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Nor lets, like Nævius, ev'ry error pass,
Thc musty wine, foul cloth, or greasy glass.

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,
And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it last;
More pleas'd to keep it till their friends could come
Than eat the sweetest by themselves at home.
Why had not I in those good times my birth,
Ere coxcomb pies, or coxcombs, were on earth ?

Unworthy he the voice of Fame to hear,
That sweetest music to an honest ear,
(For 'faith, Lord Fanny ! you are in the wrong,
The world's good word is better than a song,)
Who has not learn'd fresh sturgeon and ham-pie
Are no rewards for want and infamy!
When luxury has lick'd up all the pelf,
Curs'd by thy neighbors, thy trustees, thyself;
To friends, to fortune, to mankind, a shame,
Think how posterity will treat thy name ;
And buy a rope, that future times may tell
Thou hast at least bestow'd one penny well.
•Right,' cries his Lordship ; • for a rogue in

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,
As M**o's was, but not at five per cent.

Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her
- mind,
Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankind.
And who stands safest ? tell me is it he .
That spreads, and swells, in puff'd prosperity ?
Or, bless'd with little, whose preventing care
In peace provides fit arms against a war?

Thus Bethel spoke, who always speaks his thought,
And always thinks the very thing he ought :
His equal mind I copy what I can,
And as I love would imitate the man.
In South-sea days, not happier, when surmis'd
The lord of thousands, than if now excis'd;
In forest, planted by a father's hand,
Than in five acres now of rented land.
Content with little, I can piddle here
On brocoli and mutton, round the year ;
But ancient friends, (though poor, or out of play)
That touch my bell, I cannot turn away :
'Tis true, no turbots dignify my boards,
But gudgeons, fiounders, what my Thames affords :
To Hounslow-heath I point, and Bansted-down,
Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my

own:
From yon old walnut-tree a show'r shall fall,
And grapes, long ling'ring on my only wall,
And figs from standard, and espalier join ;
The devil's in you if you cannot dine :

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

own.'

Shades that to Bacon could retreat afford,
Become the portion of a booby lord;
And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a scriv'ner, or a city knight.
Let lands and houses have what lords they will,
Let us be fix'd, and our own masters still.

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
For life six hundred pounds a-ycar,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land set out to plant a wood.

Well, now I have all this, and more,
I ask not to increase my store ;

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,
By any trick or any fault;
And if I pray by Reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools,

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