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Save just at dinner-then prefers, no doubt, 'Tis education forms the common mind;
Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd. Who would not praise Patricio's high desert, Boastful and rough, your first son is a 'squire ; His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart, The next a tradesman mcek, and much a liar: His comprehensive head! all interests weigh’d, Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave; All Europe say'd, yet Britain not betray'd. Will sneaks a scrivener, an exceeding knave : He thanks you not, his pride is in piquette, Is he a churchman? then he's fond of power: Newmarket fame, and judgment at a bet.
A quaker ? sly: a presbyterian ? sour: What made (say, Montagne, or more sage Charron!) A smart free-thinker? all things in an hour. Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon ?
Ask men's opinions : Scoto now shall tell A perjured prince a leaden saint revere,
How trade increases, and the world goes well; A godless regent tremble at a star ?
Strike off his pension, by the setting sun, The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit,
And Britain, if not Europe, is undone. Faithless through piety, and dup'd through wit? That gay free-thinker, a fine talker once, Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule,
What turns him now a stupid, silent dunce ? And just her wisest monarch made a fool ? Some god, or spirit, he has lately found ;
Know, God and Nature only are the same : Or chanc'd to meet a minister that frown'd. In man, the judgment shoots a flying game;
Judge we by nature ? habit can efface, A bird of passage! gone as soon as found, Interest o'ercome, or policy take place : Now in the Moon perhaps, now under ground. By actions ? those uncertainty divides:
In vain the sage, with retrospective eye, By passions ? these dissimulation hides : Would from th' apparent what conclude the wby, Opinions ? they still take a wider range : Infer the motive from the deed, and show,
Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. That what we chanc'd, was what we meant to do. Manners with fortunes, humors turn with Behold if Fortune or a mistress frowns,
climes, Some plunge in business, others shave their crowns; Tenets with books, and principles with times. To ease the soul of one oppressive weight,
Search then the ruling passion : there, alone, This quits an empire, that embroils a state : The wild are constant, and the cunning known; The same adust complexion has impellid
The fool consistent, and the false sincere ; Charles to the convent, Philip to the field. Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
Not always actions show the man: we find This clue once found, unravels all the rest, Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind : The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest. Perhaps prosperity becalm'd his breast,
Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east: Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise ; Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat, Born with whate'er could win it frorn the wise, Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great: Women and fools must like him, or he dies : Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave: The club must hail him master of the joke. Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise, Shall parts so various aim at nothing new? His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies. He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot 100.
But grant that actions best discover man; Then turns repentant, and his God adores Take the most strong, and sort them as you can. With the same spirit that he drinks and whores ; The sew that glare, each character must mark, Enough if all around him but admire, You balance not the many in the dark.
And now the punk applaud, and now the friar. What will you do with such as disagree?
Thus with each gift of Nature and of Art, Suppress them, or miscall them policy?
And wanting nothing but an honest heart; Must then at once (the character to save)
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt ; The plain rough hero tum a crafty knave ? And most contemptible, to shun contempt ; Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind, His passion still, to covet general praise ; Perhaps was sick, in love, or had not din'd. His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways; Ask why from Britain Cæsar would retreat ? A constant bounty, which no friend has made; Cæsar himself might whisper, he was beat. An angel tongue, which no man can persuade; Why risk the world's great empire for a punk? A fool, with more of wit than half mankind, Cæsar perhaps might answer, he was drunk. Tuo rash for thought, for action too refin'd : But, sage historians ! 'tis your task to prove A tyrant to the wife his leart approves ; One action, conduct; one, heroic love.
