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long, if at all; and the best examples and rules will be but perverted into something burthensome and ridi. culous, ver. 65 to 90. A description of the false taste of magnificence; the first grand error of which is, to imagine that greatness consists in the size and dimen. sion, instead of the proportion and harmony of the whole, ver. 97, and the second either in joining to. gether parts incoherent, or too minutely resembling or in the repetition of the same too frequently, ver. 105, &c. A word or two of false taste in books music, in painting, even in preaching and prayer, and lastly in entertainments, ver. 133, &c. Yet Providence is justified in giving wealth to be squandered in this zaanner, since it is dispersed to the poor and laborious part of mankind, ver. 169. [recurring to what is laid down in the first book, Ep. ii. and in the Epistle preceding this, ver. 159, &c.] What are the proper objects of magnificence, and a proper field for the expense of great men, ver. 177, &c. And finally the great and public works which become a prince, ver. 191, to tho
The extremes of avarice and profusion being treated of in the foregoing Epistle, this takes up one par. ticular branch of the latter, the vanity of expense in people of wealth and quality; and is, therefore, a corollary to the preceding, just as the Epistle on the Characters of Women is to that of the Knowledge and Characters of Men. It is equally remarkable for exactness of method with the rest. But the nature of the subject, which is less philosophical, makes it capable of being analysed in a much narrower com pass.
Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ
fic buys for Topham drawings and designs ; For Pembroke statues, dirty gods, and coins ; Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone; And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane 10 Think we all these are for himself? no more 'Than his fine wife, alas ! or finer whore.
For what has Virro painted, built, and planted ? Only to show how many tastes he wanted. What brought sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste ? Some demon whisper'd Visto! have a taste.' Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool, And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule. See! sportive fate, to punish awkward pride, Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide: 20 A standing sermon at each year's expense, That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence.
You show us Rome was glorious, not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of use; Yet shall, my lord, your just, your noble rules Fil half the land with imitating fools ; Whose random drawings from your sheets shall take, And of one beauty, many blunders make; Load some vain church with old theatric state, Turn arcs of Triumph to a garden gate;
30 Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all On some patch'd dog-hole eked with ends of wall; Then clap four slices of pilaster on 't, That laced with bits of rustic makes a front; Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar, Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door: Conscious they act a true Palladian part, And if they starve, they starve by rules of art.
Oft have you hinted to your brother peer, A certain truth which many buy tou dear; 40 Something there is more needful than expense, And something previous e'en to taste-'tis sense, Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And, though no science, fairly worth the seven :
A light which in yourself you must perceive;
To build, to plant, whatever you intend,
Consult the genius of the place in all:
Still follow sense, of every art the soul :
80 The wood supports the plain, the parts unite, And strength of shade contends with strength of light;
A waving gloom the bloomy beds display,
Through his young woods how pleased Sabinus
99 Where all cries out, 'What sums are thrown away!' So proud, so grand; of that stupendous air, Soft and agreeable come never there. Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a drought As brings all Brobdignag before your thought. To compass this, his building is a town, His pond an ocean, his parterre a down: Who but must laugh, the master when he sees, A puny insect, shivering at a breeze ! Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around ! The whole a labour'd quarry above ground. 110 Two Cupids squirt before ; a lake behind Improves the keenness of the northern wind. His gardens next your admiration call, On every side you look, behold the wall! No pleasing intricacies intervene, No artful wildness to perplex the scene: Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other. The suffering eye inverted sees, Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees; 120
WW ere a fountain never to be play'd,
My lord advances with majestic mien,
His study! with what authors is it stored ? In books, not authors, curious is my lord; To all their dated backs he turns you round; These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound! Lo, some 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 : These shelves admit not any modern book. 140
And now the chapel's silver bell you hear,
But, hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call