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Remembers oft the schoolboy's simple fare,
The temp’rate sleeps, and spirits light as air.

How pale each worshipful and rev'rend guest 75
Rise from a clergy or a city feast !
What life in all that ample body say ?
What heav'nly particle inspires the clay ?
The soul subsides, and wickedly inclines
To seem but mortal ev'n in sound divines. 80

On morning wings how active springs the mind
That leaves the load of yesterday behind !
How easy every labour it pursues !
How coming to the poet ev'ry Muse !
Not but we may exceed some holy time,

Or tir'd in search of truth or search of rhyme :
Ill health some just indulgence may engage,
And more the sickness of long life old age:
For fainting age what cordial drop remains,
If our intemp’rate youth the vessel drains ? 90

Our fathers prais'd rank ven’son. You suppose, Perhaps, young men ! our fathers had no nose. Not so: a buck was then a week's repast, And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it last; More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could come, Than eat the sweetest by themselves at home. 96 Why had not I in those good times my birth, Ere coxcomb pies or coxcombs were on earth?

Unworthy he the voice of Fame to hear, That sweetest music to an honest ear,

100 (For faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong, The world's good word is better than a song,) Who has not learn’d fresh sturgeon and ham-pie Are no rewards for want and infamy!. When luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf,

105 Curs'd by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself ; To friends, to fortune, to mankind, a shame, Think how posterity will treat thy name; And buy a rope, that future times may tell Thou hast at least bestow'l one penny well. 110

Right,” cries his Lordship; “ for a rogue in « To have a taste is insolence indeed :

[need « In me 'tis noble, suits my birth and state,

My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great.” Then, like the sun, let Bounty spread her ray, 115 And shine that superfluity away. Oh impudence of wealth! with all thy store How dar’st thou let one worthy man be poor? Shall half the new-built churches round thee f.ll? Make quays, build bridges, or repair Whitehall; 120 Or to thy ccuntry let that heap be lent, As M**o's was, but not at five per cent.

Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her mind, Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankind.

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And who stands safest ? Tell me, is it he

125 That spreads and swells in puff’d prosperity; Or, bless'd with little, whose preventing care In peace provides fit arms against a war?”

Thus Bethel spoke, who always speaks 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-sea days, not happier, when surmis'd The lord of thousands, than if now excis’d; In forest planted by a father's hand,

135 Than in five acres now of rented land. 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, founders, what my Thames affords: To Hounslow-heath I point, and Bansted-down, Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own: From yon' old walnut-tree a show'r shall fall,

145 And grapes, long ling’ring on my only wall, And figs from standard and espalier join ; The devil is in you if you cannot dine: Then cheerful healths, (your mistress shall have

place,) And, what's more rare, a poet shall say grace.


Fortune not much of humbling me can boast ; Tho' double tax'd, how little have I lost! My life's amusements have been just the same Before and after standing armies came. My lands are sold, my father's house is gone; 155 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 sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.) 160 “ Pray Heav'n it last! (cries Swift) as you go on; “ I wish to God this house had been your own! “ Pity to build without a son or wife: “ Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life.” Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one 165 Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon? What's property ? dear Swift ! you see it alter From you to

me, from me to Peter Walter ; Or in a mortgage prove a lawyer's share, Or in a jointure vanish from the heir ; Or in pure Equity (the case not clear) The chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year: At best it falls to some ungracious son, Who cries, “ My father's damn'd, and all's my own.” Shades that to Bacon could retreat afford, 175 Become the portion of a booby lord;


And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a scriv'ner or a city knight.
Let lands and houses have what lords they will,
Let us be fix’d, and our own masters still, 180

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