With ev'ry wild abfurdity comply,
And view each object with another's eye;
To shake with laughter ere the jeft they hear,
To pour, at will, the counterfeited tear,
And, as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in Deg-days, in December sweat.
How, when competitors like these contend,
Can furly virtue hope to fix a friend?
Slaves, that with ferious impudence beguile,
And lye without a blush, without a smile;
Exalt each trifle, ev'ry vice adore,
Your taste in fnuff, your judgment in a whore;
Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear
He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air.
For arts like thefe preferr'd, admir'd, carefs'd,
They firit invade your table, then your
Explore your fecrets with infidious art,
Watch the weak hour, and ranfack all the heart;
Then foon your ill-plac'd confidence repay,
Commence your lords, and govern or betray.
By numbers, here, from fhame or cenfure free,
All crimes are fafe, but hated poverty.
This, only this, the rigid law purfues;
This, only this, provokes the fnarling mufe.
The fober trader, at a tatter'd cloak,
Wakes from his dream, and labours for a joke;
With brifker air the filken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harrafs the distress'd,
Sure the most bitter is a fcornful jeft;
Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart,
Than when a blockhead's infult points the dart.
Has Heaven referv'd, in pity to the poor,
No pathless waste or undiscover'd shore?
No fecret island in the boundless main?
No peaceful defart yet unclaim'd by Spain ?
Quick let us rife, the happy feats explore,
And bear oppreffion's infolence no more.
This mournful truth is ev'ry where confefs'd,
SLOW RISES WORTH, BY POVERTY DEPRESS'D:
But here more flow, where all are flaves to gold,
Where looks are merchandise, and fmiles are fold;
Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implor'd,
The groom retails the favours of his lord.
But hark, th' affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries
Roll through the ftreets and thunder to the skies;
Rais'd from fome pleafing dream of wealth and power,
Some pompous palace or some blissful bow'r,
Aghaft you start, and scarce with aching fight
Suftain th' approaching fire's tremendous light;
Swift from pursuing horrors take your way,
And leave your little All to flames a prey;
Then thro' the world a wretched vagrant roam;
For where can starving merit find a home?
In vain your mournful narrative disclose,
While all neglect, and most insult your woes.
Should Heaven's juft bolts Orgilio's wealth confound,
And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o'er the land the difmal rumour flies,
And public mournings pacify the skies;
The laureate tribe in fervile verfe relate,
How virtue wars with perfecuting fate ;
With well-feign'd gratitude the penfion'd band
Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.
See! while he builds, the gaudy vaffals come,
And crowd with fudden wealth the rifing dome ;
The price of boroughs and of fouls reftore;
And raise his treasures higher than before.
Now blefs'd with all the baubles of the great,
The polish'd marble, and the fhining plate,
Orgilio fees the golden pile afpire,
And hopes from angry Heav'n another fire.
Could'st thou refign the park and play, content,
For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent;
There might'st thou find fome elegant retreat,
Some hireling fenator's deferted feat!
And ftretch thy profpects o'er the fmiling land,
For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand;
There prune thy walks, fupport thy drooping flow'rs,
Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bow'rs;
And, while thy beds a cheap repaft afford,
Defpife the dainties of a venal lord.
There ev'ry bush with nature's mufic rings,
There ev'ry breeze bears health upon its wings;
On all thy hours fecurity fall fmile,
And blofs thy evening walk and morning toil.
Prepare for death if here at night you roam,
Apd fign your will before you fup from home.
Some fiary fop, with new commission vain,
Who fleeps on brambles till he kills his man;
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and ftabs you for a jest.
Yet e'en thefe heroes, mifchievously gay,
Lords of the street, and terrors of the way;
Flush'd as they are with folly, youth and wine,
Their prudent infults to the poor confine;
Afar they mark the flambeau's bright approach,
And shun the shining train, and golden coach.
In vain thefe dangers paft, your doors you clofe,
And hope the balmy bleffings of repose:
Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair,
The midnight murd'rer burfts the faithless bar;
Invades the facred hour of filent reft,
And plants, unfeen, a dagger in your breast.
Scarce can our fields, fuch crowds at Tyburn die,
With hemp the gallows and the fleet fupply.
Propose your schemes, ye fenatorian band,
Whose ways and means fupport the finking land;
Let ropes be wanting in the tempting fpring,
To rig another convoy for the k—g.
A fingle jail, in Alfred's golden reign,
Could half the nation's criminals contain ;
Fair juftice, then, without constraint ador'd,
Held high the steady scale, but deep'd the fword;
No fpies were paid, no fpecial juries known;
Bleft age! but ah! how diff'rent from our own !
Much could I add, but fee the boat at hand,
The tide, retiring, calls me from the land:
Farewel!-When youth, and health, and fortune
spent,
Thou fly'ft for refuge to the Wilds of Kent;
And tir'd, like me, with follies and with crimes,
In angry numbers warn'ft fucceeding times;
Then fhall thy friend; nor thou refuse his aid,
Still foe to vice, forfake his Cambrian shade;
In virtue's caufe once more exert his rage,
Thy fatire point, and animate thy page.
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