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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 : 266
Him portion'd maids, apprenticed orphans bless'd,

young who labor, and the old who rest.

sick ? the Man of Ross relieves, Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes and gives. Is there a variance? enter but his door, 271 Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more. Despairing quacks with curses fled the place; And vile attorneys, now a useless race.

B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue 275 What all so wish, but want the power to do! 0, 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 possess'd—five hundred pounds a year! Blush, grandeur, blush ! proud courts, withdraw

281 Ye little stars, hide your diminish'd 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,

285 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; without it might wait for ever. Kyrle pointed out the way, and by his personal exertions induced more opulent men to follow :— the character amply deserved the panegyric. A Kyrle in every considerable village of England would effect more for the comfort, health, and beauty of the country, than all the labors, powerful as they are, of general legislation.

your blaze!

Enough, that virtue fill'd the space between;
Proved, by the ends of being, to have been. 290
When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend
The wretch, who living saved a candle's end :
Shouldering God's altar a vile image stands,
Belies his features, nay, extends his hands;
That live-long wig, which Gorgon's self might

Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.
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

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The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung, 300
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd 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

That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim! 306
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,
The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love;


305 Great Villiers lies. This lord, yet more famous for his vices than his misfortunes, having been possessed of about £50,000 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.-Pope.

307 Cliveden. A delightful palace on the banks of the Thames, built by the duke of Buckingham.-Pope.

308 Shrewsbury. 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 horses in the habit of a page.-Pope.



Or just as gay, at council, in a ring
Of mimic 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 Cutler could foresee, 315
And well, he thought, advised him :— Live like

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 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 power,
For very want; he could not pay a dower:
A few gray hairs his reverend temples crown'd;
'Twas very want that sold them for two pound.
What, ev'n denied a cordial at his end,
Banish'd the doctor, and expelld the friend ? 330
What but a want, which you perhaps think

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 ? 336
A knotty point! to which we now proceed :
But you are tired—I'll tell a tale.—B. Agreed.


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P. Where London's column, pointing at the

skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; 340 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 ; 345 An added pudding solemnised the Lord's : Constant at church and change, his gains were

súre ; His givings rare, save farthings to the poor.

The devil was piqued such saintship to behold, And long'd to tempt him like good Job of old : But Satan now is wiser than of yore;

351 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, 355 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.

339 Where London's column. The Monument, built in memory of the fire of London, with an inscription importing that city to have been burnt by the papists.-Pope.

340 Lifts the head, and lies. A line unworthy of the poetic dexterity of Pope: but the apologue of sir Balaam is admirable. Warton compares it to the exquisite history' of Eugenio and Crosodes in one of Swift's • Intelligencers. But its strength, clearness, and consecutiveness of story, are unrivalled in modern versification.

Asleep and naked as an Indian lay, 361 An honest factor stole a gem away : He pledged it to the knight; the knight had wit; So kept the diamond, 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 pour on every side ; 370 Till all the demon makes his full descent In one abundant shower of cent


cent: Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole ; Then dubs director, and secures his soul.

Behold sir Balaam, now a man of spirit, 375 Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit; What late he calld a blessing, now was wit; And God's good providence, a lucky hit. Things change their titles as our manners turn : His counting-house employ'd the Sunday morn; Seldom at church, ('twas such a busy life!) 381 But duly sent his family and wife: There, so the devil ordain'd, one Christmas-tide My good old lady catch'd a cold, and died,

A nymph of quality admires our knight: 385 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, 389 Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies : His daughter flaunts a viscount's tawdry wife; She bears a coronet and *** for life :

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