That, Nature gives; and where the leffon taught Is but to please, can Pleasure feem a fault? Experience, this; by Man's oppreffion curft, They feek the fecond, not to lose the first. Men, fome to Bus'nefs, fome to Pleasure take; But ev'ry Woman is at heart a Rake: Men, fome to Quiet, Tome to public Strife; And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Your taste of Follies, with our fcorn of Fools: IBID. P. 137. WE AL T H. BLEST paper-credit! laft and beft fupply! That lends Corruption lighter wings to fly! Gold, imp'd by thee, can compafs hardest things, Can pocket States, can fetch or carry Kings; A fingle A fingle leaf fhall waft an Army o'er, Or fhip off Senates, to fome diftant Shore; Our fates and fortunes, as the wind shall blow: Pregnant with thousands flits the Scrap unseen, And filent fells a King, or buys a Queen. Oh! that fuch bulky Bribes as all might fee, Still, as of old, incumber'd Villainy! Could France or Rome divert our brave defigns, 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 ftatefman's flumbers how this fpeech would spoil! Sir, Spain has fent a thousand jars of oil; 66 Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door; "A hundred oxen at your levee roar.” Poor Avarice one torment more would find; Nor could Profufion fquander all in kind. Aftride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet; And Worldly crying coals from street to street, Whom with a wig fo wild, and mien so maz'd, Pity mistakes for fome poor tradefman craz'd. Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs, Could he himself have fent it to the dogs? His Grace will game: to White's a Bull be led, With fpurning heels, and with a butting head; To White's be carry'd, as to ancient games, Fair Courfers, Vafes, and alluring Dames. Shall then Uxorio, if the fakes he sweep, Bear home fix Whores, and make his Lady weep? Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine? To fpoil the nation's laft great trade, Quadrille ! 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 ? To fome, indeed, Heav'n grants the happier fate, IBID. P. 143. AVA AVARICE. OLD Cotta fham'd his fortune and his birth, Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth: What though (the ufe of barb'rous fpits forgot) And who would take the Poor from Providence? Curfe the fav'd candle, and unop'ning door; IBID. P. 150. THE MAN OF ROSS. BUT all our praises why should Lords engross? Rife, honeft Mufe! and fing the MAN of Ross: Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarfe applause refounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's fultry brow? From the dry rock who bad the waters flow? Not to the skies in ufelefs columns toft, But clear and artless, pouring through the plain Who taught that heav'n-directed spire to rife? B. Thrice happy man! enabled to purfue What all fo wifh, but want the pow'r to do! Oh fay, what fums that gen'rous hand supply? What mines to fwell that boundless charity? P. Of Debts and Taxes, Wife and Children clear, This man poffefs'd-five hundred pounds a year. Bluth, Grandeur, blush! proud Courts, withdraw your blaze! Ye little Stars! hide your diminish'd rays. IBID. P. 153. |