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See! sportive fate, to punish aukward pride, Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain,
Lids Bubo build, and send, him such a guide : 20 You'll with your hill or shelter'd seat again.
di tianding sermon, at each year's expence, Ev’n in an ornament its place remark,
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence! Nor in an hermitage set Dr Clarke.

You show us Rone was glorious, not profuse, Behold Villario's ten years teil complete ;
And pompous buildings once were things of use. His quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet ;

8. Yet Thail (my lord) your just, your noble rules The wood supports the plain, the parts unite, fuil half the land with imitating fools;

And strength of shade contends with strength of Who sandom drawings from your sheets fall light; take,

A waving glow the bloomy beds display, And of one beauty many blunders make;

Blushing in bright diversities of day, Load fome vain church with old Theatric ftate, With silver-quivering rills maander'd o'erTurn arts of triumph to a garden gate; 30 Enjoy them, you' Villario can no more; Reverte your ornaments, and bang them all Tird of the scene partt rres and fountains yield, Ön fome patch'd dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall; He finds at last he better likes a field. 'I hen clap four flices of pilaster on't,

Through his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus *That, lac'd with bits of ruttic, makes a front.

ftray'd, Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar, Or sate delighted in the thickening shade, go Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;

With annual joy the reddening shoots to greet, Conscious they act a true Palladian pari,

Or see the firecching branches long to meet! And if they farve, they ftarve by rules of art. His son's fine talte an opener vista loves,

O't have you hinted to your brother peer, Foe to the Dyrads of his father's groves; A certain truth, which many buy too dear : 40 One boundless green, or flourith'd carpet views, Sunething there is more needful than expence, With all the mournfuliamily of yews : Ard something previous ev'n to taste-'cis fense : The thriving plants ignobie broontlicks made, Giud lense, which only is the gift of Heaven, Now sweep those alleys they were bora to thade. And though no science, fairly worth the seven : At Timon's villa let us pass a day, A light, which in yourself you must perceive; Where all cry out, “ What lums are throwa aJones and Le Nôtre have it not to give.

To build, to plant, whatever you intend, So rroud, so grand; of that stupendoas air, Torear the column, or the arch to bend,

Soft and agreeable cone never there. To lweil the terrace, or to sink the grot;

Greatness, with Timon, weils in such a draught In all, let nature never be forgot.

so As brings all Brobdigbag before your thoughe. Tur treat the goddels like a modest fair,

To compass this, his building is a town, or over drets, nor leave her wholly bare; His pond an ocean, his parterre a down : 1.-t not cach beauty every where be spy'd, whu but mult laugh, the master when he sees, Where hall the skill is decently to hide.

A puny infcet, thivering at a breeze!
He gains all , cints, who pleasingly confounds, Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
Seririles, varies, and conceals the bounds.

The whole, a labour'd quarry above ground, 11• Coriult the genius of the place in ill;

Two Cupids squire before : a like behind That tells the waters or to rise or fall;

Improves the keennels of the northern wind. Orhus th' açıbiuous hill the heavens to scale, Hin gardens next your admiration call, Or ficops in circling theatres the vale; 60 On every Gide you look behold the wall! Calls in the country, catches opening glades, N. pleasing intricacies intervene, jins willing woods, and vari, shades fruni thades; No artiul wildness to perplex the scene; Wuw breaks, or now directs th' intending lines; Grove nudiat grove, cach alley has a brother, laints as vou plant, and, as you work, defigos. And half he platform jurt reflets the other. Srili foilow icole, of every art the soul,

The suffering eye inveriod na: urc fees, Parts answering part. fhall fide into a whole, Trees cut to statues, ftatues thick as trees; Aportareous beauties ali around advance,

With here a fountain, never to be plays; Shirt ev'n írom difficulty, frike from chance; And there a summer house that knows no thide: Nature thall juin you; tine shall make it grow Here Amphierite fails through my ile buwers; A work to wonder at-perhaps 3 Sow. 70 There gladiators fight, or die in tiowers;

Without it, proud Verlaill. s! thy glory falls; Unwa'er'd see the droping sca-horse mourn, And Nero's terraces Cefert their walls :

And swallows root in Nilus' dully urn 'The val parterres à choufand hands shall make, My lord advances with majeslic mien, 10: Coohuni comics, and floats them with a lake: Smir with the mighty pleasure to be lien :

But feift by regular asırouch-pot yet

t'irit through the length of you het tuace sweat, VARIATIONS.

