194 THE POEMS OP ANNE �Again may bring it into use; �Roscommons may again produce ; �New Augustean Days revive, �When Wit shall please, and Poets thrive. �Till when, let those converse in private, 100 �Who taste what others don't arrive at ; �Yielding that Mammonists surpass us ; �And let the Bank out-swell Parnassus. ���THE TRADESMAN AND THE SCHOLAR �A Citizen of mighty Pelf, But much a Blockhead, in himself Disdain'd a Man of shining Parts, Master of Sciences and Arts, Who left his Book scarce once a day For sober Coffee, Smoak, or Tea ; Nor spent more Money in the Town Than bought, when need requir'd, a Gown ; Which way of Living much offends The Alderman, who gets and spends, 10 �And grudges him the Vital Air, Who drives no Trade, and takes no Care. Why Bookworm! to him once he cry'd, Why, setting thus the World aside, Dost thou thy useless Time consume, Enclos'd within a lonely Room, And poring damnify thy Wit, 'Till not for Men or Manners fit ? Hop'st thou, with urging of thy Vein, To spin a Fortune from thy Brain? 20 �Or gain a Patron, that shall raise Thy solid State, for empty Praise? No ; trust not to your Soothings vile, ��� �
