From Mourning Altars fweep the Duft away:
Ceafe Fafting, and proclaim a fat Thanksgiving Day.
The goodly Emprefs, Jollily inclin'd,

Is to the welcome Bearer wondrous kind:
And, fetting her good Housewifry afide,
Prepares for all the Pageantry of Pride.
The Captive Germans, of Gigantick Size,
Are rank'd in Order, and are clad in Frize:
The Spoils of Kings, and conquer'd Camps we boast,
Their Arms in Trophies hang on the triumphal Poft.
Now, for fo many Glorious Actions done
In Foreign Parts, and mighty Battles won;
For Peace at Home, and for the Publick Wealth,
I mean to Crown a Bowl to Cafar's Health:
Befides, in Gratitude for fuch high Matters,
Know I have vow'd two hundred Gladiators.
Say, wou'd ft thou hinder me from this Expence ?
I difinherit thee, if thou dar'ft take Offence.
Yet more a publick Largefs I defign

Of Oil and Pies, to make the People dine : .
Controul me not, for fear I change my Will.
And yet methinks I hear thee grumbling still,
You give as if you were the Perfian King:
Your Land does no fo large Revenues bring.
Well, on my Terms thou wilt not be my Heir?
If thou car'ft little, lefs fhall be my Care:
Were none of all my Father's Sifters left;
Nay, were I of my Mother's Kin bereft;

9 Cafonia, Wife to Caius
Caligula, who afterwards in the
Reign of Claudius, was propo-
fed, but ineffectually, to be
marry'd to him, after he had
executedMessalinafor Adultery.
110 The Captive Germans, &c.
He means only fuch as were to
pafs for Germans in the Tri-
umph: Large-Body'd Men, as
they are still whom the Em-pleas'd with his Estate.

prefsCloath'd new, with coarfe Garments, for the greater Oftentation of the Victory.

11 Know, I have vow'd Twe hundred Gladiators. A hundred pair of Gladiators, were be yond the Puife of any private Man to give: Therefore this is only a threatning to his Meir, that he could do what he

I need

None by an Uncle's or a Grandame's fide,
Yet I cou'd fome adopted Heir provide.
I need but take my Journey half a Day
From haughty Rome, and at Aricia stay,
Where Fortune throws poor Manius in my way.
Him will I chufe: What him, of humble Birth,
Obscure, a Foundling, and a Son of Earth?
Obfcure! Why pr'ythee what am I? I know
My Father, Grandfire, and great Grandfire too:
If farther I derive my Pedigree,

I can but guess beyond the fourth Degree.
The reft of my forgotten Ancestors,

Were Sons of Earth, like him, or Sons of Whores.
Yet why wou'dft thou, old covetous Wretch, afpire
To be my Heir, who might'ft have been my Sire ?
In Nature's Race, fhou'dit thou demand of me
My 12 Torch, when I in course run after thee?
Think I approach thee, like the God of Gain,
With Wings on Head and Heels, as Poets feign:
Thy mod'rate Fortune from my Gift receive;
Now fairly take it, or as fairly leave.

But take it as it is, and ask no more.

What, when thou haft embezzell'd all thy Store?
Where's all thy Father left? 'Tis true, I grant,
Some I have mortgag'd, to fupply my Want:
The Legacies of Tadius too are flown;
All spent, and on the self-fame Errand gone.
How little then to my poor Share will fall?
Little indeed; but yet that little's all.

Nor tell me, in a dying Father's Tone,
Be careful ftill of the main Chance, my Son;
Put out the Principal, in trufty Hands:
Live on the Ufe; and never dip thy Lands:

12 Show'dft thou demand of me my Torch,&c. Why fhou'd thou, who art an old Fellow, hope to out-live me, and be my Heir,who am much Young

er? He who was first, in the Courfe, or Race, deliver'd the Torch, which he carry'd, to him who was Second,

But

But yet what's left for me? What's left, my Friend!
Ask that again, and all the reft I spend.

Is not my Fortune at my own Command?
Pour Oil; and pour it with a plenteous Hand
Upon my Sallads, Boy: Shall I be fed

With fodden Nettles, and a fing'd Sow's Head?
'Tis Holy day; provide me better Cheer;
'Tis Holy-day, and shall be round the Year.
Shall I my Houfhold Gods and Genius cheat,
To make him rich, who grudges me my Meat?
That he may loll at eafe; and pamper'd high,
When I am laid, may feed on Giblet Pie?
And when his throbbing Luft extends the Vein,
Have wherewithal his Whores to entertain?
Shall I in homespun Cloth be clad, that he
His Paunch in Triumph may before him see ?
Go Mifer, go; for Lucre fell thy Soul;

Truck Wares for Wares, and trudge from Pole to Pole:
That Men may fay, when thou art dead and gone,
See what a vait Eftate he left his Son!

How large a Family of Brawny Knaves,

Well fed, and fat as 13 Cappadocian Slaves!
Encrease thy Wealth, and double all thy Store;
›Tis done: Now double that, and fwell the Score;
To ev'ry Thousand add ten Thousand more.
Then fay, 14 Chryfippus, thou who wou'dft confine
Thy Heap, where I fhall put an end to mine.

13 Well fed and fat as Cappa- | Chryfippus the Stoick invented docian Slaves: Who were fa- a kind of Argument, confifting mous, for their Luftinefs; and of more than three Propolibeing, as we call it, in good Lik- tions; which is call'd Sørites, ing. They were set on a Stall or a Heap. But as Chryfippus when they were expos'd to could never bring his PropofiSale,to fhew the good Habit of tions to a certain ftint; fo nei their Body, and made to play ther can a covetous Man bring Tricks before the Buyers, his craving Defires to any certo fhew their Activity and tain Meafure of Riches, beStrength. yond which, he could not wish for any more.

14Then Jay, Chryfippus, &c.

FINI S.