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"You show us,
Rome was glorius 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 one of 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 Dog hole
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 Venecian door;
Conscious they act
a true Palladian part,
And if they starve,
they starve by Rules of Art.
Yet thou proceed;
be fallen Arts thy care,
Erect new Wonders,
and the old Repair,
Jones and Palladio
to themselves restore,
And be whare'er
Vitruvious was before..."