Revibrates quick; and fends the tuneful tongue To lavish music on the rugged walls
Of fome dark dungeon. Hence thou caitiff, fly! Touch not my glass, nor drain my facred bowl, Monster, ingrate! beneath one common sky Why should'st thou breathe; beneath one common roof Thou ne'er fhalt harbour; nor my little boat Receive a foul with crimes to press it down. Go to thy bags, thou recreant! hourly go, And gazing there, bid them be wit, be mirth, Be converfation. Not a face that smiles Admit thy prefence! not a foul that glows With focial purport, bid or ev'n or morn Invest thee happy! but when life declines, May thy fure heirs stand titt'ring round thy bed, And ufh'ring in their fav'rites, burst thy locks, And fill their laps with gold; till want and care With joy depart, and cry, " We ask no more.'
Ah never never may th' harmonious mind. Endure the worldly! poets ever kind,- Guileless, diftruftlefs, fcorn the treasur'd gold, And fpurn the mifer, fpurn his deity. Ballanc'd with friendship, in the poet's eye The rival scale of intereft kicks the beam, Than lightning fwifter. From his cavern'd store The fordid foul, with self-applause, remarks The kind propensity; remarks and smiles, And hies with impious hafte to spread the snare. Him we deride, and in our comic scenes
Contemn the niggard form MOLIERE has drawn. We loath with justice; but alas the pain To bow the knee before this calf of gold; Implore his envious aid, and meet his frown!
But 'tis not GOMEZ, 'tis not he whofe heart Is crufted o'er with drofs, whofe callous mind Is fenfelefs as his gold, the flighted mufe Intensely loaths. 'Tis fure no equal task To pardon him, who lavishes his wealth On racer, fox-hound, hawk or spaniel, all But human merit; who with gold effays All, but the nobleft pleasure, to remove The wants of genius, and its fmiles enjoy.
But you, ye titled youths! whofe nobler zeal Would burnish o'er your coronets with fame; Who liften pleas'd when poet tunes his lay; Permit him not, in diftant folitudes, To pine, to languish out the fleeting hours Of active youth! then virtue pants for praise. That feafon unadorn'd, the careless bard Quits your worn threshold, and like honest GAY Contemns the niggard boon ye time fo ill. Your favours then, like trophies giv❜n the tomb, Th' enfranchis'd spirit foaring not perceives, Or fcorns perceiv'd; and execrates the smile Which bade his vig'rous bloom, to treacherous hopes And fervile cares a prey, expire in vain !— Two lawless pow'rs, engag'd by mutual hate In endless war, beneath their flags enroll
The vaffal world. This avarice is nam'd, That luxury; 'tis true their partial friends Affign them fofter names; ufurpers both! That share by dint of arms the legal throne Of just œconomy; yet both betray'd By fraudful minifters. The niggard chief Lift'ning to want, all faithlefs, and prepar'd To join each moment in his rival's train, His conduct models by the needless fears The flave infpires; while luxury, a chief Of ampleft faith, to plenty's rule refigns His whole campaign. 'Tis plenty's flatt'ring founds Engross his ear; 'tis plenty's fmiling form Moves ftill before his eye. Difcretion strives, But strives 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 tow'ring minds! ye fublimated fouls! Who careless of your fortunes, feal and fign, Set, let, contract, acquit, with easier mien Than fops take fnuff! whofe ceconomic care Your green-filk purse engroffes! easy, pleas'd, To fee gold sparkle thro' the subtle folds; Lovely, as when th' Hefperian fruitage fmil'd Amid the verd❜rous grove! who fondly hope Spontaneous harvests! harvests all the year! Who scatter wealth, as tho' the radiant crop Glitter'd on ev'ry bough; and ev'ry bough
Like that the Trojan gather'd, once avuls'd Were by a fplendid fucceffor supply'd Inftant, fpontaneous! liften to my lays. For 'tis not fools, whate'er proverbial phrase Have long decreed, that quit with greatest ease The treafur'd gold. Of words indeed profufe, 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; these the glare of dress Illume; the glitt'ring chariot gild anew, And add strange wisdom to the furs of pow'r. Alas! that he, amid the race of men, That he, who thinks of pureft gold with fcorn, Shou'd 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 bliss Of vulgar minds, what noftrum fhall compose Its fatal tenfion? in what lonely vale Of balmy medicine's various field, afpires The bleft refrigerent? Vain, ah vain the hope Of future peace, this orgasm uncontroul'd! Impatient, hence, of all, the frugal mind Requires; to eat, to drink, to fleep, to fill
A cheft with gold, the sprightly breast 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 pray'r Suffice the root-built cell, the fimple fleece, The juicy viand, and the crystal stream. Ev'n mild stupidity rewards her train With cheap contentment. Tafte alone requires Entire profusion! 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 sweets!
And yet, unless fage reafon join her hand. In pleasure's purchase, pleasure is unsure : And yet, unless œconomy's confent Legitimate expence, fome graceless mark, Some symptom ill-conceal'd, fhall, foon or late, Burst 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 pow'r Vain-glorious empty his penurious urn O'er the rough rock, how muft his fellow-streams Deride the tinklings of the boaftive rill! I not aspire to mark the dubious path That leads to wealth, to poets mark'd in vain!
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