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Man? and for ever? wretch! what wouldst thou have?
Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave.
All vast possessions (just the same the case
Whether you call them Villa, Park, or Chase] 255
Alas, my Bathurst! what will they avail ?
Join Cotswood hills to Saperton's fair dale ;
Let rising granaries and temples here,
There mingled farms and pyramids appear,
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak, 260
Enclose whole downs in walls, 'tis all a joke!
Inexorable Death shall level all,
And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall.

Gold, silver, iv'ry vases sculptur'd high,
Paint, marble, gems, and robes of Persian dye, 265
There are who have not-and thank Heav'n there are
Who, if they have not, think not worth their care.

Talk what you will of taste, my friend! you'll find Two of a face as soon as of a mind, Why of two brothers, rich and restless, one 270 Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun; The other slights for women, sports and wines, All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines: Why one, like B—, with pay and scorn content, Bows and votes on in Court and Parliament;

275 One, driv'n by strong benevolence of soul, Shall fly, like Oglethrope from pole to pole;

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Is known alone to that directing Pow'r
Who forms the genius in the natal hour;
That God of nature who, within us still,
Inclines our action, not constrains our will.
Various of temper, as of face or frame,
Each individual; his great end the same.

Yes, Sir, how small soever be my heap,
A part I will enjoy as well as keep.
My heir may sigh, and think it want of grace,
A man so poor would live without a place ;
But sure no statute in his favour says
How free or frugal I shall pass my days ;
I who at sometimes spend, at others spare,
Divided between carelessness and care.
'Tis one thing madly to disperse my store,
Another not to heed to treasure more ;
Glad like a boy to snatch the first good day,
And pleas'd if sordid want be far away.

What is’t to me (a passenger, God wot]
Whether my vessel be first rate or not?
The ship itself may make a better figure,
But I that sail am neither less nor bigger.
I neither strut with ev'ry fav’ring breath,
Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth;
In pow'r, wit, figure, virtue, fortune plac'd
Behind the foremost, and before the last.



“ But why all this of avarice? I have none." I wish you joy, Sir, of a tyrant gone :

305 But does no other lord it at this hour As wild and mad ? the avarice of pow'r ? Does neither rage inflame nor fear appal ? Not the black fear of death, that saddens all? With terrors round, can reason hold her throne, 310 Despise the known, nor tremble at th’ unknown? Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire, In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire? Pleas’d to look forward, pleas'd to look behind, And count each birthday with a grateful mind? 315 Has life no sourness drawn so near its end? Canst thou endure a foe, forgive a friend? Has age but melted the rough parts away, As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay? 319 Or will you think, my friend ! your bus'ness done, When of a hundred thorns you pull out one?

Learn to live well, or fairly make your will: You've play'd, and lov'd, and ate, and drank your fill. Walk sober off, before a sprightlier age Comes titt'ring on, and shoves you from the stage: 325 Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease, Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please. 327

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AGAIN? new tumults in my breast ?
Ah, spare me, Venus ! let me, let me rest!
I am not now, alas! the man
As in a gentle reign of my Queen Anne.
Ah! sound no more thy soft alarms,

Nor circle sober fifty with thy charms,
Mother too fierce of dear desires !
Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires :
To number Five direct your doves,
There spread round Murray all your blooming loves ;
Noble and young, who strikes the heart

11 With ev'ry sprightly, ev'ry decent part; Equal the injur’d to defend, To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend : He with an hundred arts refin'd

15 Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind : To him each rival shall submit, Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then shall thy form the marble grace, [Thy Grecian form] and Chloe lend the face: 20 His house, embosom'd in the grove, Sacred to social life and social love,

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