Buy every stick of wood that lends them heat, Yet these are wights who fondly call their own Estates have wings, and hang in fortune's power, By sale, at least by death, to change their lord. Man? and for ever? wretch! what wouldst thou have? Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave. And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall. Who, if they have not, think not worth their care. Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find. Two of a face as soon as of a mind. Why, of two brothers, rich and restless one Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun; The other slights, for women, sports, and wines, All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines: 4 Why one, like Bu-,* with pay and scorn content, Yes, sir, how small soever be my heap, 8 Lord Townshend, Secretary to George the First and Second, on retiring from public life, amused himself with agriculture: he was fond of talking about his turnips. 4 Bubb Dodington, afterwards Lord Melcombe. 5 General Oglethorpe, distinguished for his settlement of the colony in Georgia, and his military exploits. Glad, like a boy, to snatch the first good day, What is't to me (a passenger, God wot,) In 'But why all this of avarice? I have none.' I wish you joy, sir, of a tyrant gone: But does no other lord it at this hour, As wild and mad? the avarice of power? Does neither rage inflame nor fear appall? Not the black fear of death, that saddens all? With terrors round, can reason hold her throne, Despise the known, nor tremble at th' unknown? Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire, In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire? Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind, And count each birthday with a grateful mind? Has life no sourness, drawn so near its end? Canst thou endure a foe, forgive a friend? Has age but melted the rough parts away, As winter fruits grow mild ere they decay? Or will you think, my friend! your business done, When of a hundred thorns you pull out one? Learn to live well, or fairly make your will; You've play'd, and lov'd, and ate, and drank your fill. Walk sober off, before a sprightlier age THE FIRST ODE OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF HORACE. TO VENUS. AGAIN? new tumults in my breast? Ah, spare me, Venus! let me, let me rest! As in the gentle reign of my queen Anne. Nor circle sober fifty with thy charms. Mother too fierce of dear desires! Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires: To number five direct your doves, There spread round Murray all your blooming loves; Noble and young, who strikes the heart With every sprightly, every decent part; Equal the injur❜d to defend, To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend: - Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind: Make but his riches equal to his wit. 1 Afterwards Lord Mansfield. Then shall they form the marble grace, (Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face: His house, embosom'd in the grove, Sacred to social life and social love, Shall glitter o'er the pendant green, Where Thames reflects the visionary scene: Shall call the smiling loves and young desires; The still believing, still renew'd desire: And all the kind deceivers of the soul! Absent I follow through th' extended dream; And now you burst (ah, cruel!) from my arms, Or softly glide by the canal; Now shown by Cynthia's silver ray, And now on rolling waters snatch'd away. |