Sign to hate.
Where-e'er he turns he meets a Stranger's Eye,
His Suppliants scorn him, and his Followers fly;
Now drops at once the Pride of aweful State,
The golden Canopy, the glitt'ring Plate,
The regal Palace, the luxurious Board,
The liv'ried Army and the menial Lord.
With Age, with Cares, with Maladies oppress'd,
He seeks the Refuge of Monastic Rest.
Grief aids Disease, remember'd Folly stings,
And his last Sighs reproach the Faith of Kings.

Speak thou, whose Thoughts at humble Peace repine,
Shall _Wolsey_'s Wealth, with _Wolsey_'s End be thine?
Or liv'st thou now, with safer Pride content,
The richest Landlord on the Banks of _Trent_?
For why did _Wolsey_ by the Steps of Fate,
On weak Foundations raise th' enormous Weight?
Why but to sink beneath Misfortune's Blow,
With louder Ruin to the Gulphs below?

What[f] gave great _Villiers_ to th' Assassin's Knife,
And fix'd Disease on _Harley_'s closing Life?
What murder'd _Wentworth_, and what exil'd _Hyde_,
By Kings protected and to Kings ally'd?
What but their Wish indulg' in Courts to shine,
And Pow'r too great to keep or to resign?
[Footnote f: Ver. 108-113.]

When[g] first the College Rolls receive his Name,
The young Enthusiast quits his Ease for Fame;
Resistless burns the Fever of Renown,
Caught from the strong Contagion of the Gown;
O'er _Bodley_'s Dome his future Labours spread,
And _Bacon_'s Mansion trembles o'er his Head;
Are these thy Views? proceed, illustrious Youth,
And Virtue guard thee to the Throne of Truth,
Yet should thy Soul indulge the gen'rous Heat,
Till captive Science yields her last Retreat;
Should Reason guide thee with her brightest Ray,
And pour on misty Doubt resistless Day;
Should no false Kindness lure to loose Delight,
Nor Praise relax, nor Difficulty fright;
Should tempting Novelty thy Cell refrain,
And Sloth's bland Opiates shed their Fumes in vain;
Should Beauty blunt on Fops her fatal Dart,
Nor claim the Triumph of a letter'd Heart;
Should no Disease thy torpid Veins invade,
Nor Melancholy's Phantoms haunt thy Shade;
Yet hope not Life from Grief or Danger free,
Nor think the Doom of Man revers'd for thee:
Deign on the passing World to turn thine Eyes,
And pause awhile from Learning to be wise;
There mark what Ills the Scholar's Life assail;
Toil, Envy, Want, the Garret, and the Jail.
See Nations slowly wise, and meanly just;
To buried Merit raise the tardy Bust.
If Dreams yet flatter, once again attend,
Hear