192 THE POEMS or ANNE �I hid this Coin, when Charles was swaying; �When all was Riot, Masking, Playing; �When witty Beggars were in fashion, �And Learning had o'er-run the Nation, �But, since Mankind is so much wiser, �That none is valued like the Miser, �I draw it hence, and now these Sums �In proper Soil grow up to Plumbs; �Which gather'd once, from that rich Minute �We rule the World, and all that's in it. 40 �But, quoth the Poet, can you raise, As well as Plumb-trees, Groves of Bays? Where you, which I wou'd chuse much rather, May Fruits of Reputation gather? Will Men of Quality, and Spirit, Regard you for intrinsick Merit ? And seek you out, before your Betters, For Conversation, Wit, and Letters? �Fool, quoth the Churl, who knew no Breeding; Have these been Times for such Proceeding? 50 Instead of Honour'd and Rewarded, Are you not Slighted, or Discarded? What have you met with, but Disgraces? Your PBIOB cou'd not keep in Places; And your VAN-BEUG had found no quarter, But for his dabbling in the Morter. ROWE no Advantages cou'd hit on, Till Verse he left, to write North-Briton. PHILIPS, who's by the Shilling known, Ne'er saw a Shilling of his own. 60 �Meets PHILOMELA, in the Town Her due Proportion of Renown? What Pref'rence has ARDELIA seen, ��� �
