But thou, no doubt, can'ft set the business right, And give each argument its proper weight: Know'st, with an equal hand, to hold the scale :] Seeft where the reafons pinch, and where they fail, And where exceptions o'er the general rule pre

vail.

And, taught by infpiration, in a trice,

Can't punish crimes, and brand offending vice. Leave, leave to fathom fuch high points as these, Nor be ambitious, e'er the time, to please: Unfeafonably wife, till and cares,

age,

Have form'd thy foul, to manage great affairs. Thy face, thy fhape, thy outfide, are but vain; Thou haft not ftrength fuch labours to fuftain: Drink hellebore, my boy, drink deep and purge thy brain.

What aim'ft thou at, and whither tends thy

care,

In what thy utmost good? Delicious fare;
And, then, to fun thyself in open air.

Hold, hold; are all thy empty wishes fuch?
A good old woman would have faid as much.
But thou art nobly born, 'tis true; go boast
Thy pedigree, the thing thou valu'st most :
Befides thou art a beau: what's that, my child?
A fop well dreft, extravagant, and wild:

1

She, that cries herbs, has lefs impertinence;
And, in her calling, more of common fenfe.
None, none defcends into himself, to find
The fecret imperfections of his mind:
But ev'ry one is eagle-ey'd, to fee
Another's faults, and his deformity.

Say, doft thou know Vectidius? Who, the wretch'
Whose lands beyond the Sabines largely ftretch ;
Cover the country, that a failing kite

Can fcarce o'er fly 'em, in a day and night;
Him doft thou mean, who, fpight of all his store,
Is ever craving, and will still be poor?

Who cheats for half-pence, and who doffs his coat,
To fave a farthing in a ferry-boat?

Ever a glutton, at another's cost,

But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual front?"
Who eats and drinks with his domeftic flaves;
A verier hind than any of his knaves?
Born with the curfe and anger of the Gods,
And that indulgent genius he defrauds?
At harvest-home, and on the fheering-day,
When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay,
And better Ceres; trembling to approach
The little barrel, which he fears to broach:
He 'fays the wimble, often draws it back,
And deals to thirsty fervants but a smack.

To a fhort meal he makes a tedious grace,
Before the barley-pudding comes in place:
Then, bids fall on; himself, for faving charges,
A peel'd flic'd onion eats, and tipples verjuice.
Thus fares the drudge: but thou, whose life's
a dream

Of lazy pleasures, tak'st a worse extream.
'Tis all thy bus'nefs, bus'nefs how to shun
To bask thy naked body in the fun;
Suppling thy ftiffen'd joints with fragrant oil:
Then, in thy fpacious garden, walk a while,
To fuck the moisture up, and foak it in:
And this, thou think'st, but vainly think'st, unfeen.
But, know, thou art obferv'd: and there are those
Who, if they durft, would all thy fecret fins expose.
The depilation of thy modest part:

Thy catamite, the darling of thy heart,
His engine-hand, and ev'ry lewder art.

When prone to bear, and patient to receive,
Thou tak'ft the pleasure, which thou can'st not give.
With odorous oil thy head and hair are fleek;
And then thou kemb'ft the tuzzes, on thy cheek
Of these thy barbers take a costly care,
While thy falt tail is overgrown with hair.
Not all thy pincers, nor unmanly arts,

Can finooth the roughnefs of thy fhameful parts.

Not five, the strongest that the Circus breeds,
From the rank foil can root those wicked weeds:
Tho fuppled first with soap, to ease thy pain,
The stubborn fern fprings up, and sprouts again.
Thus others we with defamations wound,

While they ftab us; and fo the jeft goes round.
Vain are thy hopes, to 'fcape cenforious eyes;
Truth will appear through all the thin disguise :
Thou haft an ulcer which no leach can heal,
Tho thy broad shoulder-belt the wound conceal.
Say thou art found and hale in ev'ry part,
We know, we know thee rotten at thy heart.
We know thee fullen, impotent, and proud:
Nor can'ft thou cheat thy nerve, who cheat'ft the
croud.

But when they praise me, in the neighbourhood.
When the pleas'd people take me for a God,
Shall I refuse their incenfe? Not receive
The loud applauses which the vulgar give?

If thou doft wealth, with longing eyes, behold; And, greedily, art gaping after gold;

If fome alluring girl, in gliding by,

Shall tip the wink, with a lafcivious eye,
And thou with a confenting glance, reply ;
If thou, thy own folicitor become,
And bid'st arise the lumpish pendulum:

If thy lewd luft provokes an empty storm,

And prompts to more than nature can perform; If, with thy guards, thou scour'ft the streets by night,

And doft in murthers, rapes, and fpoils delight;
Please not thyself, the flatt'ring crowd to hear;
'Tis fulfome ftuff to feed thy itching ear.
Reject the nauseous praises of the times:
Give thy base poets back thy cobbled rhimes:
Survey thy foul, not what thou do'st appear,
But what thou art; and find the beggar there.