A rebel to the very king he loves ; "Tis from high life high characters are drawn : He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn;
And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great. A judge is just, a chancellor juster still ;
Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule ? A gownman learn'd; a bishop, what you will ; 'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fod. Wise, if a minister; but, if a king,
Nature well known, no prodigies remain, More wise, more learn'd, more just, more every thing. Comets are regular, and Wharton plain. Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake, Born where Heaven's influence scarce can penetrate: If second qualities for first they take. In life's low vale, the soil the virtues like, When Catiline by rapine swell’d his store ; They please as beauties, here as wonders strike. When Cæsar made a noble dame a whore ; Though the same Sun with all diffusive rays In this the lust, in that the avarice, Blush in the rose, and in the diamond blaze, Were means, not ends; ambition was the vice. We prize the stronger effort of his power, That very Cæsar, born in Scipio's days, And justly set the gom above the flower. Had aim'd, like him, by chastity, at' praise.
Lucullus, when frugality could charm,
Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, Had roasted turnips in the Sabine farm.
If folly grow romantic, I must paint it. In vain the observer eyes the builder's toil,
Come then, the colors and the ground prepare ! But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air;
In this one passion man can strength enjoy, Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it As fits give vigor. just when they destroy. Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, Rufa, whose eye, quick glancing o'er the Park, Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand. Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark, Consistent in our follies and our sins,
Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, Here honest Nature ends as she begins.
As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock; Old politicians chew on wisdom past,
Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, And totter on in business to the last;
With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask :
So morning insects, that in muck begun,
Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace How soft is Silia! fearful to offend ;
The frail-one's advocate, the weak-one's friend. Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely pressid To her Calista prov'd her conduct nice, By his own son, that passes by unbless'd : And good Simplicius asks of her advice. Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink, And envies every sparrow that he sees.
But spare your censure ; Silia does not drink. A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate ; All eyes may see from what the change arose, The doctor call'd, declares all help too late : All eyes may see-a pimple on her nose. “Mercy!" cries Helluo, “ mercy on my soul! Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, Is there no hope ?-Alas!-then bring the jowl.” Sighs for the shades—" How charming is a park!"
The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, A park is purchas'd, but the fair he sees Still strives to save the hallow'd taper's end, All bath'd in tears—“Oh odious, odious trees!" Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires,
Ladies, like variegated tulips, show, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. 'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe ;
“Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke," Fine by defect, and delicately weak, (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke,) Their happy spots the nice admirer take. “No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace, 'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarmid, Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face: Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm'd; One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead— Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes, And—Betty-give this cheek a little red."
Less wit than mimic, more a wit than wise ; The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'a Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had, An humble servant to all human-kind, (stir, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, “]1—where I'm going—I could serve you, sir!" As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate. “I give and I devise" (old Euclio said,
Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild, And sigh'd) “my lands and tenements to Ned." To make a wash, would hardly stew a child ; Your money, sir?—“My money, sir, what all ? Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a lover's prayer, Why, if I must"—then wept) “I give it Paul." And paid a tradesman once to make him stare ; The manor, sir ?" The manor! hold," he cried. Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, “ Not that–I cannot part with that,"_and died. And made a widow happy, for a whim.
And you! brave Cobham, to the latest breath, Why then declare good-nature is her scorn, Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death: When 'tis by that alone she can be borne ? Such in those moments as in all the past,
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? "Oh, save my country, Heaven!” shall be your last. A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame :
Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking citron with his grace and Chartres ;
Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns, TO A LADY.
And atheism and religion take their turns ;
A very heathen in the carnal part,
Yet still a sad good Christian at her heart.
See Sin in state, majestically drunk,
Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk; NOTHING so true as what you once let fall, Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, “ Most women have no characters at all."
A teeming mistress, but a barren bride. Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
What then ? let blood and body bear the fault, And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair. Her head's untouch'd, that noble seat of thought;
How many pictures of one nymph we view, Such this day's doctrine-in another fit All how unlike each other, all how true!
She sins with poets through pure love of wit. Arcadia's countess, here, in ermin'd pride,
What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain? Is, there, Pastora by a fountain side.
Cesar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlemagne. Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, As Helluo, late dictator of the feast, And there, a naked Leda with a swan.
