"At length Corruption, like a gen'ral flood,
66 (So long by watchful Ministers withstood)
"Shall deluge all; and Av'rice, creeping on,
"Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the Sun;
"Statesman and Patriot ply alike the stocks,
"Peeress and Butler share alike the Box,
"And Judges job, and Bishops bite the town,

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"And mighty Dukes pack Cards for half a crown.

"See Britain sunk in lucre's sordid charms,

"And France reveng'd of ANNE'S and EDWARD'S arms?'

'Twas no Court-badge, great Scriv'ner! fir'd thy brain,

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Nor lordly Luxury, nor City Gain:

No, 'twas thy righteous end, asham'd to see
Senates degen'rate, Patriots disagree,

And, nobly wishing Party-rage to cease,

To buy both sides, and give thy Country peace.
"All this is madness," cries a sober sage:

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But who, my friend, has reason in his rage?
"The ruling Passion, be it what it will,
"The ruling Passion conquers Reason still."
Less mad the wildest whimsey we can frame,
Than ev'n that Passion, if it has no Aim;
For tho' such motives Folly you may call,
The Folly's greater to have none at all1.

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Hear then the truth: "'Tis Heav'n each Passion sends,

"And diff'rent men directs to diff'rent ends.

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"Extremes in Nature equal good produce,
"Extremes in Man concur to gen'ral use.
Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow?
That POW'R 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 ;
This year a Reservoir, to keep and spare 2;
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,
Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth :

senter of a most religious deportment, and professed to be a greater believer. Whether he did really credit the prophecy here mentioned is not certain, but it was constantly in this very style he declaimed against the corruption and luxury of the age, the partiality of Parliaments, and the misery of party-spirit. He was particularly eloquent against Avarice in great and noble persons, of which he had indeed lived to see many miserable

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examples. He died in the year 1732. P.
1 Verbatim from Rochefoucault. Warton.
2 Taken from Fuller's Church History, p. 28.
Warton.

3 [Supposed to be the Duke of Newcastle, who died in 1711; and his son, the well-known peer of that name, who afterwards became prime minister. Carruthers. [See Macaulay's portrait of the son in his Essay on Chatham.]

What tho' (the use of barb'rous spits forgot)
His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot1?
His court with nettles, moats with cresses stor'd,

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With soups unbought 2 and salads bless'd his board?

If Cotta liv'd on pulse, it was no more

Than Brahmins, Saints, and Sages did before;

To cram the Rich was prodigal expense,

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And who would take the Poor from Providence?

Like some lone Chartreux stands the good old Hall,
Silence without, and Fasts within the wall;
No rafter'd roofs with dance and tabor sound,
No noontide-bell invites the country round
Tenants with sighs the smokeless tow'rs survey,
And turn th' unwilling steeds another way;
Benighted wanderers, the forest o'er,
Curse the sav'd candle, and unop'ning door;
While the gaunt mastiff growling at the gate,
Affrights the beggar whom he longs to eat.

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Not so his Son; he mark'd this oversight,
And then mistook reverse of wrong for right.
(For what to shun will no great knowledge need;
But what to follow, is a task indeed.)
Yet sure, of qualities deserving praise,
More go to ruin Fortunes, than to raise.

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What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine,

Fill the capacious Squire, and deep Divine!

Yet no mean motive this profusion draws,
His oxen perish in his country's cause;

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'Tis GEORGE and LIBERTY that crowns the cup,

And Zeal for that great House which eats him up.
The woods recede around the naked seat;

The Sylvans groan-no matter for the Fleet;
Next goes his Wool-to clothe our valiant bands;
Last, for his Country's love, he sells his Lands.
To town he comes, completes the nation's hope,
And heads the bold Train-bands", and burns a Pope.
And shall not Britain now reward his toils,
Britain, that pays her
In vain at Court the
His thankless Country

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Patriots with her Spoils ?
Bankrupt pleads his cause,
leaves him to her Laws 6.

The Sense to value Riches, with the Art
T'enjoy them, and the Virtue to impart,
Not meanly, nor ambitiously pursu'd,

Not sunk by sloth, nor rais'd by servitude;

['Cool was his kitchen, though his brains were hot. Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel. I.] 2 With soups unbought] -dapibus mensas onerabat inemptis. Virg. P. [Georg. IV. 133.]

3 [Carthusian monastery.] 4 [Of Hanover.]

5 [The demonstrative Protestantism of the Metropolis is the subject of Dryden's Medai.]

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6 After V. 218 in the MS.
'Where one lean herring furnish'd Cotta's board,
And nettles grew, fit porridge for their Lord;
Where mad good-natured bounty misapply'd,
In lavish Curio blaz'd awhile and dy'd;
There Providence once more shall shift the scene,
And shewing H-y, teach the Golden mean.'
Warburton.

[H-y may stand for Harley.]

To balance Fortune by a just expense,
Join with Economy, Magnificence;

With Splendour, Charity; with Plenty, Health;

O teach us, BATHURST! yet unspoil'd by wealth1!
That secret rare, between th' extremes to move
Of mad Good-nature, and of mean Self-love.

