OECONOMY,

A RHAPSODY, addreffed to young POETS.

"Infanis; omnes gelidis quæcunque lacernis "Sunt tibi, Nafones Virgiliofque vides." MART.

PART the FIRST.

To you, ye bards! whofe lavish breaft requires
This monitory lay, the ftrains belong;

Nor think fome mifer vents his fapient faw,
Or fome dull cit, unfeeling of the charms
That tempt profufion, fings; while friendly zeal,
To guard from fatal ills the tribe he loves,
Infpires the meaneft of the Mufes' train!
Like you I loath the groveling progeny,
Whose wily arts, by creeping time matur'd,
Advance them high on power's tyrannic throne:
To lord it there in gorgeous ufeleffnefs,
And fpurn fuccefslefs worth that pines below!
See the rich churl, amid the focial fons
Of wine and wit, regaling! hark he joins
In the free jeft delighted! feems to fhew
A meliorated heart! he laughs! he fings!
Songs of gay import, madrigals of glee,
And drunken anthems fet agape the board.
Like Demea, in the play, benign and mild.

And

And pouring forth benevolence of foul,

Till Micio wonders: or, in Shakespear's line,
Obftreperous Silence; drowning Shallow's voice,
And ftartling Falstaff, and his mad compeers.

He owns 'tis prudence, ever and anon,
To fmooth his careful brow! to let his purse
Ope to a fixpence's diameter !

He likes our ways; he owns the ways of wit
Are ways of pleasaunce, and deserve regard.
True we are dainty good fociety,

But what art thou? alas! confider well,
Thou bane of focial pleasure, know thyself.
Thy fell approach, like fome invasive damp
Breath'd through the pores of earth from Stygian caves,
Deftroy the lamp of mirth; the lamp which we
Its flamens boast to guard: we know not how,
But at thy fight the fading flame affumes

A ghaftly blue, and in a stench expires.

True, thou feem'ft chang'd; all fainted, all enfky'd
The trembling tears that charge thy meiting eyes
Say thou art honeft, and of gentle kind,
But all is falfe! an intermitting figh

Condemns each hour, each moment giv'n to smiles,
And deems thofe only lost, thou dost not lose.
Ev'n for a demi groat, this open'd soul,
This boon companion, this elaftic breast
Revibrates quick; and fends the tuneful tongue
To lavish mufic on the rugged walls
Offome dark dungeon. Hence thou caitiff, fly!
Touch not my glass, nor drain my facred bowl,

Mon

Monster, ingrate! beneath one common sky

Why shouldst thou breathe? beneath one common roof Thou ne'er fhalt harbour; nor my little boat - Receive a foul with crimes to prefs it down. Go to thy bags, thou recreant! hourly go, And, gazing there, bid them be wit, be mirth, Be converfation. Not a face that finiles Admit thy presence! not a foul that glows With focial purport, bid or ev'n or morn Inveft the happy! but when life declines, May thy fure heirs ftand tittering round thy bed, And, ushering in their favourites, burst thy locks, And fill their lamps with gold; till want and care With joy depart, and cry, "We aík no more.' Ah never never may th' harmonious mind Endure the worldly! poets, ever void

Of guile, diftruftlefs, fcorn the treafur'd gold,
And fpurn the mifer, fpurn his deity.
Balanc'd with friendship, in the poet's eye
The rival fcale of intereft kicks the beam,
Than lightning fwifter. From his cavern'd store
The fordid soul, with self-applause, remarks
The kind propensity; remarks and smiles,
And hies with impious hafte to spread the snare.
Him we deride, and in our comic scenes
Contemn the niggard form Moliere has drawn.
We loath with juftice; but alas the pain
To bow the knee before this calf of gold;
Implore his envious aid, and meet his frown!

But 'tis not Gomez, 'tis not he whofe heart
Is crufted o'er with drofs, whofe callous mind
Is fenfelefs as his gold, the flighted Mufe
Intensely loaths. 'Tis fure no equal task
To pardon him, who lavishes his wealth
On racer, fox-hound, hawk, or spaniel, all
But human merit; who with gold effays
All, but the nobleft pleasure, to remove
The want of genius, and its fmiles enjoy.

But y u, ye titled youths! whofe nobler zeal
Would burnish o'er your coronets with fame;
Who liften pleas'd when poet tunes his lay;
Permit him not, in diftant folitudes,
To pine, to languish out the fleeting hours
Of active youth! then virtue pants for praise
That feafon unadorn'd, the careless bard
Quits your worn threshold, and like honest Gay
Contemns the niggard boon ye time fo ill.
Your favors then, like trophies given the tomb,
Th' enfranchis'd spirit foaring not perceives,
Or fcorns perceiv'd; and execrates the smile
Which bade his vigorous bloom, to treacherous hopes
And fervile cares a prey, expire in vain! —

Two lawless powers, engag'd by mutual hate
In endless war, beneath their flags enroll
The vaffal world. This avarice is nam'd,
That luxury; 'tis true their partial friends
Affign them fofter names; ufurpers both;
That share by dint of arms the legal throne
Of just œconomy; yet both betray'd

By

By fraudful minifters. The niggard chief,
Listening to want, all faithless, and prepar'd
To join each moment in his rival's train,
His conduct models by the needless fears
The flave inspires; while luxury, a chief
Of amplest faith, to plenty's rule resigns
His whole campaign. 'Tis plenty's flattering found
Engrofs his ear; 'tis plenty's fmiling form
Moves ftill before his eyes. Difcretion ftrives,
But ftrives in vain, to banish from the throne
The perjur'd minion. He, fecure of trust,
With latent malice to the hoftile camp

Day, night, and hour, his monarch's wealth conveys.
Ye towering minds! ye fublimated fouls!
Who, careless of your fortunes, feal and fign,
Set, let, contract, acquit, with easier mien
Than fops take fnuff! whofe oeconomic care
Your green-filk purse engrosses! easy, pleas'd,
To fee gold sparkle through the subtle folds;
Lovely, as when th' Hefperian fruitage fmil'd
Amid the verdurous grove! who fondly hope
Spontaneous harvests! harvests all the year!
Who fcatter wealth, as though the radiant crop
Glitter'd on every bough; and every bough
Like that the Trojan gather'd, once avuls'd
Were by a fplendid fucceffor fupply'd
Inftant, fpontaneous! liften to my lays.
For 'tis not fools, whate'er proverbial phrase
Have long decreed, that quit with greatest cafe
The treafur'd gold. Of words indeed profute,