That statesman hath the strongest hold,
Whose tool of politics is gold;
By that, in former reigns, 'tis said,
The knave in power hath senates led:
By that alone he sway'd debates,
Enrich'd himself, and beggar'd states.
Forego your boast. You must conclude
That's most esteem'd that's most pursued.
Think, too, in what a woful plight
That wretch must live whose pocket's light
Are not his hours by want deprest?
Penurious care corrodes his breast:
Without respect, or love, or friends,
His solitary day descends.

You might, (says Cupid) doubt my parts,
My knowledge, too, in human hearts,
Should I the power of gold dispute,
Which great examples might confute.
I know when nothing else prevails,
Persuasive money seldom fails;
That beauty, too, (like other wares)
Its price, as well as conscience, bears.
Then marriage (as of late profest)
Is but a money-job at best.

Consent, compliance may be sold;
But love's beyond the price of gold.
Smugglers there are who, by retail,
Expose what they call Love to sale;
Such bargains are an arrant cheat:
You purchase flattery and deceit.
Those who true love have ever tried,
(The common cares of life supplied)
No wants endure, no wishes make,
But every real joy partake.

All comfort on themselves depends;

They want nor power, nor wealth, nor friends.

Love, then, hath every bliss in store;

'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more.
Each other every wish they give :
Not to know love is not to live.'
'Or love, or money, (Time replied)
Were men the question to decide,
Would bear the prize: on both intent,
My boon's neglected or mis spent.
"Tis I who measure vital space,
And deal out years to human race.
Though little priz'd, and seldom sought,
Without me love and gold are nought.
How does the miser time employ?
Did I e'er see him life enjoy?
By me forsook, the hoards he won
Are scatter'd by his lavish son.

By me all useful arts are gain'd;
Wealth, learning, wisdom, is attain'd.
Who then would think (since such my pow'r)
'That e'er I knew an idle hour?

So subtle and so swift I fly,

Love's not more fugitive than I.

Who hath not heard coquettes complain
Of days, months, years, mis-spent in vain?
For time misus'd they pine and waste,
And love's sweet pleasures never taste.
Those who direct their time aright,
If love or wealth their hopes excite,
In each pursuit fit hours employ'd,
And both by time have been enjoy'd.
How heedless then are mortals grown!
How little is their interest known;

In every view they ought to mind me,
For when once lost they never find me.'
He spoke. The gods no more contest,
And his superior gift confest,
That time (when truly understood)
Is the most precious earthly good.

THE

OWL, SWAN, COCK, SPIDER, ASS,
AND FARMER.

TO A MOTHER.

CONVERSING with your sprightly boys,
Your eyes have spoke the Mother's joys.
With what delight I've heard you quote
Their sayings in imperfect note!

I grant, in body and in mind
Nature appears profusely kind.
Trust not to that. Act you your part;
Imprint just morals on their heart;
Impartially their talents scan:

Just education forms the man.

Perhaps (their genius yet unknown)
Each lot of life's already thrown;
That this shall plead, the next shall fight,
The last assert the church's right.
I censure not the fond intent;
But how precarious is the' event!
By talents misapplied and crost,
Consider, all your sons are lost.

One day (the tale's by Martial penn'd)
A father thus address'd his friend:

To train my boy, and call forth sense,
You know I've stuck at no expense;
I've tried him in the several arts;
(The lad, no doubt, hath latent parts)
Yet trying all, he nothing knows,
But, crab-like, rather backward goes.
Teach me what yet remains undone ;
'Tis your advice shall fix my son.'

'Sir, (says the friend) I 've weigh'd the matter; Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter:

Make him (nor think his genius checkt)
A herald or an architect.'

Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known)
He heard the' advice, and took his own.
The boy wants wit; he's sent to school,
Where learning but improves the fool:
The college next must give him parts,
And cram him with the liberal arts.
Whether he blunders at the bar,
Or owes his infamy to war;
Or if by licence or degree
The sexton share the doctor's fee;
Or from the pulpit by the hour
He weekly floods of nonsense pour,
We find (the' intent of Nature foil'd)
A tailor or a butcher spoil'd.

Thus ministers have royal boons
Confer'd on blockheads and buffoons:
In spite of nature, merit, wit,
Their friends for every post were fit.
But now let every Muse confess
That merit finds its due success.

The' examples of our days regard;
Where's virtue seen without reward?
Distinguish'd and in place you find
Desert and worth of every kind.
Survey the reverend bench, and see
Religion, learning, piety:

The patron, ere he recommends,
Sees his own image in his friend's.
Is honesty disgrac'd and poor?
What is't to us what was before?
We all of times corrupt have heard,
When paltry minions were prefer'd;
When all great offices, by dozens,
Were fill'd by brothers, sons, and cousins.
What matter ignorance and pride?
The man was happily allied.
Provided that his clerk was good,
What though he nothing understood?
In church and state the sorry race
Grew more conspicuous fools in place.
Such heads, as then a treaty made,
Had bungled in the cobbler's trade.
Consider, patrons, that such elves
Expose your folly with themselves.
"Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care,
To fix each geuius in its sphere.
Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
But never give a blockhead sense.
An Owl of magisterial air,

Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
Assum'd the pride of human race,
And bore his wisdom in his face;
Not to depreciate learned eyes,
I've seen a pedant look as wise.