Smugglers there are, who, by retail,
Expose what they call love to sale.
Such bargains are an arrant cheat:
You purchase flatt'ry and deceit.
Those who true love have ever try'd,
(The common cares of life supply'd)
No wants endure, no wishes make,
But ev'ry real joy partake.
All comfort on themselves dependsThey want nor pow'r, nor wealth, nor friends.
Love then hath ev'ry bliss in store!
'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more.
Each other ev'ry wish they give-
Not to know love is not to live.
Or love, or money, Time reply'd,
Were men the question to decide,
Would bear the prize: on both intent,
My boon's neglected, or misspent!
"Tis I who measure vital space,
And deal out years to human race.
Tho' little priz'd, and seldom sought-
Without me love and gold are nought.
How does the miser time employ?
Did I e'er see him life enjoy?
By me forsook, the hoards he won
Are scatter'd by his lavish son.
By me all useful arts are gain'd—
Wealth, learning, wisdom, is attain'd.
Who then would think, since such my
pow'r,
That I e'er knew an idle hour?
So subtile, and so swift I fly,
Love's not more fugitive than I.
Who hath not heard coquettes complain
Of days, months, years, misspent in vain?
For time misus'd they pine and waste,
And love's sweet pleasures never taste;
Those who direct their time aright,
If love or wealth their hopes excite,
In each pursuit fit hours employ'd,
And both by time have been enjoy'd.
How heedless then are mortals grown!
How little is their int'rest known!
In ev'ry view they ought to mind me;
For, when once lost, they never find me.
He spoke. The Gods no more contest,
And his superior gift confest,
That time, when truly understood,
Is the most precious earthly good.
The Owl, the Swan, the Cock, the Spider, the Ass, and the Farmer.
CONVERSING with your sprightly
Your eyes have spoke the mother's joys. With what delight I've heard you quote Their sayings in imperfect note!
I grant, in body and in mind,
Nature appears profusely kind.
Trust not to that. Act you your part;
Imprint just morals on their heart;
Impartially their talents scan-
Just education forms the man.
Perhaps (their genius yet unknown) Each lot of life's already thrown; That this shall plead, the next shall fight, The last assert the church's right. I censure not the fond intent; But how precarious is th' event! By talents misapply'd and crost, Consider all your sons are lost.
One day (the tale's by Martial penn'd) A father thus address'd his friend :
To train my boy, and call forth sense, You know I've stuck at no expence; I've try'd him in the sev'ral arts (The lad no doubt hath latent parts); Yet, trying all, he nothing knows, But, crab-like, rather backward goes. Teach me what yet remains undone➡ 'Tis your advice shall fix my son.
Sir, says the friend, I've weigh'd the
Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter!
Make him, nor think his genius checkt,
A herald, or an architect.
Perhaps, as commonly 'tis known!
He heard th' advice, and took his own,
The boy wants wit: he's sent to school,
Where learning but improves the fool.
The College next must give him parts,
And cram him with the lib'ral arts.
Whether he blunders at the bar,
Or owes his infamy to war;
Or if, by licence or degree,
The sexton shares the doctor's fee;
Or from the pulpit, by the hour,
He weekly floods of nonsense pour,-
We find (th' intent of Nature foil'd)
A tailor or a butcher spoil'd.
Thus ministers have royal boons
Conferr'd on blockheads and buffoons:
In spite of nature, merit, wit,
Their friends for ev'ry post were fit.
But now let ev'ry Muse confess
That merit finds it due success.
Th' examples of our days regard:
Where's virtue seen without reward?
Distinguish'd and in place you find
Desert and worth of ev'ry kind.
Survey the rev'rend bench, and see
Religion, learning, piety:
The patron, ere he recommends,
Sees his own image in his friends.
Is honesty disgrac'd and poor?
What is't to us what was before?
We of all times corrupt have heard,
When paltry minions were preferr'd;
When all great offices, by dozens,
Were fill'd by brothers, sons, and cousins.
What matter ignorance and pride?
The man was happily ally'd.
Provided that his clerk was good,
What though he nothing understood?
In Church and State, the sorry race
Grew more conspicuous fools in place.
Such heads as then a treaty made,
Had bungled in the cobler's trade.
Consider, patrons, that such elves.
Expose your folly with themselves.
"Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care,
To fix each genius in its sphere.
Your partial hand can wealth dispense→→
But never give a blockhead sense.
An Owl, of magisterial air,
Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
Assum'd the pride of human race,
And bore his wisdom in his face :
Not to depreciate learned eyes,
I've seen a pedant look as wise.
Within a barn, from noise retir'd,
He scorn'd the world, himself admir'd,
And, like an ancient sage, conceal'd
The follies public life reveal'd.
Philosophers of old, he read,
Their country's youth to science bred,
Their manners form'd for ev'ry station,
And destin'd each his occupation.
When Xenophon, by numbers brav'd,
Retreated, and a people sav'd,
That laurel was not all his own;
The plant by Socrates was sown.
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