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Scorn to show 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 else to fear. Every island's but a prison,

Strongly guarded by the sea. Kings and princes for that reason,

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 strong prison-gate: For the world is also bounded

By the heavens and stars above ; Why should we then be confounded,

Since there's nothing free but love?


How pleasant a failors life passes,


Who roams o'er the watery main ; No treasure he ever amasses,

But chearfully spends all his gain.

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


We're strangers to party and faction,

To honour and honesty true,
And would not commit a base action
For power or profit in view.
Then why Mould we quarrel for riches,

Or any such 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 bleslings of life, The toiler with plenty rewarding,

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

And mountainous billows affright, No grandeur or wealth can avail as, But skilful induRry fleers right.

Then why should we quarrel for riches, &c.

The courtier's more subject to dangers,

Who rules at the helm of the state, Than we, who to politics strangers,

Escape the snares laid for the great.
The various blessings of nature,

In various nations we try,
No mortals than us can be greater,
Who merrily live till we die.
Then why should we quarrel for riches,

Or any such glittering toys ?
A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches,
Go thorough the world my brave boys.





Who would be no greater,

OW happy a state does the miller possess !

nor fears to be less ; On his mill and himself he depends for support, Which is better than servilely 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 so 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 scruple, from other mens sacks ;
In this of right noble examples he brags,
Who borrow as freely from other mens bags.
Or should he endeavour to heap an estate,
In this he would mimic the tools of the state ;
Whose 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 rises up chearful to work and to sing :
If so happy a miller, then who'd be a king ?

In the entertainment of The Miller of Mansfield.




HE honest heart, whose thoughts are clear

From fraud, disguise and guile, Need neither Fortunes frowning fear,

Nor court the harlots smile.

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 !






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 stone at the gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub


May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And wiser and better as my strength wears away,

Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.
Near a shady grove, and a murmuring brook,
With the ocean at distance, whereon I may look;
With a spacious plain, without hedge or file,
And an easy pad-nag to ride out a mile.
May I govern, &.
* In the comic opera of Love in a Village.

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With Horace, and Petrarch, and two or three more
Of the best wits that reigo'd in the ages before ;
With roast matton, rather than ven’son or teal,
And clean, though coas se linen at every meal.

May I govern, &c.


With a pudding on Sundays, with fout humming liquor,
And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar;
With Monte Fiascone or Burgundy wine,
To drink the kings health as oft as I dine.

May I govern, &c.

With a courage undaunted may I face my last day,
And when I am dead may the better fort say,
In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow,
He's gone, and (has) left not behind him his fellow :

For he governd his passion with an absolute sway,

wifer and better as his strength wore away, Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.*

* The author republished this Song, in his old age, with large addi. tics, and a number of whimsical notes, and illustrations from the Ro. man, Italian, and German poets. None of his supplemental stanzas were thought properly adapted to the present publication, but all the corrections and alterations he has made in the original verses have been carefully retained; except only as to the last chorus, which does not, in his enlarged copy, differ from the first.


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