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“ When next you talk of what you view,
Think others fee as well as you : o Nor wonder, if
find that none “ Prefers your eye-light to his own."
GRECIAN Youth, of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care
Had form'd for Virtue's nobler view,
By precepts and example too,
Would often boast his matchless skill,
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel.
And as he pass'd the gazing throng,
With graceful ease, and fmack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they express'd
Was praise and transport to his breast.
At length quite vain, he needs would thew
His master what his art could do ;
And bade his slaves the chariot lead
To Academus' facred shade.
The trembling grove confess'd its fright,
The wood-nymphs started at the fight;
The Muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmoft shades retire.
Howe'er, the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the fage, and mounts the car;
The lah resounds, the coursers fpring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring :
And gath’ring crowds with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.
Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain,
The self-fame track he marks again,
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd ;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
Ev'n bearded fages hail'd the boy,
And all, but Plato, gaz'd with joy.
For he, deep-judging fage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field :
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
Alas! unhappy youth, he cry'd,
Expect no praise from me, (and figh’d)
With indignation I survey
Such fkill and judgment thrown away.
The time profusely squander'd there,
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at less expence,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, fenfe,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men and guide the ftate.
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;
There dwelt a Citizen of saber 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 folid 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, fave farthings to the poor.
The Devil was piqu’d such faintship 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.
Rous'd by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds sweep
The surge, and plunge his Father in the deep;
Then full against his Cornish lands they roar,
And two rich fhipwrecks biefs the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes :
- Live like yourself," was foon my Lady's word;
And lo! two paddings smoak’d upon the board.
Alleep 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 fcruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought,
• I'll now give fix-pence where I gave a groat;
• Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice
« And am so clear too of all other vice."
The Tempter saw his time; the work he ply'd;
Stocks and Subfcriptions pour on ev'ry side,
'Till all the Dæmon makes his full descent
In one abundant show'r of Cent.
Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole,
Then dubs Director, and fecures his foul,
Behold Sir Balaam now a man of spirit,
Afcribes 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 Devil ordain'd) one Chriftmas-tide
My good cld 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 :
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; Goningiby harangues ;
The Court forsake him, and Sir Balaam hangs.
Wife, fon, and daughter, Satan! are thy own,
His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the Crown:
The Devil and the King divide the prize,
And fad Sir Balaam curses God and dies.
CH A P.