Aur when up ten ficep slopes you've drayg'd your Alter vor », in the MS.

Juit at his study-door he'li bicis your eyes thighs, Men bihori, lawyers, ftate frien have the skill His ftudy! with what authors is it itota? lo buil!, to pie.judge paintings, what you will?

la books, tut authors, curious is niy lord; Leu wli; n'hciit as we lour treaties draw,

To all their dared burdis itc turrs you round; Higmu's 62: ..nthe goby:, Gibbs the liv? Thek aldua priate thefDu oral has brenda

Lo some are vellum, and the rest as good Backto his bounds their subject sea command,
For all his lordship knows, but they are wood. And oll obedient rivers through the land;
For Locke or Milton, 'tis in vain to look,

These honours, peace to happy Britain brings; These thelves admit not any modern book. 140 These are imperial works, and worthy kings.

And now the chapel's Glver bell you hear,
That summons you to all the pride of prayer ;
Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,

EPISTLE V.
Make the soul dance upon a jg to heaven.
Oa painted ceilings you devoutly stare,

TO MR. ADDISON,
Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,
Or gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,

Occafioned by bis Dialogues on Medals.
And bring all paradife before your eye.
Toreft, the cushion and soft dean invite,

This was originally written in the year 1715, when Who dever mentions hell to ears polire. 150 Mr. Addison intended to publish his book of

But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call; Medals; it was some time before hewas SecreA hundred footlteps scrape the marble hall:

tary of State ; but not published till Mr. TickThe rich buffet well-c loured serpents grace,

ell's edition of his works; at which time the And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face. verses on Mr. Craggs, which conclude the poemd, Is this a dinner? this a génial room!

were added, viz. in 1720. No. 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.

As the third Epiftle treated of the extremes of A wlemn sacrifice perform'd in ftate,

avarice and profusion; and the fourth took up You drink by measure, and co minutes eat.

one particular branch of the latter, namely, the So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear vanity of expence in people of wealth and quality, Sancho's dread doctor and hiswand were there. 160 and was therefore a corollary to the third; so Between each act the rembling salvers ring, this treats of one circumstance of that vanity, From soup to sweet-wine, and God bless the as it appears in the common collectors of old King

coins; and is, therefore, a corollary to the fourth. in plenty Itarving, tantaliz'd in state, Aad complaisantly help'd to all I hate,

See the wild waste of all-devouring years! Treated, caress’d, and tir'd, I take my leave,

How Rome her own sad sepulchre appears, Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve;

With nodding arches, broken temples spread! I curse fuch lavish coft, and little skilt,

The very tombs now vanith'd like their dead; And swear no day was ever past so ill.

Imperial wonders rai-'d on nations spoil'd, toil'd: Yet hence the poor are cloth d, the hungry fed; Where mix'd with flaves the groaning nartyr Health to himself, and to his infants bread, 170 Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods, The labourer bears : What his hard heart denies, / Now drain'd a distant counity of her floods : His charitable vanity supplies.

Fanes, which admiring gods with pride survey; Another age shall see the golden ear

Statues of men, scarce less alive than they! Imbrowo the Dope, and nod on the parterre,

Some felt the filent stroke of mouldering age, Deep harvest bury all his pride has.plann'd, Some hostile fury, some religious rage. And laughing Ceres re-assume the land:

Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire, Who ihen thall grace, or who improve the soil ? And Papal piety, and Gochic fire. who plants like Bathurli, or who builds like Boyle. Perhaps, by its own ruins lav'd from fame, 'Tis ufe alone but sanctifies expence,

Some bury'd marble half preserves a name; And lplendor borrows all her rays from sense. 180 That name che learn'd with fierce disputes pursue, His father's acres who enjoys in peace,

And give to Tirus old Vespasian's due. Or wakes his neighbours glad, if he increase : Ambition ligh'd she found in vain to trust Whole cheerful tenants bless their yearly toil, The faithless column and the crumbling bust: 20 Yet o their lord owe more than to the soil; Huge moles, whose thadow ftretch'd from fhore te Whose ample lawns are not asham'd to feed

Thore, The milky heifer and deserving steed;

Their ruins perilh'd, and their place no more ! Whose riding forelts, not for pride or show, Convinc'd the now contracts her valt design, But future buildings, future navies, grow : And all her triumphs shrink into a coin. Ler his plantations Itretch from down to down, A narrow orb each crowded conquest keeps, First hade a country, and then raise a town. 190 Beneath her palm here fad Judea weeps.

