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And which not done, the richest must be poor.
Late as it is, I put myself to school,
Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom move
'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor;
Here, Wisdom calls: “Seek virtue first, be bold! As gold to silver, virtue is to gold.” There, London's voice: “Get money, money still! And then let virtue follow, if she will.” This, this the saving doctrine preached to all, From low St. James's up to high St. Paul; From him whose quills stand quivered at his ear, To him who notches sticks at Westminster.?
1 Great physicians.
Barnard in spirit, sense, ard truth abounds;1 “Pray then, what wants he?” Fourscore thousand
Yet ev'ry child another song will sing:
And say, to which shall our applause belong,
Well, if a king's a lion, at the least
i Sir John Barnard, member for the city; he was born at Read. ing, of Quaker parents, but was received into the Church of England by Coin pton, Bishop of London.
2 Augustus Schutz, a courtier.-- Carruthers,
Just half the land would buy, and half be sold:
Of all these ways, if each pursues his own,
mean, But give the knight (or give his lady) spleen; “Away, away! take all your scaffolds down, For snug's the word; my dear! we'll live in town.”
At amorous Flavio is the stocking thrown? That very night he longs to lie alone. The fool, whose wife elopes some thrice a quarter, For matrimonial solace dies a martyr. Did ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch, Transform themselves so strangely as the rich ? Well, but the poor? the poor have the same itch; They change their weekly barber, weekly news, Prefer a new japanner to their shoes, Discharge their garrets, move their beds, and run (They know not whither) in a chaise and one; They hire their sculler, and when once aboard, Grow sick, and d— the climate-like a lord.
You laugh, half beau, half sloven if I stand, My wig all powder, and all snuff my band; You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary, White cloves, and linen worthy lady Mary! But when no prelate's lawn with hair-shirt lined,
1 Alluding probably to a society called the Charitable Corporation, by which thousands were cheated and ruined.-Bowles,
Is half so incoherent as my mind,
THE SIXTH EPISTLE OF THE
FIRST BOOK OF HORACE
TO MR. MURRAY.2 “Not to admire, is all the art I know, To make men happy, and to keep them so." 1 Dr. Hale, a physician employed in cases of insanity.- Carruthers. (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs no flowers of speech. So take it in the very words of Creech.)
2 “Silver-tongued Murray," as Pope called him, was born 1704, died 1793. He was a distinguished lawyer; became chief justice of the king's bench, and was finally created Earl of Mansfield. He became unpopular at one time, and had his house burned down by the mob. His valuable library was thus destroyed,
This vault of air, this congregated ball, Self-centred sun, and stars that rise and fall, There are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes Look through, and trust the Ruler with his skies, To him commit the hour, the day, the year, And view this dreadful All without a fear. Admire we then what earth's low entrails hold, Arabian shores, or Indian seas infold; All the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold? Or popularity? or stars and strings? The mob's applauses, or the gifts of kings? Say with what eyes we ought at courts to gaze, And pay the great our homag3 of amaze ?
If weak the pleasure that from these can spring, The fear to want them is as weak a thing: Whether we dread, or whether we desire, In either case, believe me, we admire; Whether we joy or grieve, the same the curse, Surprised at better, or surprised at worse. Thus good or bad, to one extreme betray Th’ unbalanced mind, and snatch the man away; For virtue's self may too much zeal be had; The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
Go then, and if you can, admire the state Of beaming diamonds, and reflected plate; Procure a taste to double the surprise, And gaze on Parian charms with learned eyes: Be struck with bright brocade, or Tyrian dye, Our birth-day nobles' splendid livery. If not so pleased, at council-board rejoice, To see their judgments hang upon thy voice; From morn to night, at senate, rolls, and hall, Plead much, read more, dine late, or not at all. But wherefore all this labour, all this strife ? For fame, for riches, for a noble wife? Shall one whom nature, learning, birth, conspired To form, not to admire but be admired, Sigh, while his Chloe blind to wit and worth Weds the rich dulness of some son of earth ? Yet time ennobles, or degrades each line; I From whose translation the first two lines of Horace are taken.