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Unelbowed by a gamester, pimp, or play’r?
Who copies yours or Oxford's better part,
To ease the oppressed, and raise the sinking heart?
Where'er he shines, oh fortune, gild the scene,
And angels guard him in the golden mean!
There, English bounty yet awhile 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;?
Pleased 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 bade the waters flow?
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 sick, and solace to the swain.
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 sit smiling at the gate;
Him portioned maids, apprenticed 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,
Balked are the courts, and contest is no more.
Despairing quacks with curses fled the place,
And vile attorneys, now a useless race.

1 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.-Pope,

2 The person here celebrated, who with a small estate actually performed all these good works, and whose true name was almost lost (partly by the title of the Man of Ross given him by way of eminence, and partly by being buried without so much as an inscription) was called Mr. John Kyrle. He died in the year 1724, aged 90, and lies interred in the chancel of the church of Ross in Herefordshire. Pope. Two elms said to have been planted by the Man of Ross, were cut down, but have since appeared inside the church where they now grow,

* The Wye,

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

P. Of debts, and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possessed-five hundred pounds a year. Blush, grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your

blaze! Ye little stars! hide your diminished rays.

B. And what? no monument, inscription, stone ? His race, his form, his name almost unknown?

P. Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name: Go, search it there, where to be born and die, Of rich and poor makes all the history; Enough, that virtue filled the space between; Proved, by the ends of being, to have been. When Hopkins dies," a thousand lights attend The wretch, who living saved a candle’s end: Should'ring God's altar a vile image stands, Belies his features, nay extends his hands; That live-long wig which Gorgon's self might own, Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.3 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 floors of plaister, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repaired with straw,
With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villiers lies—alas! how changed from him,

That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden’so proud alcove,

1 In the Parish Register.
2 Vulture Hopkins, mentioned at line 85.

3 The poet ridicules the wretched taste of carving large periwigs on bustos, of which there are several vile examples in the tombs at Westminster and elsewhere.-Pope.

4 This lord, yet more famous for his vices than his misfortunes, after having been possessed of about £50,000 a year, and passed through many of the highest posts i the kingdom, died in the year 1687, in a remote inu in Yorkshire, reduced to the utmost misery.-Pope.

5 A delightful palace, on the banks of the Thames, built by the Duke of Buckingham.- Pope,

The bower of wanton Shrewsbury' and love;
Or just as gay, at council, in a ring
Of mimicked statesmen, and their merry king.
No wit to flatter left of all his store!
No fool to laugh at, which he valued more.
There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.

His grace's fate sage Cutlers could forsee,
And well: (he thought) advised him, “Live like me.”
As well his grace replied, “Like you, Sir John ?
That I can do, when all I have is gone."
Resolve me, reason, which of these is worse,
Want with a full, or with an empty purse ?
Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confessed,
Arise, and tell me, was thy death more blessed ?
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 grey hairs his rev’rend temples crowned,
'Twas very want that sold them for two pound.
What ev’n denied a cordial at his end,
Banished the doctor, and expelled 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 prepared! Or are they both, in this, their own reward? A knotty point! to which we now proceed. But you are tired—I'll tell a tale— B. Agreed.

P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; 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.

1 The Countess of Shrewsbury, a woman abandoned to gallantries. The earl, her husband, was killed by the Duke of Buckingham in a duel; and it has been said, that during the combat she held the duke's borses in the habit of a page.-Pope.

2 Sir John Cutler, a rich London citizen.

3 The monument on Fish Street Hill, built in memory of the fire of London, of 1666, with an inscription, importing that city to have been burnt by the papists.-Pope.

One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemnised the Lord's:
Constant at church, and change; his gains were sure,
His givings rare, save farthings to the poor.

The dev'l was piqued such saintship to behold,
And longed to tempt him like good Job of old:
But Satan now is wiser than of yore,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.

Roused 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 shipwrecks 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 smoked upon the board.

Asleep and naked as an Indian lay,
An honest factor stole a gem away:
He pledged it to the knight; the knight had wit,
So kept the di’mond, and the rogue was bit.
Some scruple rose, but thus he eased his thought, .
“I'll now give sixpence 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 plied;
Stocks and subscriptions poured on ev'ry side,
Till all the demon 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 called a blessing, now was wit,
And God's good providence, a lucky hit.
Things change their titles, as our manners turn:
His counting-house employed the Sunday morn;
Seldom at church ('twas such a busy life)
But duly sent his family and wife.

1 The author has placed the scene of these shipwrecks in Cornwall, not only from their frequency on that coast, but from the inhumanity of the inhabitants to those to whom that misfortune arrives. When a ship happens to be stranded there, they have been known to bore holes in it, to prevent its getting off; to plunder, and sometimes even to massacre the people: nor has the Parliament of England been yet able wholly to suppress these barbarities.-5

There (so the dev'l ordained) one Christmas-tide
My good old lady catched a cold and died.

A nymph of quality admires our knight;
He marries, bows at court, and grows polite:
Leaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair)
The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air:
First, for his son a gay commission buys,
Who drinks, w- , fights, and in a duel dies:
His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife;
She bears a coronet and p- 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 Baalam curses God and dies.




OF THE USE OF RICHES. The vanity of expense in people of wealth and quality. The abuse

of the word taste, ver. 13. That the first principle and foundation, in this as in everything else, is good sense, ver. 40. The chief proof of it is to follow nature even in works of mere luxury and elegance. Instanced in architecture and gardening, where all must be adapted to the genius and use of the place, and the beauties not forced into it, but resulting from it, ver. 50. How men are disappointed in their most expensive undertakings,

1-atque unum civem donare Sibyllæ.

JUV. iii. 3.- Warburton. 1 This Epistle was written and published before the preceding one, and the placing it after the third has occasioned some awkward anachronisms and inconsistences-- Warton,

? Lord Burlington was famed for his taste in architecture. His house in Piccadilly was greatly lauded by Horace Walpole, Burling. ton House has now given way to the Royal Academy buildings, &c.

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