Not all the luftful fhell-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 feast,
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 commodiously,
His ancient and hereditary house,
There dwelt a good fubftantial country mouse;
Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main,
Yet one who once did nobly entertain
A city moufe, 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 ftores produce, that might excite,
With various tastes, the courtier's appetite.
Fitches and beans, peason and oats, and wheat,
And a large chefnut, the delicious meat
Which Jove himself, were he a mouse, would eat.
And, for a baut gouft, there was mixt with these
The fwerd 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 facrific'd the day:
Yet the nice gueft's Epicurean mind,
(Though breeding made him civil feem 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, fo virtuous and fo great,
Lofe itself thus in an obfcure retreat?
Let favage beafts lodge in a country den;
You fhould 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 fhes about you move,
And, by high fare, are pliant made to love.
We all, ere long, muft render up our breath ;
No cave or hole can fhelter us from death.
Since life is fo uncertain, and fo fhort,
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 foft 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 Phoebus into Thetis' bofom fell :
"She blush'd at firft, and then put out the light,
"And drew the modeft 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 houfe, as lordly as can be,
Made for the ufe 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 fo 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 fhould invite them to their feast.
"About the hour that Cynthia's filver light
"Had touch'd the pale meridies of the night;"
At laft, the various fupper being done,
It happen'd that the company was gone
Into a room remote, fervants 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 ftrew'd.
The courteous mouse presents him with the beft,
And both with fat varieties are bleft.
Th' industrious peasant 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, fee the fad reverse of prosperous fate,
And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait!
With hideous noise down the rude fervants 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 peasant 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 fure the worst :
Give me again, ye gods, my cave and wood!
With peace, let tares and acorns be my food!
A Paraphrafe upon the roth Epiftle of the Firft Book
HORACE to FUSCUS ARISTIN 5.
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 elfe, we agree like married doves.
But the warm neft and crowded dove-house thou
Doft like; I loofely fly from bough to bough,
And rivers drink, and all the fhining day
Upon fair trees or mofly rocks I play ;
In fine, I live and reign, when I retire
From all that you equal with heaven admire ;
Like one at laft from the priest's fervice fled,
Loathing the honied cakes, I long for bread.
Would I a houfe for happiness erect,
Nature alone fhould 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 fupply
Against the wounds of winter's cruelty?
Is there an air, that, gentlier does affuage
The mad celeftial dog's, or lion's, rage?
Is it not there that fleep (and only there)
Nor noife without, nor cares within, does fear?
Does art through pipes a purer water bring,
Than that, which nature ftrains into a spring?
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