You too proceed! make falling arts your care, Now Icantier limits the proud arch confine, Ercet new wonders, and the old repair ;

And scarce are leen the proftrate Nile or Rhine ; Jones and Palladio co themselves restore,

A small Euphrates through the piece is rollid, And be whate'er Vitruvius was before :

And little eagles wave their wings in gold. 32 Till kings call forth th' ideas of your mind.

The medal, faithful to its charge of fame, (Proud to accomplish what such hands design'd) Throughclimesand agesbears.each form and name, Bid harbours open, public ways extend,

In one short view subjected to our eye Pid temples worthier of the god afcend;

Gods, emperors heroes, sages, beauties, lic. Bij the broad archthe dangerous flood contain, With sharpen'd fight pale antiquaries pore, The mole projected break the roaring maio; 200 Th' inscription value, but the rust adore,

IO

This the blue varnish, that the green endears, In living medals Tee her wars enrolla,
The sacred ruft of twice ten hundred years! And vanquist'd realms fupply recording gold?
To gain Pescennius one enploys his schemes, Here, ising bold, the patriot's honeft face;
One grasps a Cecrops in ecftatic dreams. 40 There, warriors fron ning in hiftoric brass :
Poor Vadius, long with learned spleen devour'd, Then future ages with delight shall see
Can taste no pleasure fince liis Thield was scour'd: How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree ;

60 And Curio, reftlefs by the fair-one's fide,

Or in fair series laureld bards be shown,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride. A Virgit there, and here an Addifon.

Theirs is the vanity, the learning thine : Then shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine)
Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories thine : On the cast ore, another Pollio, shine :
ller gods and gedlike her es rile to view, With alpect open fhall erect his head,
And ail her faded garlands bloom anew.

And round the orb in latting notes be read,
No: blush, these studies thy regard engage; “ Statesman, yet friend to-truth! of soul sincere,
These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage :

50 " In adin faithful, and in honour clar; The verfe and sculpture bore an equal part, “ Who broke no promise, serv'd 10 private end, And art reflected images to art.

“ Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend; 70 Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, “ Ennobied by himself, by all approv'd, Bland emulous of Greck and Roman fame! “ And prais’d, unenvy'd, by the muse he lov'd."

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EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT:

BEING THE

PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES.

Advertisement to the first Publication of this Epifile.

Tais paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begun many years fince, and drawn up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of rank and fortune (the authors of verses to the imitator of Horace, and of an epifle to a Doctor of Divinity from a nobleman at Hampton-Court) to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings (of which, being public, the public is judge) but my perfon, morals, and family, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between the neceflity to say something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake so aukward a talk, Į thought it the hortest way to put the last hand to this epistle. If it have any thing pleasing, ic will be that by which I am most desirous to please, the truth and the sentiment'; and if any thing

offensive, it will be only to those I am least forry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous. Many will know their own pi&tures in it, there being not a circumstance but what is true : but I

have, for the most part, spared their names; and they may escape being laughed at, if they pleasc. I would have some of them to know, it was owing to the request of the learned and candid friend

to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as free use of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage and honour on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be direded at any man, no injury can possibly be done by mine, since a mameless character can never be found out, but by its truth and likeness.

É. Stot, shut the door, good john ! fatigu'd I said, Is there a parson, much bemas'd in beer,
Tie up the knocker, say I'm lick, I'm dead. A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,
The d g-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt, A clerk, foredom'd his father's foul to cross,
all Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out :

Who pens a Itanza, when he fould engrofs ? Fire in each eye, and papers

each hand, Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls They rave, recite, and madden round the land. With desperate charcoal round his darkeo'd walls? What wails can guard me, or what thades cap All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble Araia hide?

Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
They piercemythickets, through mygrot they glide.
By land, by water, they renew the charge;

VARIATIONS.
They for the chariot, and they board the barge. 10 After ver. 20, in the MS.
No place is facred, not the church is free, Is there a bard in durance? turn theor free,
Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me;

With all their brandish'd reans they run to me :
Then from the mine walks forth the man of thyme, Is there a 'prentice, having seen two plays,
Happy: to catch me, juft at dinner-time. | Who would do fomething in his fempitrelo'praisema

His library (where buss of poets dead

Give virtue fcandal, innocence a fear, And a true Pindar flood without a head), Or from the soft-ey'd virgin steal a tear! Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,

But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place ; Insults fall'n worth, or beauty in distress, Niuch they extoll’d his pictures, much his leat, Who loves a lie, lame flander helps about, Ard flatter'd every day, and some days eat; 240 Who writes a libel, or who copies our : 290 Tiil, groun more frugal in his riper days, (praise. That fop, whose pride affeds a patron's name, He paid fome bards with port, and some with Yet abfint, wounds an author's honest same : To for a dry reheark was assign'd,

Who can your mei it felfifhly approve, And o: hers (harder Bill) he paid in kind.

