Ah! who, in our degenerate days,
As nature prompts, his offering pays?
Here nature never difference made
Between the fceptre and the fpade.
Ye great-ones, why will ye difdain
To pay your tribute on the plain ?
Why will you place in lazy pride
Your altars near your couches fide;
When from the homelieft earthen ware
Are fent up offerings more fincere,
Than where the haughty dutchefs locks
Her filver vafe in cedar-box?
Yet fome devotion ftill remains
Among our harmless northern fwains,
Whofe offerings, plac'd in golden ranks,
Adorn our crystal rivers' banks;
Nor feldom grace the flowery downs,
With fpiral tops and copple-crowns;
Or gilding in a funny morn
The humble branches of a thorn.
So, poets fing, with golden bough
The Trojan hero paid his vow.
Hither, by luckless error led,
The crude confiftence oft' I tread :
Here, when my shoes are out of case,
Unweeting gild the tarnish'd lace;
Here, by the facred bramble ting'd,
My petticoat is doubly fring'd.
Be witness for me, nymph divine,
I never robb'd thee with defign:
Nor will the zealous Hannah pout
To wash thy injur'd offering out.
But ftop, ambitious Mufe, in time,
Nor dwell on fubjects too fublime.
In vain on lofty heels I tread,
Aspiring to exalt my head;
With hoop expanded wide and light,
In vain I 'tempt too high a flight.
Me Phoebus in a midnight dream
Accofting faid, "Go fhake your cream."
Be humbly-minded, know your post;
Sweeten your tea, and watch your toaft.
Thee best befits a lowly ftyle:
Teach Dennis how to ftir the † guile:
With Peggy Dixon thoughtful fit,
Contriving for the pot and fpit.
Take down thy proudly fwelling fails,
And rub thy teeth, and pare thy nails:
At nicely-carving shew thy wit;
But ne'er prefume to eat a bit :
Turn every way thy watchful eye;
And every guest be sure to ply:
Let never at your board be known
An empty plate, except your own.
Be these thy arts; nor higher aim
Than what befits a rural dame.
*In the bottle, to make butter. F.
The quantity of ale or beer brewed at one time. F.
- Mrs. Dixon, the house-keeper. F.
But Cloacina, goddess bright,
claims her as his right :
And Smedley, flower of all divines,
Shall fing the Dean in Smedley's lines.
LEST it may more quarrels breed,
I will never hear you read.
II. By difputing, I will never,
To convince you, once endeavour.
III. When a paradox you stick to,
I will never contradict you.
IV. When I talk, and you are heedlefs,
I will fhew no anger needless.
V. When your speeches are abfurd,
I will ne'er object a word.
VI. When you furious argue wrong,
I will grieve, and hold my tongue.
VII. Not a jeft or humourous story
Will I ever tell before
To be chidden for explaining,
When you quite mistake the meaning.
VIII. Never more will I fuppofe,
You can tafte my verfe or profe.
IX. You no more at me fhall fret,
While I teach, and you forget.
X. You fhall never hear me thunder,
When you blunder on, and blunder.
XI. Shew your poverty of spirit,
And in dress place all your merit;
Give yourself ten thousand airs;
That with me fhall break no fquares.
XII. Never will I give advice,
Till you please to ask me thrice:
Which, if you in fcorn reject,
"Twill be just as I expect.
Thus we both fhall have our ends,
And continue fpecial friends.
AT MARKET-HILL. 1739.
FROM diftant regions Fortune fends
An odd triumvirate of friends;
Where Phoebus pays a scanty stipend,
Where never yet a codlin ripen'd:
Hither the frantic goddess draws
Three fufferers in a ruin'd caufe:
By faction banish'd, here unite,
A Dean, a Spaniard †, and a Knight ‡;
+ Col. Harry Leflie, who ferved and lived long
in Spain. See p. 189.
Sir Arthur Achefon.
Unite, but on conditions cruel;
The Dean and Spaniard find it too well,
Condemn'd to live in fervice hard;
On either fide his honour's guard:
The Dean, to guard his honour's back,
Muft build a castle at Drumlack;
The Spaniard, fore against his will,
Muft raise a fort at Market-hill.
And thus the pair of humble gentry
At north and fouth are posted centry;
While, in his lordly caftle fixt,
The Knight triumphant reigns betwixt :
And, what the wretches moft refent,
To be his flaves, muft pay him rent;
Attend him daily as their chief,
Decant his wine, and carve his beef.
Oh, Fortune! 'tis à fcandal for thee
To smile on those who are leaft worthy:
Weigh but the merits of the three,
His flaves have ten times more than he.
Proud Baronet of Nova Scotia !
The Dean and Spaniard muft reproach ye:
Of their two fames the world enough rings:
Where are thy fervices and fufferings?
What if for nothing once you kift,
Against the grain, a monarch's fift?
What if, among the courtly tribe,
You loft a place, and fav'd a bribe?
And then in furly mood came here
To fifteen hundred pounds a year,
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