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MORAL ESSAYS.

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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.
[5]EPISTLE I.

[3]

ARGUMENT. Of the Knowlege and Characters of MEN.

THAT it is not ſufficient for this knowlege to conſi⯑der 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 vary⯑ing from himſelf, v. 15. Difficulties ariſing from our own paſſions, fancies, faculties, etc. v. 31. The ſhortneſs of life, to obſerve in, and the un⯑certainty of the principles of action in men, to obſerve by, v. 37, etc. Our own principle of a⯑ction often hid from ourſelves, v. 41. Some few characters plain, but in general confounded, diſ⯑ſembled, or inconſiſtent, v. 51. The ſame man [4] utterly different in different places and ſeaſons, v. 71. Unimaginable weakneſſes in the great⯑eſt, 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. Educa⯑tion alters the nature, or at leaſt character, of many, v. 149. Actions, paſſions, opinions, man⯑ners, 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 inconſiſten⯑cy of all his actions, v. 175. Inſtanced in the ex⯑traordinary character of Clodio, v. 179. A cau⯑tion 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.

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:
[6] 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.

[7]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.
[8] 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.

[9]

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.here

What made, (ſay Montagne, or more ſage Char⯑ron!)
Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?
A perjur'd prince a leaden ſaint revere,1
A godleſs regent tremble at a ſtar?
[10] The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit,2
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:
[11] 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?
[12] 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?here
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;
[13] 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.

[14]

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.
[15] 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.3
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;
[16] 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,here

Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.

Yet, in this ſearch, the wiſeſt may miſtake,
If ſecond qualities for firſt they take.
[17] 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;
[18] As weak, as earneſt; and as gravely out,
As ſober Laneſb'row dancing in the gout.4

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.

[19]" Odious! in woollen! 'twould a ſaint provoke,
(Were the laſt words that poor Narciſſa ſpoke)5
" 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.
[20] " 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.

[9]

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.

[12]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.

[16]In the former editions, v. 208.

Nature well known, no Miracles remain.

MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE II.
TO A LADY.
Of the Characters of WOMEN.

[21]

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,6
Is there, Paſtora by a fountain ſide.7
Here Fannia, leering on her own good man,
And there, a naked Leda with a ſwan.8
[22] Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
In Magdalen's looſe hair and lifed eye,9
Or dreſt in ſmiles of ſweet Cecilia ſhine,10
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.

11Rufa, 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;
[23] 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.

12How 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.

13Papillia, 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;
[24] Fine by defect, and delicately weak,
Their happy ſpots the nice admirer take.
14'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.

15Narciſſa'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?
[25] 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.

16See 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.
[26] What has not fir'd her boſom or her brain?here
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.

17Flavia'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.
[27] 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.
[28] 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.here
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.
[29] 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!
[30] Atoſſa, curs'd with ev'ry granted pray'r,
Childleſs with all her children, wants an heir.here
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.
[31] 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:
[32] 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.18 here

[33]But grant, in public men ſometimes are ſhown,19
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,
[34] Weakneſs or delicacy; all ſo nice,
That each may ſeem a virtue, or a vice.

In men, we various ruling paſſions find;20 here
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 taught21
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:
[35] Men, ſome to quiet, ſome to public ſtrife;
But ev'ry lady would be queen for life.

22Yet 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.

23Pleaſures 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:
[36] 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!

24Ah! 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:
[37] 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;
[38] 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.

[26]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.

[28]After ver. 122. in the MS.

Oppreſs'd with wealth and wit, abundance ſad!

One makes her poor, the other makes her mad.

[30]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.

[33]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.

[34]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.
[41]EPISTLE III.²⁵

[39]

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 neceſ⯑ſaries, 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 [40] 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 ap⯑pear 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.

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.

[42]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.26

[43]

What nature wants, commodious gold beſtows,

'Tis thus we eat the bread another ſows.