And show the sense of it without the love ; Dryden alcre (whut wonder !) came not nigh, Who has the vanity to call you friend, Dryden at se escap'd this judging eye :

Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend; But still the great have kindness in reserve, Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, He help'd to bury whom he help'd to farve. And, if he lie not, mult at least betray: May tome choice patron bless each grey goose Who to the Dean and silver Bell can swear, quill!

And sees at Cannons what was never there; 300 May every Bavius have his Bufo ftill! 250 Who reads but with a lust to misapply, So when a ftatesman wants a day's defence, Make sarire a lampoon, and fi&ion lie. Or envy holds a whole week's war with fense, A lash like mine no honeft man shall dread, Or fimple pride for fiattery makes demands, But all such babbling blockheads in his stead. May dunce by dunce be whittled off my hands ! 1.et Sporus tremble-- A. What ? that thing of Bleft be the great! for those they take away,

filk, And those they left me ; for they left me Gay : Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk? Left me to see negle&ed genius bloom,

Sacire of sense, alas: can Sporus feel? Neglected die, and tell it on his comb:

Whó breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? Of all thy blameless life the fole return

P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded winge, My verse, and Queersberry weeping o'er thy urn! This painted child of dirt, that stinks and itings:

Oh, let me live my own, and die fo too! 261. Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, 310 (To live and die is all I have to do :)

Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beanty ne'er enjoys : Maintain a poet's dignity and case, (please : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight And see what friends, and read what books I Inmumbling of the game they dare not bite. Above a patron, though I condescend

Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, Sou etimes to call a minister my fricnd.

As thallow streams run dimpling all the way. I was not bo:n for courts or great affairs; Whether in fiorid impotence he speaks, I pay my debts, believe, and lay my prayers; And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks; Can fiecp without a poem in my head,

Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad, Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead. 270 Hall froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, 320

Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light? In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, Heavens ! was 1 born for nothing but to write ? Or 1pite, or smut, or Thymes, or blasphemies. Has life no joys for me! or (to be grave). His wit all fee faw, between that and this, Havel no friend to serve. no foul to fave? Now high, now low, now master up, now miss, “ I found him close with Swift-ideed? no doubt And he himself one vile antithesis. " (Cries prating Balbus) something will come out." | Amphibious thing! that, acting either part, “'Tis a!i in vain, deny it as I will.

The triding head or the corrupted heart, “ No, such a genius never can lie still;"

Frp at the toilet, flatterer at the board, Ard then for mine obligingly misakes

Now trips a lady, and now ftruts a lord. The first lampoon Sir Will or Bubo makes. 28. Eve's tempter thus the Rabbins have expreft, 330 Por, guiltle is I! and can I choc fe but smile, A cherub's face, a reprile all the reft. Wher every cuxcomb knows me by my flyle? Becury that shocks you, parts that none will trott,

Curft be the verse, how well foe'er it flow, Wit that can cretp, and pride that licks the dust. 1 hat tends to make one worthy man my fue, Not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool,

Not lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool,

VARIATIONS. Afier ver. 234, in the MS.

VARIATIONS. To bards reciting he vouchfal'd a nod,

Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound, And snuff'd their incense like a gracious God. As rumbling Dennis or a Norfolk hound; Afier ver. 270, in the MS.

[fill : With George and Frederic roughen every verse, Friendships from youth I fought, and seek them Then smooth up all, and Caroline rehearse. tame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it will. P. No--the high task to lift up kings to gods, The word I knew, but made it not my school, Leave to court fermons, and to birth-day odes. And in a course of flattery liv'd no fool.

On themes like these, fuperior far to thine, Arver 282, in the MS.

Let laurelid Cibber and great Arnal fine. P. Phat if I lirg Auguftu: great and good ? Why write at all ?-- A. Yes, silence if you keep, A. You did lo laicly, was it underflood?

The town, the court, the uits, the duc.ces weep.

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