The nose of Haut-gout, and the tip of Taste, Let then the fair-one beautifully cry,
Critiqu'd your wine, and analyz'd your meat, In Magdalene's loose lair, and lifted eye, Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat : Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,
So Philomede, lecturing all mankind With simpering angels, palms, and harps divine; On the soft passion, and the taste refin'd,
Th' address, the delicacy-stoops at once, Some wandering touches, some reflected light, And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce. Some flying stroke alone can hit them right:
Flavia 's a wit, has too much sense to pray ; For how should equal colors do the knack? To toast our wants and wishes, is her way; Chameleons who can paint in white and black? Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give
" Yet Chloe sure was form'd without a spot."The mighty blessing, “ while we live, to live." Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. Then all for death, that opiate of the soul! “With every pleasing, every prudent part, Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl.
Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart. Say, what can cause such impotence of mind ? She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought; A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind ?
But never, never reach'd one generous thought.
Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
Can mark the figures on an Indian chest; Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate, And when she sees her friend in deep despair, No ass so meek, no ass so obstinate.
Observes how much a chintz esceeds mohair. Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends, Forbid it, Heaven, a favor or a debt Because she's honest, and the best of friends. She e'er should cancel--but she may forget. Or her, whose life the church and scandal share, Safe is your secret still in Chloe's ear; For ever in a passion, or a prayer.
But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear. Or her, who laughs at Hell, but (like her grace) Of all her dears she never slander'd one, Cries, “Ah! how charming, if there's no such But cares not if a thousand are undone. place !"
Would Chloe know if you 're alive or dead ? Or who in sweet vicissitude appears
She bids her footman put it in her head. Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,
Chloe is prudent-Would you too be wise ? The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,
Then never break your heart when Chloe dies. To kill those foes to fair-ones, time and thought. One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen, Woman and fool are too hard things to hit; Which Heaven has varnish'd out, and made a queen: For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit. The same for ever! and describ'd by all
But what are these to great Atossa's mind ? With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball. Scarce once herself, by turns all woman-kind ! Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will, Who, with herself, or others, from her birth And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill. Finds all her life one warfare upon Earth :
'Tis well-but, artists! who can paint or write, Shines, in exposing knaves, and painting fools, To draw the naked is your true delight. Yet is, whate'er she hates and ridicules.
That robe of quality so struts and swells, No thought advances, but her eddy brain
None see what parts of Nature it conceals: Whisks it about, and down it goes again.
Th'exactest traits of body or of mind, Full sixty years the world has been her trade, We owe to models of an humble kind. The wisest fool much time has ever made. If Queensberry to strip there's no compelling, From loveless youth to unrespected age,
'Tis from a handmaid we must take a Helen. No passion gratified, except her rage,
From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing So much the fury still outran the wit,
To draw the man who loves his God, or king : The pleasure mist her, and the scandal hit. Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail) Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from From honest Mah'met, or plain parson Hale. Hell,
But grant, in public, men sometimes are shown, . But he's a bolder man who dares be well.
A woman's seen in private life alone : Her every turn with violence pursued,
Our bolder talents in full life display'd ; Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude : Your virtues open fairest in the shade. To that each passion turns, or soon or late ; Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide; Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate: There, none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride, Superiors ? death! and equals ? what a curse! Weakness or delicacy; all so nice, But an inferior not dependant ? worse.
That each may seem a virtue, or a vice. Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
In men, we various ruling passions find; Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live : In women, two almost divide the kind : But die, and she'll adore you— Then the bust Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey, And temple rise—then fall again to dust. The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. Last night, her lord was all that's good and great ; That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught A knave this morning, and his will a cheat. Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Strange! by the means defeated of the ends, Experience, this; by man's oppression curst, By spirit robb'd of power, by warmth of friends, They seek the second not to lose the first. By wealth of followers! without one distress Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; Sick of herself, through very selfishness!
But every woman is at heart a rake: Atossa, curs'd with every granted prayer,
Men, some to quiet, some to public strise ; Childless with all her children, wants an heir. But every lady would be queen for life. To heirs unknown descends th' unguarded store, Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens ! Or wanders, Heaven-directed, to the poor.
