Mean-time, on Thefe Olook with kind Concern!
And hence this juft, this useful Leffon learn.
If strong Defires thy reasoning Pow'rs controul,
If arbitrary Paffions fway thy Soul;
If Pride, if Envy, if the Luft of Gain,
If wild Ambition in thy Bofom reign,
Alas! thou boaft'ft thy fober Sense in vain :
In these poor Bedlamites thy felf survey;
Thy self, less innocently mad than they.
On the Setting up Mr. BUTLER's Monument in
Hile Butler, needy Wretch! was yet [alive,
No gen'rous Patron would a Dinner give: See him, when starv'd to Death and turn'd to Duft, Prefented with a Monumental Bust!
The Poet's Fate is here in Emblem fhown;
He ask'd for Bread, and he receiv'd a Stone.
YOUR Sage and Moralift can show
Many Misfortunes here below;
A Truth which no one ever miss'd,
Tho' neither Sage nor Moralist :
Yet, all the Troubles notwithstanding,
Which Fate or Fortune has a hand in,
Fools to themselves will more create,
In spight of Fortune and of Fate.
Thus oft are dreaming Wretches feen,
Tortur'd with Vapours, and with Spleen;
Transform'd (at least in their own Eyes)
To Glafs, or China, or Goofe-Pies.
Others will to themfelves appear
Stone-dead, as Will the Conqueror ;
And all the World in vain might strive
To face them down that they're alive.
Unlucky Males with Child will groan,
And forely dread their lying down ;
As fearing, that to ease their Pain,
May puzzle Doctor Chamberlain.
Imaginary Evils flow,
Merely from want of real Woe;
And when prevailing Whimfies rise,
As monftrous wild Abfurdities
Are, ev'ry Hour, and ev'ry Minute,
Found without Bedlam, as within it.
Which if you further would have shown,
And Leisure have to read - read on.
There liv'd a Gentleman, possest
Of all that Mortals reckon best:
A Seat well-chofe in wholefome Air,
With Gardens and with Profpects fair:
His Land from Debt and Jointure free;
His Money, never in South-Sea;
His Health of Body firm and good,
Tho' past the Hey-day in his Blood:
His Confort fair, and good, and kind;
His Children rifing to his Mind:
His Friends ingenious and fincere ;
His Honour, nay his Confcience clear:
He wanted nought of human Blifs,
But Pow'r to tafte his Happiness.
Too near, alas! this great Man's Hall
A merry Cobler had a Stall;
An arch old Wag as e'er you knew,
With Breeches red, and Jerkin blue:
Chearful at Working, as at Play,
He fung and whistled Life away:
When rifing Morning glads the Sky,
Clear as the merry Lark, and high;
When Evening Shades the Landskip veil,
Late warbling as the Nightingale.
Tho' Pence came flow, and Trade was ill,
Yet ftill he fung, and whiftled ftill;
Tho' patch'd his Garb, and coarse his Fare,
He laugh'd, and caft away old Care.
The rich Man view'd, with Discontent,
His tatter'd Neighbour's Merriment;
With Envy grudg'd, and pin'd to fee
A Beggar pleasanter than He:
And, by degrees, to hate began
Th'intolerable happy Man;
Who haunted him, like any Sprite,
From Morn to Eve, by Day and Night,
It chanc'd as once in Bed he lay,
When Dreams are true, at break of Day,
He heard the Cobler at his Sport,
Amidst his Music stopping fhort:
Whether his Morning Draught he took,
Or warming Whiff of wonted Smoke.
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