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HORACE, BOOK II. SAT. VI.

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IT

'VE often with'd that I had clear,

For life, fix hundred pounds a-year,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land set out to plant a wood.

Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase 'my store ;
• But here a grievance feems to lie,
6. All this is mine but till I die;

I can't but think 'would found more clever, “To me and to my heirs for ever.

• If I ne'er got or lost a groat, • By any trick, or any fault; • And if I pray by reason's rules, • And not like forty other fools : As thus, “ Vouchfase, oh gracious Maker! “ To grant me this and t other acre : “ Or, if it be thy will and pleasure, “ Direct my plow to find a treasure !" • But only what my station fits, "And to be kept in my right wits, Preserve, Almighty Providence ! • Just what you gave me, competence : • And let me in these shades compose • Something in verse as true as prose ; • Remov'd from all th' ambitious scene,

Nor puff'd by pride, nor funk by spleen.'

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In short, I’m perfectly content,
Let me but live on this side Trent;
Nor cross the Channel twice a year,
To spend fix months with statesmen here.

I must by all means come to town,
'Tis for the service of the crown.
“ Lewis, the Dean will be of use,
“ Send for him up, take no excuse.”
The toil, the danger of the seas,
Great ministers ne'er think of these ;
Or let it cost five hundred pound,
No matter where the money 's found,
It is but so much more in debt,
And that they ne'er consider'd yet.
“ Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown,

my Lord know you 're come to town.” I hurry me in haste away, Not thinking it is levee-day ; And find his honour in a pound, Hemm’d by a triple circle round, Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green : How should I thrust myself between Some wag observes me thus perplex’d, And, smiling, whispers to the next, “ I thought the Dean had been too proud, “ To justle here among a croud !" Another, in a furly fit, Tells me I have more zeal than wit, “ So eager to express your love, “ You ne'er consider whom

you shove,

« Let

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. But 60

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“ But rudely press before a duke.”
I own, I 'm pleas'd with this rebuke,
And take it kindly meant, to show
What I desire the world should know.

I get a whisper, and withdraw;
When twenty fools I never saw
Come with petitions fairly penn'd,
Desiring I would stand their friend.

This humbly offers me his cafe That begs my interest for a place A hundred other mens' affairs, Like bees, are humming in my ears. “ To-morrow my apppeal comes on; “ Without your help, the cause is gone The duke expects my lord and you, About some great affair at two — “ Put my lord Bolingbroke in mind, To get my warrant quickly sign'd: “ Confider, 'tis my

first request.” Be satisfy’d, I'll do best: Then presently he falls to teaze, “ You may for certain, if you please; “ I doubt not, if his lordship knew “ And, Mr. Dean, one word from you

'Tis (let me fee) three years and more, (October next it will be four) Since Harley bid me first attend, And chose me for an humble friend; Would take me in his coach to chat, And question me of this and that ;

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my

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As, “ What's o'clock” And, “How's the wind?" “ Whofe.chariot 's that we left behind ?"

90 Or gravely try to read the lines Writ underneath the country figns; Or, “ Have you nothing new to-day “ From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay?" Such tattle often entertains

95 My lord and me as far as Staines, As once a week we travel down To Windsor, and again to town, Where all that passes inter nos Might be proclaim'd at Charing-cross..

Yet some I know-with envy swell, Because they see me us’d so well : “ How think you of our friend the Dean? “ I wonder what some people mean!

My lord and he are grown so great, 105 “ Always together, tête à tête ; “ What! they admire him for his jokes ? “ See but the fortune of fome folks!”

There flies about a strange report Of some express arriv'd at court : I’m stopp'd by all the fools I meet, And catechis'd in every freet. “ You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great ; “ Inform us, will the Emperor treat? “ Or do the prints and papers lie?"

115 Faith, Sir, you know as much as I. “ Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest ! “ 'Tis now no secret” – I protest

120

''Tis one to me

" Then tell us, pray, - When are the troops to have their pay?" And, though I solemnly declare I know no more than my lord mayor, They stand amaz’d, and think me grown The closest mortal ever known. Thus in a sea of folly tost,

125 My choicest hours of life are lost; Yet always wishing to retreat, Oh, could I see my country seat ! There leaning near a gentle brook, Sleep, or peruse some ancient book ;

13 And there in sweet oblivion drown Those cares that haunt the court and town *.

THE AUTHOR UPON HIMSELF. 1713.

[A few of the first lines are wanting.]

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By an old

pursued
A crazy prelate t, and a royal prudet;
By dull divines, who look with envious eyes
On every genius that attempts to rise ;
And, pausing o'er a pipe with doubtful nod,
Give hints, that poets ne'er believe in God;

* See the rest of this satire among Mr. Pope's poems.
+ Dr. Sharp, archbishop of York.
R. Anne.

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