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 pursues,
This, only this, provokes the fnarling muse.
The fober trader at a tatter'd cloak,
Wakes from his dream, and labours for a joke;
With brisker air the filken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harrass the distress'd;
Sure the most bitter is a scornful 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 pathlefs wafte, 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 smiles 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 streets, and thunder to the skies:

-Ultimus autem

Ærumnæ cumulus, quod nudum, & fruftra rogantem. Nemo cibo, nemo hofpitio, tectoque juvabit.

Si potes avelli Circenfibus, optima Soræ,
Aut Fabrateriæ domus, aut Frufinone paratur,

Rais'd from fome pleafing dream of wealth and pow'r,
Some pompous palace, or fome blissful bow'r,
Aghaft you ftart, 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 ftarving 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 laureat tribe in fervile verse 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 doom;
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 shining 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;

Quanti nunc tenebras unum conducis in annum,
Hortulus hic-

Vive bidentis amans, & culti villicus horti,
Unde epulum poffis centum dare Pythagoræis,

-Poffis ignavus haberi,

Et fubiti cafus improvidus, ad cœnam fi
Inteftatus eas.

Ebrius, ac petulans, qui nullum forte cecîdit.
Dat pænas, noctem patitur lugentis amicum
Pelidæ.

-Sed, quamvis improbus annis

Atque mero fervens, cavet hunc, quem coccina læna
Vitari jubet, et comitum longiffimus ordo:
Multum præterea flammarum, atque ænea lampas.

Nec tamen hoc tantum metuas: nam qui fpoliet te Non deerit: claufis domibus, &c,

There might'ft thou find fome elegant retreat,
Some hireling fenator's deferted feat;

And stretch 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 repast afford,
Despise the dainties of a venal lord:

There ev'ry bush with nature's mufick rings,
There ev'ry breeze bears health upon its wings;
On all thy hours fecurity shall smile,

And bless thine evening walk and morning toil,

Prepare for death, if here at night you roam, And fign your will before you fup from home,

Some fiery fop, with new commiffion vain,'
Who fleeps on brambles till he kills his man;
Some frolick drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest.

Yet ev❜n thefe heroes, mifchievoufly 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 fhun the shining train, and golden coach.

In vain these dangers paft, your doors you close, And hope the balmy bleffings of repofe;

Cruel with guilt, and daring with defpair,
The midnight murd'rer bursts the faithless bar;