By fraudful minifters. The niggard chief,
Liftening to want, all faithlefs, and prepar'd
To join each moment in his rival's train,
His conduct models by the needlefs fears
The flave inspires; while luxury, a chief
Of amplest faith, to plenty's rule resigns
His whole campaign. 'Tis plenty's flattering founds
Engrofs his ear; 'tis plenty's fimiling form
Moves ftill before his eyes. Discretion strives,
But ftrives in vain, to banish from the throne
The perjur'd minion. He, fecure of trust,
With latent malice to the hoftile camp

Day, night, and hour, his monarch's wealth conveys.
Ye towering minds! ye fublimated fouls!
Who, careless of your fortunes, feal and fign,
Set, let, contract, acquit, with easier mien
Than fops take fnuff! whofe oeconomic care
Your green-filk purfe engroffes! eafy, pleas'd,'
To fee gold fparkle through the fubtle folds;
Lovely, as when th' Hefperian fruitage fmil'd
Amid the verdurous grove! who fondly hope
Spontaneous harvests! harvests all the
year!
Who fcatter wealth, as though the radiant crop
Glitter'd on every bough; and every bough
Like that the Trojan gather'd, once avuls'd
Were by a fplendid fucceffor fupply'd
Inftant, fpontaneous! liften to my lays.
For 'tis not fools, whate'er proverbial phrafe
Have long decreed, that quit with greatest ease
The treasur'd gold. Of words indeed profufe,
R

of

Of gold tenacious, their torpefcent foul
Clenches their coin, and what electral fire
Shall folve the frofty gripe, and bid it flow ?
'Tis genius, fancy, that to wild expence
Of health of treasure! ftimulates the foul:
Thefe, with officious care, and fatal art,
Improve the vinous flavour; these the smile
Of Cloe foften; thefe the glare of dress
Illume; the glittering chariot gild anew,
And add strange wifdom to the furs of power.
Alas! that he, amid the race of men,
That he, who thinks of pureft gold with fcorn,
Should with unfated appetite demand,

And vainly court, the pleasure it procures !
When fancy's vivid fpark impels the foul
To fcorn quotidian scenes, to fpurn the blifs
Of vulgar minds, what noftrum fhall compofe
Its fatal tension? in what lonely vale

Of balmy medicine's various field, afpires
The bleft refrigerant? Vain, ah vain the hope
Of future peace, this orgasm uncontrol'd!
Impatient, hence, of all the frugal mind
Requires; to eat, to drink, to fleep, to fill
A cheft with gold, the fprightly breaft demands
Inceffant rapture; life, a tedious load
Deny'd its continuity of joy.

But whence obtain ? philofophy requires
No lavish coft; to crown its utmost prayer
Suffice the root-built cell, the fimple fleece,
The juicy viand, and the cryftal ftream.

Ev'n mild ftupidity rewards her train

With cheap contentment. Taste alone requires
Entire profufion! Days and nights, and hours,
Thy voice, hydropic fancy! calls aloud
For coftly draughts, inundant bowls of joy,
Rivers of rich regalement! feas of bliss!
Seas without shore! infinity of fweets!
And yet, unlefs fage reafon join her hand
In pleafure's purchase, pleasure is unfure:
And yet, unless oeconomy's confent
Legitimate expence, fome graceless mark,
Some fymptom ill-conceal'd, fhall, foon or late,
Burft like a pimple from the vicious tide
Of acid blood, proclaiming want's disease,
Amidst the bloom of fhew. The scanty stream
Slow-loitering in its channel, feems to vie
With Vaga's depth; but should the fedgy power
Vain-glorious empty his penurious urn

O'er the rough rock, how must his fellow streams
Deride the tinklings of the boastive rill !

I not afpire to mark the dubious path

That leads to wealth, to poets mark'd in vain!
But, ere felf-flattery footh the vivid breast
With dreams of fortune near ally'd to fame,
Reflect how few, who charm'd the liftening ear
Of fatrap or of king, her fmiles enjoy'd !
Confider well, what meagre alms repay'd
The great Mæonian, fire of tuneful song,
And prototype of all that foar'd fublime,
And left dull cares below; what griefs impell'd

The modeft bard of learn'd Eliza's reign
To fwell with tears his Mulla's parent stream,
And mourn aloud the pang to ride, to run,
"To spend, to give, to want, to be undone."
Why should I tell of Cowley's pensive Muse
Belov'd in vain? too copious is my theme!

Which of
your boafted race might hope reward
Like loyal Butler, when the liberal Charles,
The judge of wit, perus'd the sprightly page,
Triumphant o'er his foes? Believe not hope,
The poet's parafite; but learn alone

To fpare the fcanty boon the fates decree.
Poet and rich! 'tis folccifm extreme!
'Tis heighten'd contradiction! in his frame,
In every nerve and fibre of his foul,
The latent seeds and principles of want

Has nature wove; and fate confirm'd the clue.
Nor yet defpair to fhun the ruder gripe

Of

penury; with nice precision learn

A dollar's value. Foremost in the page

That marks th' expence of each revolving year,
Place inattention. When the luft of praise,
Or honour's falfe idea, tempts thy foul
To flight frugality, affure thine heart
That danger's near. This perishable coin
Is no vain ore. It is, thy liberty,

It fetters mifers, but it must alone

Enfranchise thee. The world, the cit-like world,

Bids thee beware; thy little craft effay;

Nor

Nor, piddling with a tea-fpoon's flender form,
See with foup-ladles devils gormandize.

Oeconomy thou good old aunt! whofe mien
Furrow'd with age and care the wife adore,
The wits contemn! referving ftill thy ftores
To chear thy friends at laft! why with the cit,
Or bookless churl, with each ignoble name,
Each earthly nature, deign'st thou to refide?
And, fhunning all who by thy favours crown'd
Might glad the world, to feek feme vulgar mind
Infpiring pride, and felfish fhapes of ill?

Why with the old, infirm, and impotent,
And childless, love to dwell; yet leave the breast
Of youth, unwarn'd, unguided, uninform'd?
Of youth, to whom thy monitory voice
Were doubly kind? for fure to youthful eyes
(How fhort foe'er it prove) the road of life
Appears protracted; fair on either fide

The Loves, the Graces play, on Fortune's child
Profufely fmiling; well might you effay
The frugal plan, the lucrative employ,
Source of their favour all the live-long day,
But Fate affents not. Age alone contracts
His meagre palm, to clench the tempting bane
Of all his peace, the glittering feeds of care!

O that the Mufe's voice might pierce the ear
Of generous youth! for youth deferves her fong,
Youth, is fair virtue's feafon, virtue then
Requires the pruner's hand; the fequent stage,
It barely vegetates; nor long the space