Power all their end, but beauty all the means : Pictures, like these, dear madam, to design, In youth they conquer with so wild a rage, Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line ;
As leaves them scarce a subject in their age :
For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam ;
TO ALLEN, LORD BATHURST.
ON THE USE OF RICHES.
the extremes, avarice or profusion. The point At last, to follies youth could scarce defend,
discussed, whether the invention of money has It grows their age's prudence to pretend ;
heen more commodious or pernicious to mankind. Asham'd to own they gave delight before,
That riches, either to the avaricious or the prodi. Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more. gal, cannot afford happiness, scarcely necessaries. As hags hold sabbaths, less for joy than spite, That avarice is an absolute frenzy, without an So these their merry, miserable night;
end or purpose. Conjectures about the motives Still round and round the ghosts of beauty glide, of avaricious men. That the conduct of men, And haunt the places where their honor died. with respect to riches, can only be accounted See how the world its veterans rewards!
for by the order of Providence, which works the A youth of frolics, an old-age of cards :
general good out of extremes, and brings all to Fair 10 no purpose, artful to no end;
its great end by perpetual revolutions. How a Young without lovers, old without a friend ;
miser acts upon principles which appear to him A fop their passion, but their prize a sot;
reasonable. How a prodigal does the same. The Alive, ridiculous; and dead, forgot!
due medium, and true use of riches. The Man Ah! friend! to dazzle let the vain design;
of Ross. The fate of the profuse and the covTo raise the thought, and touch the heart, be thine !
etous, in two examples; both miserable in life That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring, and in death. The story of Sir Balaam. Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing: So when the Sun's broad beam has tir'd the sight, P. Who shall decide when doctors disagree, All mild ascends the Moon's more sober light, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me? Serene in virgin modesty she shines,
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus given, And unobserv'd the glaring orb declines. 'That man was made the standing jest of Heaven;
Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray And gold but sent to keep the fools in play, Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day:
For some to heap, and some to throw away. She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear
But I, who think more highly of our kind, Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear; (And, surely. Heaven and I are of a mind,) She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Opine, that Nature, as in duty bound, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules ; Deep hid the shining mischief under ground : Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, But when, by man's audacious labor won, Yet has her humor most, when she obeys ;
Flam'd forth this rival too, its sire, the Sun, Let fops or Fortune fly which way they will, 'Then careful Heaven supplied two sorts of men, Disdains all loss of tickets, or codille;
To squander these, and those to bide again. Spleen, va pors, or small-pox, above them all, Like doctors thus, when much dispute has past, And mistress of herself, though china fall.
We find our tenets just the same at last. And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Both fairly owning, riches, in effect, Woman's at best a contradiction still.
No grace of Heaven, or token of th' elect; Heaven when it strives to polish all it can
Given to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil, Its last best work, but forms a softer man; To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil. Picks from each scx, to make the favorite blest, B. What nature wants, commodious gold bestows Your love of pleasure, our desire of rest :
'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows. Blends, in exception to all general rules,
P. But how unequal it bestows, observe ; Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools : "Tis thus we riot, while, who sow it, starve: Reserve with frankness, art with truth allied, What nature wants (a phrase I must distrust) Courage with softness, modesty with pride ; Extends to luxury, extends to lust: Fix'd principles, with fancy ever new;
Useful, I grant, it serves what life requires, Shakes all together, and produces—you.
But dreadful too, the dark assassin hires. Be this a woman's fame! with this unblest,
B. Trade it may help, society extend : Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest. P. But lures the pirate, and corrupts the friend. This Phæbus promis'd (I forget the year)
B. It raises armies in a nation's aid: When those blue eyes first open'd on the sphere; P. But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd. Ascendant Phæbus watch'd that hour with care, In vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave, Averted half your parents' simple prayer; If secret gold sap on from knave to knave. And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf Once we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak, That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself.
From the crack'd bag the dropping Guinea spoke, The generous god, who wit and gold refines, And jingling down the back-stairs, told the crew, And ripens spirits as he ripens mines,
“Old Cato is as great a rogue as you.” Kept dross for duchesses, ihe world shall know it, Blest Paper-credit! last and best supply! To you gave sense, good-humor, and a poet. That lends Corruption lighter wings to fly!
