Page images
PDF
EPUB

Yet hens of Guinea full as good I hold,
Except you eat the feathers green and gold.
Of carps and mullets why prefer the great,
(Tho' cut in pieces ere my lord can eat)
Yet for fmall turbots fuch efteem profefs?
Because God made these large, the other lefs.
Oldfield with more than Harpy throat endu'd,
Cries, "Send me, gods! a whole hog barbecu'd !"?
Oh blaft it, South-winds! till a ftench exhale
Rank as the ripeners of a rabbit's tail.
By what criterion do you eat, d'ýe think,
If this is priz'd for sweetness, that for ftink?
When the tir'd glutton labours thro' a treat,
He finds no relifh in the fweeteft meat,
He calls for fomething bitter, fomething four,
And the rich feaft concludes extremely poor :
Cheap eggs, and herbs, and olives ftill we fee;
Thus much is left of old fimplicity!
The robin-redbreaft till of late had reft,

20

25

30

35

And children facred held a martin's neft,

Till beccaficos fold fo dev'lifh dear

To one that was, or would have been, a peer.

40

Let me extol a cat, on oifters fed,

I'll have a party at the Bedford-head; *

Or ev'n to crack live crawfish recommend ;
I'd never doubt at court to make a friend.

'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother
About one vice, and fall into the other:
Between excefs and famine lies a mean;
Plain, but not fordid; tho' not splendid, clean.
Avidien, or his wife (no matter which,

45

For him you'll call a dog, and her a bitch)

50

Sell their prefented partridges, and fruits,

And humbly live on rabbits and on roots:

One half-pint bottle ferves them both to dine,
And is at once their vinegar and wine.

A famous cating-houfe.

But

But on fome lucky day (as when they found

55

A loft bank-bill, or heard their fon was drown'd)
At fuch a feaft, old vinegar to spare,

Is what two fouls fo gen'rous cannot bear:
Oil, tho' it ftink, they drop by drop impart,
But fowse the cabbage with a bounteous heart.

He knows to live, who keeps the middle state,
And neither leans on this fide, nor on that;
Nor ftops, for one bad cork, his butler's pay,
Swears, like Albutius, a good cook away;
Nor lets, like Nævius, ev'ry error pafs,
The mufty wine, foul cloth, or greasy glass.
Now hear what bleffings temperance can bring:
(Thus faid our friend, and what he faid I fing)
Firft health the ftomach (cramm'd from ev'ry dish,
A tomb of boil'd and roaft, and flesh and fish,
Where bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar,
And all the man is one inteftine war)

60

65

70

Remembers oft the fchool-boy's fimple fare,

The temp❜rate fleeps, and spirits light as air.
How pale, each worshipful and rev'rend guest
Rife from a clergy, or a city feast!
What life in all that ample body, fay?
What heav'nly particle inspires the clay ?
The foul fubfides, and wickedly inclines
To feem but mortal, ev'n in found divines.

75

80

On morning wings how active fprings the mind.

That leaves the load of yefterday behind?

How eafy ev'ry labour it pursues ?

How coming to the poet ev'ry Muse?

Not but we may exceed, fome holy time,

85

Or tir'd in fearch of truth, or fearch of rhyme;
Ill health fome juft indulgence may engage;
And more the ficknefs of long life, old age;
For fainting age what cordial drop remains,
If our intemp❜rate youth the veffel drains ?

Our fathers prais'd rank ven'fon. You fuppofe,
Perhaps, young men! our fathers had no nofe.

E 2

90

Not

Not fo: a buck was then a week's repast,

And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it laft;

More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could come, 95
Than eat the fweeteft by themselves at home.
Why had not I in thofe good times my birth,
Ere coxcomb pyes or coxcombs were on earth?
Unworthy he, the voice of Fame to hear,
That sweetest music to an honeft ear;
(For 'faith, lord Fanny! you are in the wrong,
The world's good word is better than a fong)
Who has not learn'd, fresh fturgeon and ham-pye
Are no rewards for want, and infamy!
When luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf,

Curs'd by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself,
To friends, to fortune, to mankind a fhame,
Think how pofterity will treat thy name;
And buy a rope, that future times may tell
Thou haft at least beftow'd one penny well.

"Right, cries his lordship, for a rogue in need "To have a taste is infolence indeed :

"In me 'tis noble, fuits my birth and state,
"My wealth unwieldly, and my heap too great."
Then, like the fun, let bounty spread her ray,
And fhine that fuperfluity away.

100

105

I LO

115

O impudence of wealth! with all thy ftore,
How dar'ft thou let one worthy man be poor?

Shall half the new-built churches round thee fall?
Make keys, build bridges, or repair Whitehall:
Or to thy country let that heap be lent,

120

As M**o's was, but not at five per cent.

Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind, Perhaps a dreadful jeft for all mankind.

And who ftands fafeft? tell me, is it he

125

That spreads and fwells in puff'd profperity,

Or bleft with little, whofe preventing care

In peace provides fit arms againft a war?

Thus BETHEL fpoke, who always fpeaks his thought, And always thinks the very thing he ought:

130

His equal mind I copy what I can,

And as I love, would imitate the man.

In South-fea days not happier, when furmis'd
The lord of thousands, than if now excis'd;

In foreft planted by a father's hand,

Than in five acres now of rented land.

135

Content with little I can piddle here

On brocoli and mutton, round the year;

But ancient friends (tho' poor, or out of play)
That touch my bell, I cannot turn away.

140

'Tis true, no turbots dignify my boards,

But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords:
To Hounslow-heath I point and Banfted-down,

Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own: From yon old walnut-tree a show'r fhall fall;

145

And grapes, long ling'ring on my only wall,

And figs from ftandard and efpalier join;

The dev'l is in you if you cannot dine:

Then chearful healths (your mistress shall have place) And, what's more rare, a poet fhall fay grace.

159

Fortune not much of humbling me can boast :

Tho' doubly tax'd, how little have I lost !

My life's amufements have been juft the fame,
Before, and after standing armies came.

155

My lands are fold, my father's houfe is gone;
I'll hire another's; is not that my own,
And yours, my friends? thro' whose free-op'ning gate
None comes too early, none departs too late;

(For I, who hold fage Homer's rule the best,

160

Welcome the coming, fpeed the going gueft.) "Pray heav'n it laft! (cries SWIFT!) as you go on; "I wish to God this house had been your own: "Pity! to build, without a fon or wife;

66

Why you'll enjoy it only all your life." Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one, Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon? What's property? dear Swift! you fee it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter;

165

Or, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's fhare;
Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir;

Or in pure equity (the cafe not clear)

The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year :
At beft, it falls to fome ungracious fon,

170

Who cries, "My father's damna'd, and all's my own." Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,

175

Become the portion of a booby lord;

And Hemfley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a fcriv'ner or a city knight,

Let lands and houfes § have what lords they will,
Let us be fix'd, and our own mafters ftill.

180

Villiers duke of Buckingham.

The turn of his imitation, in the concluding part, obliged him to diversify the sentiment. They are equally noble: but Horace's is expreffed with the greater force.

THE

« PreviousContinue »