My lord advances with majestic mien,

Smit with the mighty pleasure to be seen:

But foft-by regular approach-not yet—

First thro' the length of yon hot terrace sweat;

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And when up ten fteep flopes you've drag'd your thighs,
Juft at his ftudy-door he'll bless your eyes.

His study with what authors is it ftor'd?
In books, not authors, curious is my lord;
To all their dated backs he turns you round;
Thefe Aldus printed, thofe Du Sueil has bound.
Lo fome are vellum, and the rest as good
For all his lordship knows, but they are wood.
For Locke or Milton 'tis in vain to look,
Thefe fhelves admit not any modern book.

And now the chapel's filver bell you hear,

That fummons you to all the pride of pray'r :
Like quirks of mufic, broken and uneven,
Make the foul dance upon a jig to heav'n.
On painted ceilings you devoutly stare,

Where sprawl the faints of Verrio and Laguerre *,
Or gilded clouds in fair expanfion lie,
And bring all Paradife before your eye.
To reft, the cufhion and foft Dean invite,
Who never mentions Hell to ears polite.

But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall :
The rich buffet well-colour'd ferpents grace,
And gaping tritons fpew to wash your face.
Is this a dinner? this a genial room?
No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb,

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A folemn facrifice, perform'd in state,

You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying course, you'd fwear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there.
Between each at the trembling falvers ring,
From foup to sweet-wine, and God bless the king.

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* Verrio (Antonio) painted many ceilings, &c. at Wind or, HamptonCourt, &c. and Laguerre at Blenheim-castle, and other places.

In

In plenty ftarving, tantaliz'd in ftate,
And complaifantly help'd to all I hate,
Treated, carefs'd, and tir'd, I take my leave,
Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve;
I curfe fuch lavish coft, and little skill,

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And swear no day was ever paft so ill.

Yet hence the poor are cloath'd, the hungry fed; Health to himself, and to his infants bread

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The lab'rer bears: what his hard heart denies,
His charitable vanity fupplies.

Another age fhall fee the golden ear

Imbrow the flope, and nod on the parterre,

Deep harveft bury all his pride has plann'd,

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And laughing Ceres reaffume the land.

Who then shall grace, or who improve the foil ?

Who plants like BATHURST, or who builds like BOYLE. 'Tis ufe alone that fanctifies expence,

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And splendor borrows all her rays from sense.
His father's acres who enjoys in peace,
Or makes his neighbours glad, if he encrease;
Whofe chearful tenants blefs their yearly toil,
Yet to their lord owe more than to the foil;
Whose ample lawns are not afham'd to feed
The milky heifer and deferving fteed;
Whofe rifing forefts, not for pride or fhow,
But future building, future navies, grow:
Let his plantations stretch from down to down,
First shade a country, and then raise a town,

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You too proceed! make falling arts your care,

Erect new wonders, and the old repair;
Jones and Palladio to themselves restore,
And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:

'Till kings call forth th' ideas of your mind,
(Proud to accomplish what fuch hands defign'd)
Bid harbours open, public ways extend, *

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Bid temples, worthier of the God, ascend;

Bid

* The poet after having touched upon the proper objects of magnificence and expence, in the private works of great men, comes to thofe great and

public

Bid the broad arch the dang'rous flood contain,
The mole projected break the roaring main ;
Back to his bounds their fubject fea command,
And roll obedient rivers thro' the land:
These honours, peace to happy Britain brings,
These are imperial works, and worthy kings.

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public works which become a prince. This poem was published in the year 1732, when fome of the new-built churches, by the act of Queen Anne, were ready to fall, being founded in bøggy land (which is fatirically alluded to in our author's imitation of Horace, Lib. ii. Sat. 2.

Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall)

others very vilely executed, through fraudulent cabals between undertakers, officers, &c. Dagenham-breach had done very great mischiefs; many of the highways throughout England were hardly paffable; and most of those which were repaired by turnpikes were made jobs for private lucre, and infamously executed, even to the entrance of London itself: the proposal of building a bridge at Westminster had been petitioned against and rejected; but in two years after the publication of this poem, an act for building a bridge paffed through both Houses. After many debates in the committee, the execution was left to the carpenter above-mentioned, who would have made it a wooden one; to which our author alludes in these lines,

Who builds a bridge that never drove a pile ?

Should Ripley venture, all the world would fmile.

MORAL

MORAL

ESSAYS.

EPISTLE V*.

To Mr. ADDISON.

Occafioned by his DIALOGUES on MEDALS.

EE the wild wafte of all devouring years!

How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
The very tombs now vanifh'd like their dead!
Imperial wonders rais'd on nations fpoil'd,
Where mix'd with flaves the groaning martyr toil'd:
Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods,
Now drain'd a diftant country of her floods :
Fanes, which admiring gods with pride furvey,
Statues of men, scarce lefs alive than they !
Some felt the filent ftroke of mould'ring age,
Some hoftile fury, fome religious rage.
Barbarian blindness, christian zeal confpire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.

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ΤΟ

*This was originally written in the year 1715, when Mr. Addifon intended to publish his book of Medals; it was fome time before he was fecretary of state; but not published 'till Mr. Tickell's Edition of his works; at which time the verfes on Mr. Craggs, which conclude the poem, were added, viz. in 1720.

,,

As the third Epistle treated of the extremes of avarice and profusion; and the fourth took up one particular branch of the latter, namely, the vanity of expence in people of wealth and quality, and was therefore a corollary to the third; fo this treats of one circumstance of that vanity, as it appears in the common collectors of old coins: and is, therefore, a corollary to the fourth. VOL. I. Y y Perhaps,

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MORAL ESSAY S.

Perhaps, by its own ruins fav'd from flame,
Some bury'd marble half preserves a name;
That name the learn'd with fierce difputes pursue,
And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.

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Ambition figh'd: she found it vain to trust The faithlefs column and the crumbling buft: Huge moles, whose shadow ftretch'd from shore to shore, Their ruins perifh'd, and their place no more! Convinc'd, the now contracts her vaft defign, And all her triumphs fhrink into a coin. A narrow orb each crouded conqueft keeps, Beneath her palm here fad Judea weeps. Now fcantier limits the proud arch confine, And scarce are seen the proftrate Nile or Rhine; A fmall Euphrates thro' the piece is roll'd,

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And little eagles wave their wings in gold.

The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame,

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Thro' climes and ages bears each form and name :
In one fhort view fubjected to our eye
Gods, emp'rors, heroes, fages, beauties lie.
With sharpen'd fight pale antiquaries pore,
Th' infcription value, but the ruft adore.
This the blue varnish, that the green endears,
The facred ruft of twice ten hundred years!
To gain Pefcennius one employs his fchemes,
One grafps a Cecrops in extatic dreams.
Poor Vadius, long with learned fpleen devour'd,

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Can tafte no pleasure fince his fhield was fcour'd:

And Curio, reftless by the fair-one's fide,

Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride..

Their's is the vanity, the learning thine :

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Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories fhine;

Her gods, and godlike heroes rise to view,

And all her faded garlands bloom a-new.

Nor blush, these ftudies thy regard engage;
These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage:
The verse and sculpture bore an equal part,
And art reflected images to art.

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Oh