[44]

But how unequal it beſtows, obſerve,
'Tis thus we riot, while, who ſow it, ſtarve:
[45] 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.
[46] Once, we confeſs, beneath the patriot's cloke,27
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;28
A ſingle leaf ſhall waft an army o'er,
Or ſhip off ſenates to a diſtant ſhore;29
[47] 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!here
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.
[48] 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,30
Pity miſtakes for ſome poor tradeſman craz'd.
Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs,31
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?
[49] 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,here
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.32
[50] Alas! 'tis more than (all his viſions paſt)
Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at laſt!33
What can they give! to dying Hopkins' heirs?34
To Chartres, vigour; Japhet, noſe and ears?35
Can they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow,
In Fulvia's buckle eaſe the throbs below;
[51] 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.36
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:37
[52] 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.
[53] 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.38
Aſk you why Phryne the whole auction buys?
Phryne foreſees a general exciſe.39
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,40
And therefore hopes this nation may be ſold:
[54] Glorious ambition! Peter, ſwell thy ſtore,
And be what Rome's great Didius was before.41

The crown of Poland, venal twice an age,42
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?43
A wizard told him in theſe words our fate:
[55] " 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,
[56] 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.

[57]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 boardhere
If Cotta liv'd on pulſe, it was no more
Than bramins, ſaints, and ſages did before;
[58] 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.)here
[59] 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?
[60] In vain at court the bankrupt pleads his cauſe,
His thankleſs country leaves him to her laws.here

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!here
That ſecret rare, between th' extremes to move,
Of mad good-nature, and of mean ſelf-love.

[61]

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,44
To eaſe th' oppreſs'd, and raiſe the ſinking heart?
[62] 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:45 here
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,
[63] 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
[64] 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,here
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:
[65] 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.46
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,47
That life of pleaſure, and that ſoul of whim!
[66] Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,48
The bow'r of wanton Shrewſbury and love;49
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?
[67] 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.here
But you are tir'd—I'll tell a tale—B. Agreed.

[68]

Where London's column, pointing at the ſkies50
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;
[69] Then full againſt his Corniſh lands they rore,51
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."

[70]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:
[71] 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.

[47]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.

[49]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.

[58]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.

[60]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.

[62]After ver. 250. in the MS.

Trace humble worth beyond Sabrina's ſhore,

Who ſings not him, oh may he ſing no more!

[64]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.

[67]VER. 337. in the former editions,

That knotty point, my lord, ſhall I diſcuſs,

Or tell a tale?—A tale.—It follows thus.

IMITATIONS.

[57]VER. 182. With ſoups unbought,]

—dapibus menſas onerabat inemptis.

VIRG.

MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE IV.
TO RICHARD BOYLE, Earl of BURLINGTON.
[75]EPISTLE IV.

[73]

ARGUMENT. Of the Uſe of RICHES.

THE vanity of expence in people of wealth and qua⯑lity. 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 archite⯑cture 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 un⯑dertakings, for want of this true foundation, with⯑out which nothing can pleaſe long, if at all; and the [74] 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 magnifi⯑cence; the firſt grand error of which is to imagine that greatneſs conſiſts in the ſize and dimenſion, in⯑ſtead of the proportion and harmony of the whole, ver. 97. and the ſecond, either in joining toge⯑ther 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 [re⯑curring 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.

'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,52
For Pembroke, ſtatues, dirty gods, and coins;
Rare monkiſh manuſcripts for Hearne alone,
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.53
[76] 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.54
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!here

[77]You ſhow us, Rome was glorious, not profuſe,55
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:
[78] 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.56

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;
[79] 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.57

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:
[80] Or cut wide views thro' mountains to the plain,
You'll wiſh your hill or ſhelter'd ſeat again.58
Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,
Nor in an hermitage ſet Dr. Clarke.59

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.

[81]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,60
With all the mournful family of yews;61
The thriving plants, ignoble broomſticks made,
Now ſweep thoſe alleys they were born to ſhade.

[82]At Timon's Villa let us paſs a day,62
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.
[83] 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;63
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;64
And when up ten ſteep ſlopes you've drag'd your thighs,
Juſt at his ſtudy-door he'll bleſs your eyes.

[84]His ſtudy! with what authors is it ſtor'd?65
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,66
Where ſprawl the ſaints of Verrio or Laguerre,67
[85] 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.68

But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footſteps ſcrape the marble hall:
The rich buffet well-colour'd ſerpents grace,69
And gaping Tritons ſpew to waſh your face.
Is this a dinner? this a genial room?70
No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.
A ſolemn ſacrifice, perform'd in ſtate,
You drink by meaſure, and to minutes eat.
[86] So quick retires each flying courſe, you'd ſwear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there.71
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;72
Health to himſelf, and to his infants bread
The lab'rer bears: what his hard heart denies,
His charitable vanity ſupplies.

