But art thou one, whom new opinions sway, One who believes as Tindal[139] leads the way, Who virtue and a church alike disowns, Thinks that but words, and this but brick and stones? Fly then, on all the wings of wild desire, Admire whate'er the maddest can admire: Is wealth thy passion? Hence! from pole to pole, Where winds can carry, or where waves can roll, 70 For Indian spices, for Peruvian gold, Prevent the greedy, and outbid the bold: Advance thy golden mountain to the skies; On the broad base of fifty thousand rise, Add one round hundred, and (if that's not fair) Add fifty more, and bring it to a square. For, mark the advantage; just so many score Will gain a wife with half as many more, Procure her beauty, make that beauty chaste, And then such friends--as cannot fail to last. 80 A man of wealth is dubb'd a man of worth, Venus shall give him form, and Anstis[140] birth. (Believe me, many a German prince is worse, Who, proud of pedigree, is poor of purse). His wealth brave Timon gloriously confounds; Ask'd for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds; Or if three ladies like a luckless play,[141] Takes the whole house upon the poet's day. Now, in such exigencies not to need, Upon my word, you must be rich indeed; 90 A noble superfluity it craves, Not for yourself, but for your fools and knaves; Something, which for your honour they may cheat, And which it much becomes you to forget. If wealth alone then make and keep us bless'd, Still, still be getting, never, never rest. But if to power and place your passion lie, If in the pomp of life consist the joy; Then hire a slave, or (if you will) a lord 100 To do the honours, and to give the word; Tell at your levée, as the crowds approach, To whom to nod, whom take into your coach, Whom honour with your hand: to make remarks, Who rules in Cornwall, or who rules in Berks: 'This may be troublesome, is near the chair: That makes three members, this can choose a mayor.' Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest, Adopt him son, or cousin at the least, Then turn about, and laugh at your own jest. 110 Or if your life be one continued treat, If to live well means nothing but to eat; Up, up! cries Gluttony, 'tis break of day, Go drive the deer, and drag the finny prey; With hounds and horns go hunt an appetite-- So Russel did, but could not eat at night, Call'd, happy dog! the beggar at his door, And envied thirst and hunger to the poor. Or shall we every decency confound, Through taverns, stews, and bagnios take our round, 120 Go dine with Chartres, in each vice outdo K--l's lewd cargo, or Ty--y's crew; From Latian syrens, French Circaean feasts, Return well travell'd, and transform'd to beasts, Or for a titled punk, or foreign flame, Renounce our country, and degrade our name?