_B_. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue What all so wish, but want the power to do! Oh say, what sums that generous hand supply? What mines, to swell that boundless charity?
_P_. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possess'd--five hundred pounds a-year. 280 Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze! Ye little stars, hide your diminish'd rays!
_B_. And what? no monument, inscription, stone? His race, his form, his name almost unknown?
_P_. Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name: Go, search it there,[39] where to be born and die, Of rich and poor makes all the history; Enough, that virtue fill'd the space between; Proved, by the ends of being, to have been. 290 When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend The wretch who, living, saved a candle's end: Shouldering God's altar a vile image stands, Belies his features, nay, extends his hands; That live-long wig which Gorgon's self might own, Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.[40] Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend! And see what comfort it affords our end!
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung, 300 On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw, With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw, The George and Garter dangling from that bed Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, Great Villiers[41] lies--alas! how changed from him, That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim! Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove, The bower of wanton Shrewsbury,[42] and love; Or just as gay, at council, in a ring Of mimick'd statesmen, and their merry king. 310 No wit to flatter, left of all his store; No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.
His Grace's fate sage Cutler[43] could foresee, And well (he thought) advised him, 'Live like me.' As well his Grace replied, 'Like you, Sir John? That I can do, when all I have is gone.' Resolve me, Reason, which of these is worse, Want with a full, or with an empty purse? 320 Thy life more wretched, Cutler, was confess'd, Arise, and tell me, was thy death more bless'd? Cutler saw tenants break, and houses fall; For very want he could not build a wall. His only daughter in a stranger's power; For very want he could not pay a dower. A few gray hairs his reverend temples crown'd, 'Twas very want that sold them for two pound. What even denied a cordial at his end, Banish'd the doctor, and expell'd the friend? 330 What but a want, which you perhaps think mad, Yet numbers feel--the want of what he had! Cutler and Brutus, dying, both exclaim, 'Virtue! and Wealth! what are ye but a name!'