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What made Directors cheat in South-sea year !
Wise Peter sees the World's respect for Gold,
The Crown of Poland, venal twice an age,
Much injur'd Liunt; why bears he Britain's hate? A wizard told him in there words our fate:
At length Corruption, like a general food, “ (So long by watchful Ministers with tood) " Shall deluge all; And Avarice creeping on, " Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the fun; " Statesman and Patriot ply alike the Stocks, • Peeress and Butler Mare alike the Box, “ And Judges job, and Bishops bite the town, “ And mighty Dukes pack cards for half a crown. " See Britain funk in lucres' fordid charms, [armis !"
And France reveng'd of Anne's and Edward's 'Twas no Court badge, great Scrivener, fir’d thy brain, Nor lordly Luxury, nor City Gain :
No, twas thy righteous end, alham'd to see
“ All this is madness,” cries a sober sage: But who, my friend, has reason in his rage? 6. The ruling Passion, be it what it will, " The ruling Pallion conquers Reason fill." Less mad the wildest whimsey we can frame, Than even that passion, if it has no Aim; For tho' fuch motives folly you may call, The folly's greater to have none at all. Hear then the truth : “'Tis Heav'n each passion sends
And different men directs to different ends, " Extremes in Nature equal good produce, • Extremes in Man concur to general use." Aik we what makes one keep, and one bestow ? That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow, Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, Thro' reconcil'd extremes of drought and rain, Builds Life on Death, on Change Duration founds, And gives th'eternal wheels to know their rounds.
Riches like insects, when conceal'd they lie, Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the Poor ;
year a Reservoir, to keep and spare; The next a Fountain, spouting thro' his Heir, In lavish streams to quench a Country's thirst, And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.
old Cotta sham'd his fortune and his birth,
'Tis George and LIBERTY that crowns the cup,
The Sense to value Riches, with the Art
B. To worth or want well-weigh’d, be bounty given,
P. Who starves by Nobles, or with Nobles eats! The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that cheats. Is there a Lord, who knows a chearful noon Without a Fiddler, Flatterer, or Buffoon ? Whofe table, Wit, or modest Merit share, Un-elbowed by Gamester, Pimp, or Player ? Who copies Your's, or Oxford's better part, To ease th’ oppress’d, and raise the sinking heart? Where-e'er he shines, oh Fortune, gild the scene, And angels guard him in the golden Mean! There, English bounty, yet a-while may stand, And Honour linger ere it leaves the land.
But all our praise's why should Lords engross? Rise, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross: Pleas'd Vaga echoes thro' her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? From the dry rock who bade the waters fow? Not to the skies in useless columns tost, Or in proud falls magnificently lost, But clear and artless, pouring thro' the plain Health to the sick, and solace to the swain, Whose Cause-way parts the vale with shady rows? Whose seats the weary traveller repose ? Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ? • The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. Behold the Market-place with poor o'erspread! The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread; He feeds yon Alms-house, neat, but void of state, Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate;