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Revibrates quick; and fends the tuneful tongue
To lavish mufic 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 shalt 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 conversation. Not a face that smiles
Admit thy presence! 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 ftand titt'ring round thy bed,
And ufh'ring in their fav'rites, burft 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, distrustless, fcorn the treasur❜d gold,
And spurn 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 fnare.
Him we deride, and in our comic scenes

Con

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 whose heart
Is crufted o'er with drofs, whofe callous mind
Is senseless as his gold, the flighted muse
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 distant 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 fpirit 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

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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
Engrofs 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! whose œconomic care
Your green-filk purse engroffes! easy, pleas'd,
To fee gold fparkle thro' the fubtle 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 ayuls'd
Were by a splendid 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 profuse,
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 drefs
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 blifs
Of vulgar minds, what noftrum shall 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 orgafm uncontroul'd!
Impatient, hence, of all, the frugal mind
Requires; to eat, to drink, to fleep, to fill

A cheft

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. 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 blifs!
Seas without shore! infinity of fweets!

And yet, unless fage reafon join her hand
In pleasure's purchase, pleasure is unfure:
And yet, unless oeconomy's confent
Legitimate expence, fome graceless mark,
Some symptom 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 ftream
Slow-loitering in its channel, feems to vie

With VAGA's depth; but fhould the fedgy pow'r
Vain-glorious empty his penurious urn
O'er the rough rock, how muft his fellow-ftreams
Deride the tinklings of the boaftive rill!
I not afpire to mark the dubious path
That leads to wealth, to poets mark'd in vain !