HORACE, BOOK II. SAT. VI..

I'VE often with'd that I had clear,
For life, fix hundred pounds a-year,
A handfome houfe to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land fet out to plant a wood.
Well, now I have all this and more,

I afk not to increase my store;

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But here a grievance feems to lie,

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I can't but think 'twould found more clever,

All this is mine but till I die;

To me and to my heirs for ever.

If I ne'er got or loft a groat,

By any trick, or any fault;
And if I pray by reafon's rules,
And not like forty other fools:

As thus, "Vouchfafe, oh gracious Maker!
"To grant me this and t' other acre :
"Or, if it be thy will and pleafure,
"Direct my plow to find a treasure !"
But only what my ftation fits,
And to be kept in my right wits,
Preferve, Almighty Providence!
Juft what you gave me, competence:
And let me in thefe fhades compofe
Something in verfe as true as profe;
" Remov'd from all th' ambitious fcene,
Nor puff'd by pride, nor funk by fpleen.'

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In

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In fhort, I'm perfectly content,
Let me but live on this fide 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 fervice of the crown.
"Lewis, the Dean will be of use,
"Send for him up, take no excufe."
The toil, the danger of the seas,
Great ministers ne'er think of these ;
Or let it coft five hundred pound,
No matter where the money 's found,

It is but fo much more in debt,

And that they ne'er confider'd yet.

“Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown,

"Let 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,

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Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green :
How should I thruft myself between ?
Some wag obferves me thus perplex'd,
And, fmiling, whispers to the next,

"I thought the Dean had been too proud,
"To juftle here among a croud !"

Another, in a furly fit,

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Tells me I have more zeal than wit,

"So eager to express your love,

"You ne'er confider whom you shove,

But

"But rudely press before a duke."

I own,

I'm pleas'd with this rebuke,

And take it kindly meant, to fhow

What I defire the world fhould know.
I get a whisper, and withdraw;
When twenty fools I never faw
Come with petitions fairly penn'd,
Defiring I would ftand their friend.

This humbly offers me his cafe That begs my intereft 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 fome great affair at two — "Put my lord Bolingbroke in mind, "To get my warrant quickly fign'd: "Confider, 'tis my first request.". Be fatisfy'd, I'll do my beft: Then presently he falls to teaze, "You may for certain, if you please; "I doubt not, if his lordfhip 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,

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And chofe me for an humble friend;
Would take me in his coach to chat,

And question me of this and that;

As

As, "What's o'clock?" And, "How's the wind?? "Whose chariot 's that we left behind?"

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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

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My lord and me as far as Staines,

As once a week we travel down
To Windfor, and again to town,
Where all that paffes inter nos
Might be proclaim'd at Charing-crofs..
Yet fome I know with envy fwell,

Because they see me us'd fo well :

"How think you of our friend the Dean? "I wonder what fome people mean !

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My lord and he are grown so great,

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 fome exprefs arriv'd at court:
I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet,
And catechis'd in every fireet.
"You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great;
"Inform us, will the Emperor treat?
"Or do the prints and papers lie?"

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Faith, Sir, you know as much as I.

“Ah, Doctor, how you love to jeft! ""Tis now no fecret" - I proteft.

"Tis one to me

"Then tell us, pray,

"When are the troops to have their pay?" And, though I folemnly declare

I know no more than my lord mayor,

They ftand amaz'd, and think me grown
The clofeft mortal ever known.

Thus in a fea of folly toft,
My choiceft hours of life are loft;
Yet always withing to retreat,
Oh, could I fee my country feat!
There leaning near a gentle brook,

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Sleep, or perufe fome ancient book ;

And there in fweet oblivion drown

Thofe cares that haunt the court and town

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THE AUTHOR UPON HIMSELF. 1713.

[A few of the firft lines are wanting.]

A crazy prelate †, and a royal prude ↑;
By dull divines, who look with envious eyes
On every genius that attempts to rife;
And, paufing o'er a pipe with doubtful nod,
Give hints, that poets ne'er believe in God;

See the reft of this fatire among Mr. Pope's poems. + Dr. Sharp, archbishop of York.

Q. Anne.

So