At Ali's house now every hand
Is bufy, at their lord's command;
Where at th' appointed hour refort
The king and all his fplendid court,
Ali came forth his prince to meet,
And, lowly bowing, kifs'd his feet.
On all his compliments bestows,
Civil alike to friends and foes.
The king, impatient to behold
His furniture of gems and gold,
From room to room the chace pursued,
With curious eyes each corner view'd,
Ranfack'd th' apartments o'er and o'er,
Each closet search'd, unlock'd each door;
But all he found was plain and coarse,
The meanest Perfian scarce had worse:
Thefe Ali for convenience bought,
Nor for expenfive trifles fought.
One door a prying eunuch spy'd,
With bars and locks well fortify'd,
And now, fecure to find the prize,
Shew'd it the king with joyful eyes.
"Ali," said he, "that citadel,
"Is ftrong, and barricadoed well?
"What have you there?" Ali reply'd,
"Oh, fir, there 's lodg'd my greatest pride;
"There are the gems I value most,

"And all the treafures I can boast."
All now convinc'd of his disgrace,
Triumph appear'd in every face.

The monarch doubted now no more;
The keys are brought, unlock'd the door,
When, lo! upon the wall appear

His fhepherd's weeds hung up with care,
Nor crook nor fcrip was wanting there;
Nor pipe that tun'd his humble lays,
Sweet folace of his better days!

Then, bowing low, he touch'd his breast,
And thus the wondering king addreft:
"Great Prince! your Ali is your flave,
"To you belong whate'er I have;

"Goods, houfe, are yours, nay yours this head,
"For fpeak the word, and I am dead :
"Thefe moveables, and these alone,
"I may with justice call my own.
"Your royal fire, Abbas the Great,
"Whom nations proftrate at his feet
"On earth ador'd; whofe foul at reft,
"In paradife a welcome gueft,
“Enjoys its full, in fragrant bowers,
"Or wantons upon beds of flowers,
"While the pure ftream, in living rills,
"From rocks of adamant diftils,
"And black-ey'd nymphs attend his nod,
"Fair daughters of that bleft abode :
"By his command, I left the plain,

"An humble, but contented fwain.

* Such is the Paradife the Turks expect.

" Nor

"Nor fought I wealth, nor power, nor place; “All these were owing to his

grace; " 'Twas his mere bounty made me great, "And fix'd me here, in this high feat, "The mark of envy. Much he gave, "But yet of nought depriv'd his flave: "He touch'd not thefe. Alas! whofe fpite, "Whose avarice, would thefe excite? "My old, hereditary right!

"Grant me but thefe, Great Prince, once more,

"Grant me the pleasure to be poor,

"This fcrip, these homely weeds, I'll wear,

}

"The bleating flocks fhall be my care;

"Th' employ that did my youth engage, "Shall be the comfort of my age."

The king, amaz'd at such a scorn
Of riches, in a fhepherd born;

"How foars that foul," faid he, " above
"The courtier's hate, or monarch's love!
" No power fuch virtue can efface,
"No jealous malice shall disgrace.
"Wealth, grandeur, pomp, are a mere cheat,
"But this is to be truly great."

While tears ran trickling down his face,
He clafp'd him in a close embrace;
Then caus'd himself to be undrest,

And cloath'd him in his royal vest:
The greatest honour he could give,
Or Persian subjects can receive.

THE SWEET-SCENTED MISER.

ELL me, my noble generous friend,

TELL

With what defign, and to what end,

Do greedy fools heap up with care

That pelf, which they want heart to share ?
What other pleasure can they know,

But to enjoy, or to bestow?

Acts of benevolence and love

Give us a taste of heaven above;

We imitate th' immortal powers,

Whofe fun-fhine, and whose kindly showers,

Refresh the poor and barren ground,

And plant a Paradise around :

But this mean, sneaking avarice,
Is a collection of all vice.

Where this foul weed but taints the place,
Nor virtue grows, nor worth, nor grace;
The foul a defert waste remains,
And ghaftly defolation reigns.

But where will these grave morals tend?
Pardon my zeal, dear courteous friend;
The province of my humbler vein,
Is not to preach, but entertain.

Gripe, from the cradle to the grave,
Was good for nothing, but to fave;
Mammon his God, to him alone

He bow'd, and his fhort creed was known :

On

On his thumb-nail it might be wrote,
"A penny fav'd 's a penny got."
This rich poor man was jogging down,
Once on a time, from London town;
With him his fon, a handy lad,
To drefs his daddy- —or his pad :
Among his dealers he had been,
And all their ready cash fwept clean.
Gripe, to fave charges on the road,
At each good house cramm'd in a load;
With boil'd and roaft his belly fill'd,
And greedily each tankard swill'd:
How favoury, how sweat the meat!
How good the drink when others treat!
Now on the road Gripe trots behind,
For weighty reafons (as you 'll find):
The boy foon long’d to take a whet,
His horfe at each sign made a set,
And he fpurr'd on with great regret.
This the old man observ'd with pain,
"Ah! fon," faid he, "the way to gain
"Wealth (our chief good) is to abstain;
"Check each expensive appetite,
"And make the most of every mite:
"Confider well, my child, O think

"What numbers are undone by drink!
"Hopeful young men who might be great,
"Die well, and leave a large estate;

"But, by lewd comrades led aftray,
"Guzzling, throw all their means away.
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