You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse, And pompous buildings once were things of use. Yet shall (my lord) your just, your noble rules Fill half the land with imitating fools, Who random drawings from your sheets shall take, And of one beauty many blunders make; Load some vain church with old theatric state, Turn arcs of triumph to a garden-gate; 30 Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all On some patch'd dog-hole eked with ends of wall; Then clap four slices of pilaster on't, That, laced with bits of rustic, makes a front. Shall call the winds through long arcades to roar, Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door; Conscious they act a true Palladian part. And if they starve, they starve by rules of art. Oft have you hinted to your brother peer, A certain truth, which many buy too dear: 40 Something there is more needful than expense, And something previous even to taste--'tis sense: Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science, fairly worth the seven: A light, which in yourself you must perceive; Jones and Le Notre have it not to give. To build, to plant, whatever you intend, To rear the column, or the arch to bend, To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot; In all, let Nature never be forgot. 50 But treat the goddess like a modest fair, Nor overdress, nor leave her wholly bare; Let not each beauty everywhere be spied, Where half the skill is decently to hide. He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds. Consult the genius of the place in all; That tells the waters or to rise, or fall; Or helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; 60 Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades; Now breaks, or now directs, the intending lines; Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs. Still follow sense, of every art the soul, Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, Spontaneous beauties all around advance, Start even from difficulty, strike from chance; Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow A work to wonder at--perhaps a Stowe. 70