'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy: Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste His wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can taste? Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats; Artists must choose his pictures, music, meats; He buys for Topham[45] drawings and designs, For Pembroke statues, dirty gods, and coins; Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne[46] alone, And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane. 10 Think we all these are for himself? no more Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.
For what has Virro painted, built, and planted? Only to show how many tastes he wanted. What brought Sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste? Some demon whisper'd, 'Visto! have a taste.' Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool, And needs no rod but Ripley[47] with a rule. See! sportive fate, to punish awkward pride, Bids Bubo[48] build, and sends him such a guide: 20 A standing sermon, at each year's expense, That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence!
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 Nôtre 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.