Not all the lustful shell-fish of the fea,
Drefs'd by the wanton hand of luxury,
Nor ortolans, nor godwits, nor the reft
Of coftly names that glorify a feaft,
Are at the princely tables better chear,
Than lamb and kid, lettuce and olives, here.
A Paraphrafe upon HORACE, Book II. Sat. vi.
AT the large foot of a fair hollow tree,
Close to plough'd ground, feated commodioufly,
His ancient and hereditary house,
There dwelt a good substantial country mouse;
Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main,
Yet one who once did nobly entertain
A city mouse, well-coated, fleek, and gay,
A mouse of high degree, which loft his way,
Wantonly walking forth to take the air,
And arriv'd early, and belighted, there,
For a day's lodging: the good hearty hoft
(The antient plenty of his hall to boast)
Did all the stores produce, that might excite,
With various tastes, the courtier's appetite.
Fitches and beans, peason and oats, and wheat,
And a large chesnut, the delicious meat
Which Jove himself, were he a mouse, would eat.
And, for a haut gouft, there was mixt with these
The swerd of bacon, and the coat of cheese:
The precious reliques which, at harvest, he
Had gather'd from the reaper's luxury.
Freely (faid he) fall on, and never spare,
The bounteous gods will for to-morrow care.
And thus at ease, on beds of straw, they lay,
And to their genius sacrific'd the day :
Yet the nice guest's Epicurean mind,
(Though breeding made him civil seem and kind)
Despis'd this country feast; and still his thought
Upon the cakes and pies of London wrought.
Your bounty and civility (faid he),
Which I'm furpriz'd in these rude parts to fee,
Shews that the gods have given you a mind
Too noble for the fate which here you find.
Why should a foul, so virtuous and fo great,
Lofe itself thus in an obfcure retreat?
Let savage beasts lodge in a country den;
You should fee towns, and manners know, and men;
And taste the generous luxury of the court,
Wher call the mice of quality refort;
Where thousand beauteous shes about you move,
And, by high fare, are pliant made to love.
We all, ere long, must render up our breath;
No cave or hole can shelter us from death,
Since life is fo uncertain, and so short,
Let 's spend it all in feafting and in fport.
Come, worthy fir, come with me and partake
All the great things that mortals happy make.
Alas! what virtue hath fufficient arms
T' oppose bright honour, and soft pleasure's charms :
What wisdom can their magic force repel?
It draws this reverend hermit from his cell.
It was the time, when witty poets tell,
"That Phœbus into Thetis' bosom fell:
"She blush'd at first, and then put out the light,
"And drew the modest curtains of the night."
Plainly the truth to tell, the fun was set,
When to the town our wearied travellers get:
To a lord's house, as lordly as can be,
Made for the use of pride and luxury,
They come; the gentle courtier at the door
Stops, and will hardly enter in before;
But 'tis, fir, your command, and being fo,
I'm fworn t' obedience; and so in they go.
Behind a hanging, in a fpacious room
(The richest work of Mortclake's noble loom)
They wait a while, their wearied limbs to reft,
Till filence should invite them to their feast.
"About the hour that Cynthia's filver light
"Had touch'd the pale meridies of the night;"
At last, the various supper being done,
It happen'd that the company was gone
Into a room remote, servants and all,
To please their noble fancies with a ball.
Our hoft leads forth his stranger, and does find
All fitted to the bounties of his mind.
Still on the table half-fill'd dishes stood,
And with delicious bits the floor was strew'd.
The courteous mouse presents him with the beft,
And both with fat varieties are blest.
Th' industrious peafant every where does range,
And thanks the gods for his life's happy change.
Lo! in the midst of a well-freighted pye,
They both at last glutted and wanton lie;
When, see the sad reverse of profperous fate,
And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait!
With hideous noise down the rude servants come,
Six dogs before run barking into th' room;
The wretched gluttons fly with wild affright,
And hate the fullness, which retards their flight.
Our trembling peafant wishes now, in vain,
That rocks and mountains cover'd him again;
Oh, how the change of his poor life he curst !
This, of all lives (faid he) is sure the worst:
Give me again, ye gods, my cave and wood !
With peace, let tares and acorns be my food !
A Paraphrafe upon the 10th Epistle of the First Book of HORACE.
HORACE to FUSCUS ARISTINS.
HEALTH, from the lover of the country, me,
Health, to the lover of the city, thee;
A difference in our fouls, this only proves;
In all things else, we agree like married doves.
But the warm nest and crowded dove-house thou
Dost like; I loosely fly from bough to bough,
And rivers drink, and all the shining day
Upon fair trees or mossy rocks I play;
In fine, I live and reign, when I retire
From all that you equal with heaven admire;
Like one at last from the priest's service fled,
Loathing the honied cakes, I long for bread.
Would I a house for happiness erect,
Nature alone should be the architect,
She 'd build it more convenient than great,
And doubtless in the country choose her feat;
Is there a place doth better helps supply
Against the wounds of winter's cruelty ?
Is there an air, that gentlier does afsuage
The mad celestial dog's, or lion's, rage?
Is it not there that fleep (and only there)
Nor noise without, nor cares within, does fear?
Does art through pipes a purer water bring,
Than that, which nature strains into a spring?
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