EPIS T I. E III.

Τ Ο

ALLEN, LORD BATHURST.

AR GU M E N T.

Of the Use of Riches.

THAT it is known to few, most falling into one of

the extremes, avarice or profusion, ver. 1. &c. The point discussed, whether the invention of

money has been more commodious or pernicious to mankind, v. 21 to 77. That riches, either to the avaa ricious or the prodigal, cannot afford happiness, scarcely necessaries, v. 89 to 160. That avarice is an absolute phrenzy, without an end or purpose, v. 113, &c. 152. Conjectures about the motives of avaricious men, v. 121 to 153. That the conduct of men, with respect to riches, can only be accounted for by the order of PROVIDENCE, which works the general good out of extremes, and brings all to its great end by perpetual revolutions, ver. 161 to

How a miser acts upon principles which appear to him reasonable, verse 179. How a prodigal does the fame, v. 199. The due medium, and true use of riches, v. 219. The Man of Ross, v. 250. The

178.

fate of the profuse and the covetous, in two examples; both miserable in life and in death, v. 300, &c. The story of Sir Balaam, v. 339 to the end.

P. WHO shall decide, when Doctors disagree,

And soundest Casuists doubt, like you and me?
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus given,
That Man was made the standing jest of Heaven;
And gold but sent to keep the fools in play,
For some to heap, and some to throw away.

But I, who think more highly of 'our kind,
(And surely, Heaven and I are of a mind)
Opine, that Nature, as in duty bound,
Deep hid the shining mischief under ground:
But when by man's audacious labour won,
Flam'd forth this rival to, its fire, the sun,
Then careful Heaven fupply'd two sorts of men,
To squander there, and those to hide agen.

Like Doctors thus, when much dispute has past,
We find our tenets just the same at last.
Both fairly owning, Riches, in effect,
No grace of Heaven or token of th' Elect;
Given to the Fool, the Mad, the Vain, the Evil,
To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the Devil.

B. What Nature wants, commodious gold bestows, 'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows.

P. But how unequal it bestows, observe,
'Tis thus we riot, while, who sow it, starve:
What nature wants (a phrase I much distrust)
Extends to luxury, extends to lust :

Useful, I grant, it serves what life requires,
But dreadful too, the dark Assassin hires :

B. Trade it may help, fociety extend :
P. But lures the Pyrate, and corrupts the Friend.
B. It raises armies in a Nation's aid :

P. But bribes a Senate, and the Land's betray’d.
lo vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave;
If secret gold fap on from knave to knave.
Once, we confefs, beneath the Patriot's cloak,
From the crack'd bag the dropping Guinea spoke,
And jingling down the back-stairs, told the crew,
* Old Cato is as great a rogue as you."
Blest paper credit ! last and best supply!
That lends Corruption lighter wings to fly!
Gold imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things,
Can pocket States, can fetch or carry Kings;
A single leaf shall waft an Army o’er,
Or ship off Senates to some distant Shore ;
A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro
Our fates and fortunes, as the wind shall blow :
Pregnant with thousands flits the Scrap unseen,
And silent sells a King, or buys a Qucen.

Oh! that such bulky Bribes as all might see, Still, as of old, incumber'd Villainy ! Could France or Rome divert our brave designs, With all their brandies, or with all their wines ? What could they more than Knights and 'Squires conOr water all the Quorum ten miles round? [found, A statesman's Numbers how this speech would spoil!

Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil;

“ Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door; “ A hundred oxen at your levee roar.”

Poor Avarice one torment more would find; Nor could Profusion squander all in kind. Altride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet ; And Worldly crying coals from street to street, Whom with a wig fo wild, and mien fo maz’d, Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman craz'd. Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs, Could he himself have sent it to the dogs? His Grace will game: to White's a Bull be led, With spurning heels and with a butting head; To White's be carry'd, as to ancient games, Fair Coursers, Vases, and alluring Dames. Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep, Bear home fix Whores, and make his Lady weep.? Or soft Adonis, so perfum'd and fine, Drive to St. James's a whole herd of fwine? Oh filthy check on all industrious skill, To spoil the nation's last great trade, Quadrille! Since then, my Lord, on such a World we fall, What say you? B. Say? Why take it, Gold and all.

P. What Riches give us let us then enquire ;
Meat, Fire, and Cloaths. B. What more? P. Meat,

Cloaths and Fire.
Is this too little ? would you more than live?
Alas! 'tis more than Turner finds they give.
Alas! 'tis more than (all his visions past)
Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last !
What can they give? to dying Hopkins, Heirs;
To Chartres, Vigour; Japhet, Nose and Ears?

Can they, in gems bid Pallid Hippia glow,
In Fulvia's Buckle ease the throbs below;
Or heal, old Narses thy obscener ail,
With all the embroidery plaister'd at thy tail ?
They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)
Give Harpax' self the blessing of a Friend;
Or find some Doctor that would save the life
Of wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's Wife :
But thousands die, without or this or that,
Die, and endow a College, or a Cat.
To some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate,
T'enrich a Bastard, or a Son they hate.

Perhaps you think the Poor might have their part,
Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his heart :
The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule
That every man in waut is knave or fool :
“ God cannot love (says Blunt, with tearless eyes)
" The wretch he starves”.-and piously denies:
But the good Bishop with a meeker air,
Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care.

Yet to be just to these poor men of pelf,
Each does but hate his neighbour as himself:
Damn’d to the Mines, an equal fate betides
The Slave that digs it, and the Slave that hides.

B. Who suffer thus, mere Charity should own, Must act on motives powerful, tho' unknown.

P. Some war, fome plague, or famine they forefee, Some Revelation hid from you and me. Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found, He thinks a Loaf will rise to fifty pound.