Coquettes no more pursue the jilting plan, And lustful prudes forget to rail at man: The darling theme Cecilia's self will choose, Nor thinks of scandal whilst she talks of news. The cit, a common-councilman by place, Ten thousand mighty nothings in his face, 240 By situation as by nature great, With nice precision parcels out the state; Proves and disproves, affirms and then denies, Objects himself, and to himself replies; Wielding aloft the politician rod, Makes Pitt by turns a devil and a god; Maintains, e'en to the very teeth of Power, The same thing right and wrong in half an hour: Now all is well, now he suspects a plot, And plainly proves, whatever is, is not: 250 Fearfully wise, he shakes his empty head, And deals out empires as he deals out thread; His useless scales are in a corner flung, And Europe's balance hangs upon his tongue. Peace to such triflers! be our happier plan To pass through life as easy as we can. Who's in or out, who moves this grand machine, Nor stirs my curiosity, nor spleen. Secrets of state no more I wish to know Than secret movements of a puppet-show: 260 Let but the puppets move, I've my desire, Unseen the hand which guides the master-wire. What is't to us if taxes rise or fall? Thanks to our fortune, we pay none at all. Let muckworms, who in dirty acres deal, Lament those hardships which we cannot feel. His Grace, who smarts, may bellow if he please, But must I bellow too, who sit at ease? By custom safe, the poet's numbers flow Free as the light and air some years ago. 270 No statesman e'er will find it worth his pains To tax our labours, and excise our brains. Burthens like these, vile earthly buildings bear; No tribute's laid on castles in the air. Let, then, the flames of war destructive reign, And England's terrors awe imperious Spain; Let every venal clan[95] and neutral tribe Learn to receive conditions, not prescribe; Let each new year call loud for new supplies, And tax on tax with double burthen rise; 280 Exempt we sit, by no rude cares oppress'd, And, having little, are with little bless'd. All real ills in dark oblivion lie, And joys, by fancy form'd, their place supply; Night's laughing hours unheeded slip away, Nor one dull thought foretells approach of day. Thus have we lived, and whilst the Fates afford Plain plenty to supply the frugal board; Whilst Mirth with Decency, his lovely bride, And wine's gay god, with Temperance by his side, 290 Their welcome visit pay; whilst Health attends The narrow circle of our chosen friends; Whilst frank Good-humour consecrates the treat, And woman makes society complete, Thus will we live, though in our teeth are hurl'd Those hackney strumpets, Prudence and the World. Prudence, of old a sacred term, implied Virtue, with godlike wisdom for her guide; But now in general use is known to mean