« ПредишнаНапред »
* No hurt shall come to you or yours;
• But for that pack of churlish boors,
• Not fit to live on Christian ground,
• They and their houses shall be drown'd,
• Whilft you shall see your cottage rise,
• And grow a church before your eyes.'
They scarce had spoke, when (fair and soft)
The roof began to mount aloft:
Aloft rose ev'ry beam and rafter;
The heavy wall climb'd slowly after.
The chimney, widen'd and grew high'r,
Became a steeple with a spire.
The kettle to the top was hoist,
And there food fasten'd to a joist,
But with the upside down, to show
It's inclination for below;
In vain, for a fuperior force,
Apply'd at bottom, stops it's course:
Doom'd ever in suspense to dwell,
"Tis now no kettle, but a bell.
A wooden jack, which had almost
Loft, by disuse, the art to roaft,
A sudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by new intestine wheels;
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion flow'r.
The flier, tho' it had leaden feet,
Turn'd round so quick you scarce could see't ;
But, Slacken'd by some fecret pow'r,
Now hardly moves an inch an hour.
The jack and chimney, near ally'd,
Had never left each other's side :
The chimney to a steeple grown,
The jack would not be left alone;
But, up against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and fill adher'd.
And still it's love to houshold cares,
By a Thrill voice, at noon declares;
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roast-meat which it cannot turn.
The groaning-chair began to crawls
Like a huge snail, along the wall;
There stuck aloft in publick view,
And, with small change, a pulpit grew.
The porringers, that in a row,
Hung high, and made a glitt'ring show;
To a less noble fubftance chang'd,
Were now but leathern buckets rang'd.
The ballads pafted on the wall,
Of Joan of France and English Moll ;
Fair Rofamond and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood;
Now seem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in picture, size, and letter;
And, high in order plac'd, describe
The heraldry of ev'ry tribe.
A bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did use,
Was metamorphos'd into pews ;
Which still their ancient nature keep,
By lodging folks dispos'd to sleep.
The cottage, by such feats as these in
Grown to a church by juft degrees,
The hermits then defir'd their hoft
To ask for what he fancy'd most.
Philemon, having paus'd a while,
keturn'd them thanks in homely style;
Then said, My house is grown fo fine,
Methinks I ftill would call it mine :
« I'm old, and fain would live at ease;
• Make me the parfon, if you please.'
He spoke; and prefently he feels Pin and
His grazier’s coat fall down his heels; 18.45
He sees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-sleeve: . neyi
His waistcoat to a caflock grew-
And both affum'd a fable hue ;
But, being old, continu'd juft
As threadbare, and as full of dust. :
His talk was now of tythes and dues ; :
He smok'd his pipe, and read the news;
Knew how to preach old sermons next;
Vamp'd in the preface and the text:
At christ’nings well could act his part,
And had the fervice all by heart.
Wish'd women might have children fast, mis
And thought whofe fow had farrow'd lat.:
Against Dissenters would repine,
And stood up firm for right divine.
Found his head fill'd with many a system;
But claffick authors-ke ne'er miss'd 'em.
Thus having furbish'd up a parson,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce op.
Inftead of home-fpun coifs, were seen
Good pinners edg'd with Colberteen;
Her petticoat, transform'd apace,
Became black fattin flounc'd with lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down ;
"'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown.
Philemon was in great surprize,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amaz'd to see her look fo prim,
And she admir'd as much at him.
Thus happy in their change of life, ::
Were sey'ral years this man and wife : !!"
When, on a day, which prov'd their last,
Discourfing o’er old Aories past,
They went by chance, 'amidst their talk,
To the church-yard,' to take a walk,
When Baucis hastily cry'd out,
• My dear, I see your forehead sprout!
· Sprout! quoth the man ; ' what's this you tell us.
I hope you don't believe me jealous!
• But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
* And, really, yours is budding too!
Nay—now I cannot ftir my foot;
• It feels as if 'twere taking root!'
Description would but tire my Muse:
In short, they both were turn'd to yews.
Old Goodman Dobson of the Green,
Remembers he the trees has seen;
He'll talk of them from noon till night,
And goes with folks to slicw the fight.
On Sundays, after ev'ning pray'r,
He gathers all the parish there;-.
Points out the place of either yew=
• Here Baucis, there Philemon, grew :
• Till once a parson of our town,"
< To mend-his barn, cut-Baucis downs
" At which us hard to be believ?d
• How much the other tree was griev'd,
Grew scrubby, dy'd a-top, was stunted,
So the next parfon lubb'd and burnt it.'
F Heav's the grateful liberty would give,
That I might chufe my method how to live, And all thore hours propitious Fate thould lend, In blissful ease and satisfaction spend
Near some fair town I'd have a private fcat,
Built uniform; not little, nor too great:
Better if on a rising ground it stood;
On this fide fields, on that a neighb'ring wood.
It should within no other things contain
But what are useful, neceffary, plain :
Methinks 'tis naufeous, and I'd ne'er endure
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture.
A little garden, grateful to the eye,
And a cool rivulet run murm’ring by,
On whose delicious banks a stately row
Of shady limes or fycamores should grow;,
At th' end of which a silent study plac’d, : : :
Should be with all the nobleft authors gracid:
Horace and Virgil, in whole-mighty lines
Immortal wit and solid learning shines ;
Sharp Juvenal, and am'rous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's foft paffion kaex;'.
He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
In which strong art with ítronger nature joins,
Must grant his fancy does the best excel,
His thoughts so tender, and expressd so well;
With all those moderns, men of steady senfe,
Esteem'd for learning and for eloquence.
In some of these, as Fancy fhould advise,
I'd always take my morning exercise ;
For sure no minutes bring us more content,
Than those in pleasing useful ftudies spent!
I'd have a clear and competent estate,
That I might live genteelly, but not great ;
As much as I could moderately spend
A little more, fometimes t oblige a friend.
Nor should the fons of Poverty repine..
Too much at Fortune, they thould taste of mine;
And all that objects of true pity were,
Should be reliev'd with what my wants could spare :
3 M 2