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Oh, save it but from ridicule,

How blest the state, to be a fool!

The bedlam-king in triumph shares

The bliss of crowns, without the cares ;
He views with pride-elated mind,
His robe of tatters trail behind;
With strutting mien and lofty eye,
He lifts his crabtree sceptre high;
Of king's prerogative he raves,

And rules in realms of fancied slaves.

In her soft brain, with madness warm, Thus airy throngs of lovers swarm.

She takes her glass;

before her eyes

Imaginary beauties rise;

Stranger till now, a vivid ray

Illumes each glance and beams like day; Till furbish'd every charm anew,

An angel steps abroad to view;

She swells her pride, assumes her power, And bids the vassal world adore.

Indulge thy dream. The pictured joy No ruder breath should dare destroy ; No tongue should hint, the lover's mind Was ne'er of virtuoso-kind,

Through all antiquity to roam

For what much fairer springs at home.

No wish should blast thy proud design;
The bliss of vanity be thine.

But while the subject world obey,
Obsequious to thy sovereign sway,
Thy foes so feeble and so few,

With slander what hadst thou to do?
What demon bade thine anger rise?
What demon glibb'd thy tongue with lies?
What demon urged thee to provoke
Avenging satire's deadly stroke?

Go, sink unnoticed and unseen, Forgot, as though thou ne'er hadst been. Oblivion's long projected shade

In clouds hangs dismal o'er thy head.
Fill the short circle of thy day,
Then fade from all the world away;
Nor leave one fainting trace behind,
Of all that flutter'd once and shined;
The vapoury meteor's dancing light
Deep sunk and quench'd in endless night.

CHARACTERS.

CHARACTERS.

O WEALTH, Wealth, Wealth! our being's end

and aim!

Gold, houses, chattels, lands! whate'er thy name ;
Thou, for whose sake advent'rous arts we try,
Defraud, extort, rob, plunder, toil and die;
Tempt instant fate in war's tremendous form,
Ride the salt wave and brave the bellowing storm:
Cheerful I follow where thy steps incline,

Explore the waste, or dive the dang'rous mine,
Lose my scorn'd life, or gain an envied store,
And either cease to be, or to be poor."

So reason'd Harpax. Was this reasoning well? Can wealth give merit? Curio, thou canst tell.

This poem is a fragment of a Moral Essay in the manner of Pope. Sundry other characters were inserted, chiefly of persons then in public life, and drawn with such traits and allusions, as would have at once directed the application. Some of them, as Pope expresses it,

"Have walk'd the world in credit to the grave,"

and all are now off the stage. No part of the Essay was ever before published.

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