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Nor lets, like Nævius, ev'ry error pass,
Now hear what blessings temperance can bring : (Thus said our friend, and what he said I sing) First bealth : the stomach (cramm'd from ev'ry
dish, A tomb of boild and roast, and flesh and fish, Where bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar, And all the man is one intestine war) Remembers oft the schoolboys' simple fare, The temp'rate sleeps, and spirits light as air.
How pale each worshipful and rev'rend guest Rise from a clergy, or a city, feast ! What life in all that ample body say ? What heav'nly particle inspires the clay ? The soul subsides, and wickedly inclines To seem but mortal, ev'n in sound divines.
On morning wings how active springs the mind That leaves the load of yesterday behind ! How easy ev'ry labor it pursues ! How coming to the poet ev'ry Muse! Not but we may exceed some holy time, Or tir'd in search of truth, or search of rhyme: Ill health some just indulgence may engage, And more the sickness of long life, old age: For fainting age what cordial drop remains, If our intemp'rate youth the vessel drains ?
Our fathers prais'd rank ven’son. You suppose, Perhaps, young men ! our fathers had no nose.
Not so: a buck was then a week's repast,
Unworthy he the voice of Fame to hear,
need - To have a taste, is insolence indeed :
In me 'uis noble, suits my birth and state, - My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great.' Then, like the sun, let Bounty spread her ray, And shine that superfluity away. Oh impudence of wealth !. with all thy store How dar'st thou let one worthy inan be poor? hall half the new-built churches round thee fall? lake quays, build bridges, or repair Whitehall;
Or to thy country let that heap be lent,
Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her
Thus Bethel spoke, who always speaks his thought,
Then cheerful healths, (your mistress shall have
place,) And, what's more rare, a poet shall say grace.
Fortune not much of humbling me can boast : Though double-tax'd, how little have I lost ! My life's amusements have been just the same Before and after standing armies came. My lands are sold, my father's house is gone ; I'll hire another's ; is not that my own, And yours, my friends ? through whose free-op'ning
gate None comes too early, none departs too late ; (For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.) • Pray Heav'n it last! (cries Swift) as you go on ; • I wish to God this house had been your own! • Pity! to build without a son or wife : • Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life.' Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon ? What's property ? dear Swift! you see it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter ; Or, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's share, Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir; Or in pure Equity (the case not clear) The chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year: At best, it falls to some ungracious son, Who cries, "My father's damn'd, and all's my
Shades that to Bacon could retreat afford,
HORACE, BOOK II. SAT. VI.
The First Part imitated in the year 1714, by Dr. Swift, the
latter part added afterwards.
I've often wish'd that I had clear
Well, now I have all this, and more,
But here a grievance seems to lie, * All this is mine but till 'I die;
10 "I can't but think 'twould sound more clever, "To me and to my heirs for ever.'
If I ne'er got or lost a groat,