And 'tis but juft, I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wise man always is or fhou'd
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a difference in his thought
Betwixt a Guinea and a Groat.
Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me
A fafe Companion and a free;
But if you'd have me always near
A word, pray, in your Honour's ear.
I hope it is your Refolution
To give me back my Constitution!
The sprightly Wit, the lively Eye,
Th' engaging fmile, the Gaiety,
That laugh'd down many a Summer Sun,
And kept you up fo oft till one:
And all that voluntary Vein,
As when Belinda rais'd my Strain.
Haec feges ingratos tulit et feret omnibus annis.
Vir bonus et fapiens, dignis ait effe paratum!
Nec tamen ignorat, quid diftent aera lupinis ?
Dignum praeftabo me, etiam pro laude merentis.
Quod fi me noles ufquam difcedere; reddes
Forte latus, nigros angufta fronte capillos:
Reddes dulce loqui: reddes ridere decorum, et
Inter vina fugam Cynarae moerere prótervae.
Forte per anguftam tenuis vulpecula rimam Repferat in cumeram frumenti: pastaque, rurfus Ire foras pleno tendebat corpore fruftra,
A Weazel once made shift to flink
In at a Corn-loft through a Chink;
But having amply stuff'd his skin,
Could not get out as he got in;
Which one belonging to the House
('Twas not a Man, it was a Mouse)
Obferving, cry'd, "You 'fcape not fo,
Lean as you came, Sir, you must go."
Sir, you may spare your Application,
I'm no fuch Beast, nor his Relation;
Nor one that Temperance advance,
Cramm'd to the Throat with Ortolans:
Extremely ready to refign
All that may make me none of mine.
South-fea Subfcriptions take who please,
Leave me but Liberty and Ease.
'Twas what I said to Craggs and Child,
Who prais'd my Modefty, and fmil'd.
Give me, I cry'd, (enough for me)
My Bread, and Independency!
So bought an Annual-rent or two,
Cui muftela procul, Si vis, ait, effugere iftine;
Macra cavum repetes arctum, quem macra subisti.
Hac ego fi compellar imagine, cuncta refigno;
Nec fomnum plebis laudo fatur altilium, nec
Otia divitiis Arabum liberrima muto.
Saepe verecundum laudafti: Rexque, Paterque
Audifti coram, nec verbo parcius abfens :
Near fifty, and without a Wife,
I truft that Sinking Fund, my Life.
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well,
Shrink back to my Paternal Cell,
A little House, with Trees a-row,
And, like its Master, very
low.
There dy'd my Father, no man's Debtor,
And there I'll die, nor worfe nor better.
To fet this matter full before
Our old friend Swift will tell his Story.
"Harley, the nation's great fupport-"
But you may
read it, I ftop fhort.
Infpice, fi poffum donata reponere laetus.
Parvum parva decent. mihi jam non regia Roma,
Sed vacuum Tibur placet, aut imbelle Tarentum.
Strenuus et fortis, caufifque Philippus agendis
Clarus, &c.
The latter Part of SATIRE VI*.
O Charming Noons! and Nights divine!
Or when I fup, or when I dine,
My Friends above, my Folks below,
Chatting and laughing all-a-row,
The Beans and Bacon fet before 'em,
The Grace-cup ferv'd with all decorum:
Each willing to be pleas'd, and please,
And even the very Dogs at ease!
Here no man prates of idle things,
How this or that Italian fings,
A Neighbour's Madness, or his Spouse's,
Or what's in either of the Houfes:
But fomething much more our concern,
And quite a scandal not to learn :
Which is the happier, or the wifer,
A man of Merit, or a Mifer?
O noctes coenaeque Deûm ! quibus ipfe meique,
Ante Larem proprium vefcor, vernafque procaces
Pafco libatis dapibus: cum, ut cuique libido eft,
Siccat inaequales calices conviva, folutus
Legibus infanis feu quis capit acria fortis
Pocula; feu modicis uvefcit laetius. ergo
Sermo oritur, non de villis domibufve alienis,
Nec male necne Lepos faltet: fed quod magis ad nos
Pertinet, et nefcire malum eft, agitamus; utrumne
See the first part in Swift's Poems.
Whether we ought to chufe our Friends,
For their own Worth, or our own Ends ?
What good, or better, we may call,
And what, the very best of all?
Our Friend Dan Prior, told (you know)
A Tale extremely "à propos"
Name a Town Life, and in a trice,
He had a Story of two Mice.
Once on a time (fo runs the Fable)
A Country Moufe, right hofpitable,
Receiv'd a Town Moufe at his Board,
Juft as a Farmer might a Lord.
A frugal Moufe, upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his Friend, and had a Soul,
Knew what was handfome, and would do't,
On juft occafion, "coute qui coute."
He brought him Bacon (nothing lean)
Pudding, that might have pleas'd a Dean;
Divitiis homines, an fint virtute beati :
Quidve ad amicitias, ufus rectumne, trahat nos:
Et quae fit natura boni, fummumque quid ejus.
Cervius haec inter vicinus garrit aniles
Ex re fabellas. fi quis nam laudat Arellî
Solicitas ignarus opes; fic incipit: Olim
Rufticus urbanum murem mus paupere fertur
Accepiffe cavo, veterem vetus hofpes amicum;
Afper, et attentus quaefitis; ut tamen arctum
Solveret hofpitiis animum, quid multa ? neque illi
Sepofiti ciceris, nec longae invidit avenae :
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