B. To Worth or Want well-weigh'd, be Bounty giv'n,

And ease, or emulate, the care of Heav'n;

(Whose measure full o'erflows on human race)
Mend Fortune's fault, and justify her grace.
Wealth in the gross is death, but life diffus'd;
As Poison heals, in just proportion us'd:
In heaps, like Ambergrise, a stink it lies,

But well-dispers'd, is Incense to the Skies.

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 cheerful noon

Without a Fiddler, Flatt'rer, or Buffoon?

Whose table, Wit, or modest Merit share,

Unelbow'd by a Gamester, Pimp, or Play'r?

Who copies Your's or OXFORD's better part 2,

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 awhile may stand,
And Honour linger ere it leaves the land.

But all our praises why should Lords engross? Rise, honest Muse! and sing the MAN of Ross3: 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 flow?
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 heav'n-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;
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans blest,
The young who labour, and the old who rest.
Is any sick? the MAN of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives.
Is there a variance; enter but his door,
Balk'd are the Courts, and contest is no more.
Despairing Quacks with curses fled the place,
And vile Attorneys, now an useless race.

B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue
What all so wish, but want the pow'r to do!
Oh say, what sums that gen'rous hand supply?
What mines, to swell that boundless charity?

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275

P. Of Debts, and Taxes, Wife and Children clear,
This man possest-five hundred pounds a year.

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Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud Courts, withdraw your blaze !

Ye little Stars! hide your diminish'd rays.

B. And what? no monument, inscription, stone1?
His race, his form, his name almost unknown?

P. Who builds a Church to God, and not to Fame,

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Will never mark the marble with his Name :
Go, search it there 2, where to be born and die 3,
Of rich and poor makes all the history;
Enough, that Virtue fill'd the space between ;
Prov'd, by the ends of being, to have been.
When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend
The wretch, who living sav'd a candle's end:
Should'ring God's altar a vile image stands,
Belies his features, nay extends his hands;
That live-long wig which Gorgon's self might own,
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone 5.

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Behold what blessings Wealth to life can lend!
And see, what comfort it affords our end.

In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung,

With tape-ty'd curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villiers lies-alas! how chang'd from him,
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,
The bow'r of wanton Shrewsbury 3 and love;
Or just as gay, at Council, in a ring
Of mimic'd Statesmen, and their merry King.
No Wit to flatter left of all his store!
No Fool to laugh at, which he valu'd more.
There, Victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.
His Grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee,
And well (he thought) advis'd him, "Live like me."
As well his Grace reply'd, “Like you, Sir John?
"That I can do, when all I have is gone.'
Resolve me, Reason, which of these is worse,
Want with a full, or with an empty purse?
Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd,
Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd?
Cutler saw tenants break, and houses fall,
For very want; he could not build a wall.
His only daughter in a stranger's pow'r,
For very want; he could not pay a dow'r."
A few grey hairs his rev'rend temples crown'd,
'Twas very want that sold them for two pound.
What ev'n deny'd a cordial at his end,
Banish'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend?
What but a want, which you perhaps think mad,
Yet numbers feel the want of what he had!
Cutler and Brutus, dying both exclaim,
"Virtue! and Wealth! what are ye but a name 5!"

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Say, for such worth are other worlds prepar'd?

Or are they both, in this their own reward?
A knotty point! to which we now proceed.
But you are tir'd-I'll tell a tale B. Agreed.

1 Great Villiers lies-] This Lord, yet more famous for his vices than his misfortunes, after having been possess'd of about £50,000 a year, and passed thro' many of the highest posts in the kingdom, died in the Year 1687, in a remote inn in Yorkshire, reduced to the utmost misery. P.

[George Villiers Duke of Buckingham, the son of the first Duke (the favourite and minister of James I. and Charles I.) was born in 1637. He lost his estates as a royalist, but recovered them by his marriage with the daughter of Lord Fairfax. He is the Zimri of the Absalom and Achitophel of Dryden, whom he had ridiculed as Bayes in the burlesque play of the Rehearsal. Thus we have portraits of this typical hero of the Restoration period by Dryden and Pope, as well as by Burnet and Butler, Count Grammont and Horace Walpole. The tenant's house at which

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he died (in 1687) was at Kirby Moor Side, near Helmsly in Yorkshire.]

Cliveden] A delightful palace, on the banks of the Thames, built by the D. of Buckingham. P. 3 Shrewsbury] The Countess of Shrewsbury, a woman abandoned to gallantries. The Earl her husband was kill'd by the Duke of Buckingham in a duel; and it has been said, that during the combat she held the Duke's horses in the habit of a page. P.

4 [Sir John Cutler, a wealthy citizen of the Restoration period, accused of rapacity on account of a large claim made by his executors against the College of Physicians which he had aided by a loan. Carruthers.]

5 [Wakefield refers to the account of Brutus' death. Dion Cassius (XLVII. 49).]