Its situation shall be _London_ road: _Pots_ o'er the door I'll place like Cits balconies, Which[1] _Bently_ calls the _Gardens of Adonis_. I'll have my Gardens in the fashion too, For what is beautiful that is not new? Fair four-legg'd temples, theatres that vye, With all the angles of a _Christmas_-pye. Does it not merit the beholder's praise, What's high to sink? and what is low to raise? Slopes shall ascend where once a green-house stood, And in my horse-pond I will plant a wood. Let misers dread the hoarded gold to waste, Expence and alteration shew a _Taste_. In curious paintings I'm exceeding nice, And know their several beauties by their _Price_. _Auctions_ and _Sales_ I constantly attend, But chuse my pictures by a _skilful friend_. Originals and copies much the same, The picture's value is the _painter's name_. My taste in Sculpture from my choice is seen, I buy no statues that are not obscene. In spite of _Addison_ and ancient _Rome_, Sir _Cloudesly Shovel_'s is my fav'rite tomb. How oft have I with admiration stood, To view some City-magistrate in wood? I gaze with pleasure on a Lord May'r's head, Cast with propriety in gilded lead. Oh could I view through _London_ as I pass, Some broad Sir _Balaam_ in _Corinthian_ brass; High on a pedestal, ye Freemen, place His magisterial Paunch and griping Face; _Letter'd and Gilt_, let him adorn _Cheapside_, And grant the _Tradesman_, what a _King_'s deny'd. Old Coins and Medals I collect, 'tis true, Sir _Andrew_ has 'em, and I'll have 'em too. But among friends if I the truth might speak, I like the modern, and despise th' antique. Tho' in the draw'rs of my japan _Bureau_, To Lady _Gripeall_ I the _Caesars_ shew, 'Tis equal to her Ladyship or me, A copper _Otho_, or a _Scotch Baubee_. Without _Italian_, or without an ear, To _Bononcini_'s musick I adhere: Musick has charms to sooth a savage beast, And therefore proper at a Sheriff's feast. My soul has oft a secret pleasure found, In the harmonious Bagpipe's lofty sound. Bagpipes for men, shrill _German-flutes_ for boys, I'm _English_ born, and love a grumbling noise. The Stage should yield the solemn Organ's note, And Scripture tremble in the Eunuch's throat. Let _Senesino_ sing, what _David_ writ, And _Hallelujahs_ charm the pious pit. Eager in throngs the town to _Hester_ came, And _Oratorio_ was a lucky name. Thou, _Heeideggre!_ the _English_ taste has found, And rul'st the mob of quality with sound. In _Lent_, if Masquerades displease the town, Call 'em _Ridotto_'s, and they still go down: Go on, Prince _Phyz_! to please the British nation, Call thy next _Masquerade_ a _Convocation_. Bears, Lyons, Wolves, and Elephants I breed, And _Philosophical Transactions_ read. Next Lodge I'll be _Free-Mason_, nothing less, Unless I happen to be _F.R.S._ I have a _Palate_, and (as yet) _two Ears_,