o polish all it can
Its last best work, but forms a softer man;
Picks from each sex, to make the fav'rite blest,
Your love of pleasure, or desire of rest:
Blends, in exception to all general rules,
Your taste of follies, with our scorn of fools:
Reserve with frankness, art with truth allied,
Courage with softness, modesty with pride;
Fixed principles, with fancy ever new;
Shakes all together, and produces--You.
Be this a woman's fame: with this unblest,
Toasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest.
This Phoebus promised (I forget the year)
When those blue eyes first opened on the sphere;
Ascendant Phoebus watched that hour with care,
Averted half your parents' simple prayer,
And gave you beauty, but denied the pelf
That buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself.
The gen'rous god, who wit and gold refines,
And ripens spirits as he ripens mines,
Kept dross for duchesses--the world shall know it--
To you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.

EPISTLE III. TO ALLEN LORD BATHURST.

ARGUMENT.

Of the use of Riches.

That it is known to few, most falling into one of the extremes, Avarice
or Profusion, v.1, etc. The point discussed, whether the invention of
money has been more commodious or pernicious to Mankind, v.21 to 77. That
Riches, either to the Avaricious or the Prodigal, cannot afford
Happiness, scarcely Necessaries, v.89-160. That Avarice is an absolute
Frenzy, without an end or purpose, v.113, etc., 152. Conjectures about
the motives of Avaricious men, v.121 to 153. That the conduct of men,
with respect to Riches, can only be accounted for by the Order of
Providence, which works the general good out of extremes, and brings all
to its great End by perpetual Revolutions, v.161 to 178. How a Miser
acts upon Principles which appear to him reasonable, v.179. How a
Prodigal does the same, v.199. The due Medium and true use of Riches,
v.219. The Man of Ross, v.250. The fate of the Profuse and the
Covetous, in two examples; both miserable in Life and in Death, v.300,
etc. The Story of Sir Balaam, v.339 to the end.

P. Who shall decide, when doctors disagree,
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
You hold the word, from Jove to Momus given,
That man was made the standing jest of Heaven;
And gold but sent to keep the fools in play,
For some to heap, and some to throw away.
But I, who think more highly of our kind,
(And surely, Heaven and I are of a mind)
Opine, that Nature, as in duty