[87]

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;
[88] Jones and Palladio to themſelves reſtore,
And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:
Till kings call forth th' ideas of your mind,73
(Proud to accompliſh what ſuch hands deſign'd)
[89] Bid harbors open, public ways extend,74
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.

[76]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.

Appendix A

[]

Just published,

Printed uniformly with this,

I. ESSAY on CRITICISM.
II. ESSAY on MAN.

Notes

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.

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 impriſon⯑ed till his death.

VER. 187. John Wilmot, E. of Rocheſter, famous for his wit and extravagancies in the time of Charles the ſecond.

VER. 231. Lanesborow] An ancient nobleman, who continu⯑ed this practice long after his legs were diſabled by the gout. Upon the death of prince George of Denmark, he demand⯑ed an audience of the queen, to adviſe her to preſerve her health and diſpel her grief by dancing.

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 or⯑ders with her dying breath.

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.

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.

VER. 29 and 37. II. Contrarieties in the Soft-natured.

VER. 45. III. Contrarieties in the Cunning and Artful.

VER. 53. IV. In the Whimſical.

VER. 69. V. In the Lewd and Vicions.

VER. 87. Contrarieties in the Witty and Refin'd.

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.

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.

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.

VER. 211. This is occaſioned partly by their nature, partly their education, and in ſome degree by neceſſity.

VER. 219. What are the aims and the fate of this ſex?—I. As to power.

VER. 231—II. As to pleaſure.

VER. 249. Advice for their true intereſt.

EPISTLE III.] This epiſtle was written after a violent out⯑cry againſt our author, on a ſuppoſition that he had ridiculed a worthy nobleman merely for his wrong taſte. He juſtified him⯑ſelf 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 ficti⯑tious ones."’

VER. 20. JOHN WARD of Hackney, Eſq. member of parlia⯑ment, being proſecuted by the ducheſs of Buckingham, and con⯑victed 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 com⯑pany 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 per⯑ſonal, 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 ſlow⯑er 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 drum⯑med 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 for⯑tune. His houſe was a perpetual bawdy-houſe. He was twice con⯑demned 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 gentle⯑man's hiſtory muſt be deferred till his death, when his worth may be known more certainly.

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.

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 Car⯑los to Italy.

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 PARLIA⯑MENT of PARIS, baniſhed to Pontoiſe in the year 1720.

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 un⯑derſelling the reſt, defeated the deſign. One of theſe miſers was worth ten thouſand, another ſeven thouſand a year.

VER. 65. Colepepper,] Sir WILLIAM COLEPEPPER, bart. a perſon of an ancient family, and ample fortune, without one o⯑ther 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 re⯑fuſing a poſt in the army which was offered him.

VER. 82. Turner] One, who, being poſſeſſed of three hun⯑dred thouſand pounds, laid down his coach, becauſe intereſt was reduced from five to four per cent. and then put ſeventy thou⯑ſand into the charitable corporation for better intereſt; which ſum having loſt, he took it ſo much to heart, that he kept his cham⯑ber 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.

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.

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 mo⯑ney 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.

VER. 86. Japhet, noſe and ears?] JAPHET CROOK, alias Sir Peter Stranger, was puniſhed with the loſs of thoſe parts, for hav⯑ing 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.

VER. 96. Die, and endow a college, or a cat.] A famous duch⯑eſs of R. in her laſt will left conſiderable legacies and annuities to her cats.

VER. 100. Bond damns the poor, etc.] This epiſtle was writ⯑ten 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 me⯑thod 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 com⯑mittee, 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 per⯑ſons here mentioned.

VER. 118. To live on ven'ſon]. In the extravagance and lu⯑xury of the South-ſea year, the price of a haunch of veniſon was from three to five pounds.

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.

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; extreme⯑ly 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 pro⯑cured 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.

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.

VER. 127. The crown of Poland, etc.] The two perſons here mentioned were of quality, each of whom in the Miſſiſippi de⯑ſpiſed 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.

VER. 133. Much injur'd Blunt!] Sir JOHN BLUNT, originally a ſcrivener, was one of the firſt projectors of the South-ſea compa⯑ny, 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 di⯑rectors. 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 conſtant⯑ly 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.

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.

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 be⯑ing 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.

