_P_. Some war, some plague, or famine, they foresee, Some revelation hid from you and me. Why Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found, He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound. What made directors cheat in South-sea year? To live on venison[32] when it sold so dear. Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys? Phryne foresees a general excise.[33] 120 Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum? Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum. Wise Peter[34] sees the world's respect for gold, And therefore hopes this nation may be sold: Glorious ambition! Peter, swell thy store, And be what Rome's great Didius[35] was before. The crown of Poland, venal twice an age, To just three millions stinted modest Gage. But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold, Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold. 130 Congenial souls! whose life one avarice joins, And one fate buries in the Asturian mines. Much-injured Blunt![36] why bears he Britain's hate? A wizard told him in these words our fate: 'At length corruption, like a general flood, (So long by watchful ministers withstood) Shall deluge all; and avarice creeping on, Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun, Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks, Peeress and butler share alike the box, 140 And judges job, and bishops bite the town, And mighty dukes pack cards for half-a-crown. See Britain sunk in lucre's sordid charms, And France revenged of Anne's and Edward's arms!' 'Twas no court-badge, great scrivener! fired thy brain, Nor lordly luxury, nor city gain: No, 'twas thy righteous end, ashamed to see Senates degenerate, patriots disagree, And nobly wishing party-rage to cease, To buy both sides, and give thy country peace. 150 'All this is madness,' cries a sober sage: But who, my friend, has reason in his rage? 'The ruling passion, be it what it will, The ruling passion conquers reason still.' Less mad the wildest whimsy we can frame, Than even that passion, if it has no aim; For though such motives folly you may call, The folly's greater to have none at all. Hear, then, the truth: ''Tis Heaven each passion sends, And different men directs to different ends. 160 Extremes in Nature equal good produce, Extremes in man concur to general use.' Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow? That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow, Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, Through reconciled extremes of drought and rain. Builds life on death, on change duration founds, And gives the eternal wheels to know their rounds. Riches, like insects, when conceal'd they lie, Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. 170 Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor; This year a reservoir, to keep and spare; The next a fountain, spouting through his heir, In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst, And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.