Scorn to fhow the least resentment,
Though beneath the frowns of fate;
Knaves and beggars find contentment,
Fears and cares attend the great.

Though our creditors are spiteful,
And restrain our bodies here,
Use will make a jail delightful,
Since there's nothing elfe to fear.
Every island's but a prison,

Strongly guarded by the sea.
Kings and princes for that reafon,
Pris'ners are as well as we.

What was it made great Alexander
Weep at his unfriendly fate?
'Twas because he could not wander
Beyond this worlds ftrong prifon-gate:
For the world is alfo bounded

By the heavens and stars above;
Why fhould we then be confounded,
Since there's nothing free but love?

SONG XXV.*

HOW pleafant a failors life passes,

Who roams o'er the watery main;

No treasure he ever amaffes,

But chearfully spends all his gain.

* In an old English opera, called Perfeus and Andromeda.

We're

We're ftrangers to party and faction,

To honour and honesty true,

And would not commit a bafe action
For power or profit in view.

Then why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any fuch glittering toys?

A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches,
Go thorough the world my brave boys.

The world is a beautiful garden

Enrich'd with the bleflings of life, The toiler with plenty rewarding,

Which plenty too often breeds ftrife. When terrible tempefts affail us,

And mountainous billows affright, No grandeur or wealth can avail us,

But skilful indußry fteers right.

Then why should we quarrel for riches, &c.

The courtier's more fubject to dangers,
Who rules at the helm of the ftate,
Than we, who to politics ftrangers,
Efcape the fnares laid for the great.
The various bleffings of nature,

In various nations we try,

No mortals than us can be

greater, Who merrily live till we die.

Then why fhould we quarrel for riches,

Or any fuch glittering toys?

A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches,
Go thorough the world my brave boys.

SONG

SONG XXVI.

BY MR. ROBERT DODSLEY. *

H who would be no greater, nor fears to be lefs;
HOW

OW happy a ftate does the miller poffefs!

On his mill and himself he depends for fupport,
Which is better than fervilely cringing at court.

What though he all dufty and whiten'd does go,
The more he's bepowder'd, the more like a beau ;
A clown in this dress may be honester far

Than a courtier, who struts in his garter and star.

Though his hands are fo daub'd they're not fit to be seen, The hands of his betters are not very clean;

A palm more polite may as dirtily deal;

Gold, in handling, will stick to the fingers like meal.

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,
He cribs, without fcruple, from other mens facks;
In this of right noble examples he brags,
Who borrow as freely from other mens bags.

Or fhould he endeavour to heap an estate,
In this he would mimic the tools of the ftate;
Whofe aim is alone their own coffers to fill,
As all his concern's to bring grist to his mill.

He eats when he's hungry, he drinks when he's dry,
And down when he's weary contented does lie;
Then rifes up chearful to work and to fing:
If fo happy a miller, then who'd be a king?

In the entertainment of The Miller of Mansfield.

SONG

SONG XXVII.

BY MR. ISAAC BICKERSTAFF.*

HE honeft heart, whose thoughts are clear

ΤΗ From fraud, difguife and guile,

Need neither Fortunes frowning fear,
Nor court the harlots fmile.

The greatness that would make us grave
Is but an empty thing;

What more than mirth would mortals have?

The chearful man's a king!

SONG XXVIII.

THE OLD MANS WISH,

BY DR POPE

F I live to grow old, for I find I

go down,
Let this be my fate: In a country town,

May I have a warm house, with a ftone at the gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate.
May I govern my paffion with an abfolute sway,
And grov wifer and better as my ftrength wears away,
Without gout or ftone, by a gentle decay.

Near a fhady grove, and a murmuring brook,
With the ocean at diftance, whereon I may look ;
With a fpacious plain, without hedge or ftile,
And an eafy pad-nag to ride out a mile.

May I govern, &c.

*In the comic opera of Love in a Village.

With

With Horace, and Petrarch, and two or three more
Of the best wits that reign'd in the ages before;
With roaft mutton, rather than ven'fon or teal,
And clean, though coarse linen at every meal.
May I govern, &c,

With a pudding on Sundays, with ftout humming liquor,
And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar;

With Monte Fiafcone or Burgundy wine,

To drink the kings health as oft as I dine.

May I govern, &c.

With a courage undaunted may 1 face my laft day,
And when I am dead may the better fort fay,

In the morning when fober, in the evening when mellow,
He's gone, and [has] left not behind him his fellow;

For he govern'd his paffion with an absolute sway,
And grew wifer and better as his ftrength wore away,
Without gout or ftone, by a gentle decay.*

*The author republifhed this Song, in his old age, with large additions, and a number of whimfical notes, and illuftrations from the Roman, Italian, and German poets. None of his fupplemental ftanzas were thought properly adapted to the prefent publication, but all the corrections and alterations he has made in the original verfes have been carefully retained; except only as to the laft chorus, which does not, in his enlarged copy, differ from the first.

SONG