VER. 296. Eternal buckle takes in Parian ſtone.] The poet ridi⯑cules the wretched taſte of carving large perriwigs on buſto's, of which there are ſeveral vile examples in the tombs at Weſtmin⯑ſter and elſewhere.

VER. 305. Great Villers lies—] This lord, yet more famous for his vices than his misfortunes, having been poſſeſſed of a⯑bout 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.

VER. 307. Cliveden] A delightful palace, on the banks of Thames, built by the D. of Buckingham.

VER. 308. Shrewsbury] The counteſs of Shrewſbury, a wo⯑man 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.

VER. 339. Where London's column,] The Monument built in the memory of the fire of London, with an inſcription im⯑porting that city to have been burnt by the Papiſts.

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 ſtrand⯑ed 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.

VER. 7. Topham] A gentleman famous for a judicious col⯑lection of drawings.

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.

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.

VER 23. The earl of Burlington was then publiſhing the de⯑ſigns of Inigo Jones, and the antiquities of Rome by Palladio.

VER. 46. Inigo Jones the celebrated architect, and Mr. Le Notre, the deſigner of the beſt gardens of France.

VER. 70. The ſeat and gardens of the lord Viſcount Cob⯑ham in Buckinghamſhire.

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 Hert⯑fordſhire, 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 a⯑dorned and defended by beautiful woods.

VER. 78.—ſet Dr. Clarke.] Dr. S. Clarke's buſto placed by the queen in the Hermitage, while the Dr. duly frequented the court.

VER. 95. The two extremes in parterres, which are equally faulty; a boundleſs green, large and naked as a field, or a flouriſh⯑ed carpet, where the greatneſs and nobleneſs of the piece is leſſen⯑ed by being divided into too many parts, with ſcrolled works and beds, of which the examples are frequent.

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.

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.

VER. 124. The two ſtatues of the gladiator pugnant and gla⯑diator moriens.

VER. 130. The approaches and communication of houſe with garden, or of one part with another, ill-judged, and inconvenient.

VER. 133. His ſtudy, etc.] The falſe taſte in books; a ſatire on the vanity in collecting them, more frequent in men of for⯑tune, than the ſtudy to underſtand them. Many delight chiefly in the elegance of the print, or of the binding; ſome have carri⯑ed 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.

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.

VER. 146. Where ſprawl the ſaints of Verrio or Laguerre,] Ver⯑rio (Antonio) painted many cielings, etc. at Windſor, Hampton⯑court, etc. and Laguerre at Blenheim-caſtle, and other places.

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."’

VER. 153. Taxes the incongruity of ornaments (though ſome⯑times 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.

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 enter⯑tainment.

VER. 160. Sancho's dread doctor] See Don Quixote, chap. xlvii.

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 pre⯑ceding this, ver. 161, etc.

VER. 195, 197, etc. 'Till kings—bid harbors open, etc.] The poet, after having touched upon the proper objects of magnifi⯑cence 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 au⯑thor'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 un⯑dertakers, officers, etc. Dagenham-breach had done very great miſchiefs; many of the highways throughout England were hard⯑ly 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 de⯑bates 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.

Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall)

Who builds a bridge that never drove a pile?

Should Ripley venture, all the world would ſmile.

See the notes on that place.

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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3501 Moral essays in four epistles By Alexander Pope Esq. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-61D4-7

MORAL ESSAYS.EPISTLE I.TO Sir RICHARD TEMPLE, Lord COBHAM.[5]EPISTLE I.

VARIATIONS.

MORAL ESSAYS.EPISTLE II.TO A LADY.Of the Characters of WOMEN.

VARIATIONS.

MORAL ESSAYS.EPISTLE III.TO ALLEN Lord BATHURST.[41]EPISTLE III.25

VARIATIONS.

IMITATIONS.

MORAL ESSAYS.EPISTLE IV.TO RICHARD BOYLE, Earl of BURLINGTON.[75]EPISTLE IV.

VARIATIONS.

Appendix A

MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE I.
TO Sir RICHARD TEMPLE, Lord COBHAM.
[5]EPISTLE I.

MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE II.
TO A LADY.
Of the Characters of WOMEN.

MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE III.
TO ALLEN Lord BATHURST.
[41]EPISTLE III.²⁵

MORAL ESSAYS.
EPISTLE IV.
TO RICHARD BOYLE, Earl of BURLINGTON.
[75]EPISTLE IV.