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Between each A&t the trembling falvers ring,

From foup to sweet-wine, and God bless the King.
In plenty ftarving, tantaliz'd in state,

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 fwear no day was ever past 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 Labourer bears: What his hard Heart denies,
His charitable Vanity supplies.

Another age fhall fee the golden Ear

Imbrown the Slope, and nod on the Parterre,
Deep Harvest 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 Soil? Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle. 'Tis Ufe alone that fanctifies Expence,

And Splendor borrows all her rays from Senfe.
His Father's Acres who enjoys in peace,
Or makes his Neigbours glad, if he increase:
Whofe chearful Tenants blefs their yearly toil,
Yet to their Lord owe more than to the foil;
Whose ample Lawns are not asham'd to feed
The milky heifer and deferving steed;
Whofe rifing forefts, not for pride or show,
But future Buildings, 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,
Bid Temples, worthier of the God, afcend;
Bid the broad Arch the dangerous flood contain,
The Mole projected break the roaring Main;
Back to his bounds their subject sea command,
And roll obedient Rivers through the Land;
Thefe Honours, Peace to Happy Britain brings,
These are Imperial Works, and worthy Kings.

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MORAL

MORAL ESSAY S.

EPISTLE V.

TO MR. ADDISON,

Occafioned by his Dialogues on MEDALS.

THIS was originally written in the year 1715, when Mr. Addison intended to publish his book of Medals; it was fome time before he was Secretary 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 Epiftle treated of the extremes of Avarice and Profufion; 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.

EE the wild Waste of all-devouring years!

SE

How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears, With nodding arches broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead; Imperial wonders rais'd on Nations spoil'd, Where mix'd with Slaves the groaning Martyr toil'd : Huge Theatres, that now unpeopled Woods,

Now drain'd a diftant country of her Floods :

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Fanes,

Fanes, which admiring Gods with pride furvey,
Statues of Men, fcarce lefs alive than they!
Some felt the filent stroke of mouldering age,
Some hoftile fury, fome religious rage.
Barbarian blindness, Chriftian zeal confpire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.

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

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Ambition figh'd: fhe found it vain to trust The faithlefs Column and the crumbling Buft: Huge moles, whofe fhadow ftretch'd from fhore to shore, Their ruins perish'd, and their place no more! Convinc'd, fhe now contracts her vaft design, 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 feen the proftrate Nile or Rhine; A fmall Euphrates through the piece is roll'd, And little Eagles wave their wings in gold.

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The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame,

Through climes and ages bears each form and name: In one fhort view fubjected to our eye

Gods, Emperors, Heroes, Sages, Beauties, lie.
With fharpen'd fight pale Antiquaries pore,

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Th' infcription value, but the ruft adore.
This the blue varnish, that the green endears,
The facred ruft of twice ten hundred years!

VOL. II.

L

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To gain Pefcennius one employs his Schemes,
One grafps a Cecrops in extatic dreams.

Poor Vadius, long with learned fpleen devour'd,
Can tafte no pleasure fince his Shield was fcour'd:
And Curio, reftlefs by the Fair-one's fide,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.

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Their's is the Vanity, the Learning thine :
Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories shine:
Her Gods and godlike Heroes rife to view,
And all her faded garlands bloom anew.
Nor blush, these ftudies they regard engage;
Thefe pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage:
The verfe and fculpture bore an equal part,
And Art reflected images to Art.

Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim,
Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame?
In living medals fee her wars enroll'd,
And vanquish'd realms fupply recording gold?
Here, rifing bold, the Patriot's honest face;
There, Warriors frowning in hiftoric brass:
Then future ages with delight shall see

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How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree;
Or in fair feries laurel'd Bards be shown,

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A Virgil there, and here an Addison.

Then fhall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine)
On the caft ore, another Pollio, fhine;

With afpect open fhall erect his head,

And round the orb in lafting notes be read,

"Statesman, yet friend to Truth! of foul fincere, "In action faithful, and in honour clear;

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"Who

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