rise, honest Muse!' and fing the Man of Ross: Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? From the dry rock who bad the waters flow? N3


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Not to the skies in useless columns tost,
Or in proud falls magnificently lost,
But clear and artless, pouring through the plain
Health to the fick, and folace to the fwain.
Whose Causeway 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 fit smiling at the gate;
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans bleft,
The young who labour, and the old who reft.
Is any fick ? the Man of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives.
Is there a variance? enter but his door,
Baulk'd are the Courts, and contest is no more.
Despairing Quacks with curfes Aed the place,
And vile Attorneys, now an useless race.

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B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue What all so wish, but want the pow'r to do! Oh fay, what sums that gen'rous hand supply? What mines to swell that boundless charity ?

P. of Debts and Taxes, Wife and Children clear, This man poffefs'd-five hundred pounds a year. Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud Courts, withdraw

your bl. ze!

Ye little Stars ! hide


IBID. p. 1532

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