Gold, imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things, But the good bishop, with a meeker air,
Yet to be just to these poor men of pelf,
Each does but hate his neighbor as himself: A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro,
Damnd to the mines, an equal fate berides Our fates and fortunes, as the wind shall blow : The slave that digs it, and the slave that hides. Pregnant with thousands flits the scrap unseen,
B. Who suffer thus, mere charity should own, And silent sells a king, or buys a queen.
Must act on motives powerful, though unknown Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see, P. Some war, some plague, or famine, they foresce, Still, as of old, encumber'd villany!
Some revelation hid from you and me. Could France or Rome divert our brave designs, Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found; With all their brandies, or with all their wines ?
He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound. What could they more than knights and 'squires What made directors cheat in South-Sea year? confound,
To live on venison when it sold so dear. Or water all the quorum ten miles round ? Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys? A statesman's slumbers how this speech would Phryne foresees a general excise. spoil!
Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum? “Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil ; Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum. Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door; Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold, A hundred oxen at your levee roar."
And therefore hopes this nation may be sold: Poor Avarice one torment more would find; Glorious ambition! Peter, swell thy store, Nor could Profusion squander all in kind.
And be what Rome's great Didius was before. Astride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet; The crown of Poland, venal twice an age, And Worldly crying coals from street to street, To just three millions stinted modest Gage. Whom, with a wig so wild, and mien so maz’d, But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold, Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman craz’d. Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold. Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and Congenial souls! whose life one avarice joins, hogs,
And one fate buries in th' Asturian mines. Could he himself have sent it to the dogs ?
Much-injur'd Blunt! why bears he Britain's hate? His grace will game: to White's a bull be led, A wizard told him in these words our fate : With spurning heels and with a butting head. " At length Corruption, like a general flood, To White's be carried, as to ancient games, (So long by watchful ministers withstood,) Fair coursers, vases, and alluring dames.
Shall deluge all; and Avarice, creeping on, Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep, Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun; Bear home six whores, and make his lady weep? Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks, Or soft Adonis, so perfum'd and fine,
Peeress and butler share alike the box; Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine? And judges job, and bishops bite the town, Oh filthy check on all industrious skill,
And mighty dukes pack cards for half a crown. To spoil the nation's last great trade, quadrille! See Britain sunk in Lucre's sordid charms, Since then, my lord, on such a world we fall, And France reveng'd of Anne's and Edward's What say you? B. Say? Why take it, gold and
'Twas no court-badge, great scrivener, fir'd thy brain, P. What riches give us, let us then inquire ? Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain: Meat, fire, and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat, No, 'twas thy righteous end, asham'd to see clothes, and fire.
Senates degenerate, patriots disagree, Is this too little ? would you more than live? And nobly wishing party-rage to cease, Alas! 'tis more than Turner finds they give. To buy both sides, and give thy country peace. Alas! 'tis more than (all bis visions past)
“ All this is madness,"cries a sober sage : Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last! But who, my friend, has reason in his rage ? What can they give ? to dying Hopkins, heirs ; " The ruling passion, be it what it will, To Chartres, vigor; Japhet, nose and ears? 'The ruling passion conquers reason still." Can they, in gems bid pallid Hippia glow, Less mad the wildest whimsey we can frame, In Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below; Than even that passion, if it has no aim; Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail,
For though such motives folly you may call,
Extremes in man concur to general use."
Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow ? To some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate, That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow, T'enrich a bastard, or a son they hate.
Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, Perhaps you think the poor might have their part; Through reconcil'd extremes of drought and rain, Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his Builds life on death, on change duration founds, heart:
And gives th' eternal wheels to know their rounds. The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule
Riches, like insects, when conceal’d they lie, That every man in want is knave or fool : Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. "God cannot love" (says Blunt, with tearless eyes) who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, “ The wretch he starves"--and piously denies :
Sees but a backward steward for the poor;