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I curse such lavish Cost, and little Skill,
And swear, no Day was ever past so ill.
And swear, no Day was ever past so ill.
In you, my Lord, Taste sanctifies Expence,
For Splendor borrows all her Rays from Sense.
You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,
And pompous Buildings once were things of use.
Just as they are, yet shall 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;
Reverse your Ornaments, and hang them all
On some patch'd Doghole ek'd with Ends of Wall,
Then clap four slices of Pilaster on't,
And lac'd with bits of Rustic, 'tis a Front:
Shall call the Winds thro' 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.
For Splendor borrows all her Rays from Sense.
You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,
And pompous Buildings once were things of use.
Just as they are, yet shall 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;
Reverse your Ornaments, and hang them all
On some patch'd Doghole ek'd with Ends of Wall,
Then clap four slices of Pilaster on't,
And lac'd with bits of Rustic, 'tis a Front:
Shall call the Winds thro' 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.
Yet
