Now e'en at beft the times are none so good,
But 'tis hard work to scrape a livelihood.
The cattle in the ftalls refign their life,
And baulk the fhambles, and the bloody knife.
Th' affrighted farmer penfive fits at home,
And turnpikes threaten to compleat my doom.
WIFE. Well! for the turnpike, that will do no hurt,
The roads, they fay, are n't much the better for't.
But much I fear this murrain, where 'twill end,
For fure the cattle did our door befriend.
Oft have I prais'd them as they stalk'd along,
Their fat the butchers pleas'd, but me their dung.
O. P. See what a little dab of dirt is here!
But yields all Warwick more, O tell me where ?
Lo! where this ant-like hillock scarce is feen,
Heaps upon heaps, and loads on loads have been:
Bigger and bigger the proud dunghill grew,
'Till my diminish'd house was hid from view.
WIFE. Ah! gaffer Peftel, what brave days were those,
When higher than our house, our muck-hill rofe?
The growing mount I view'd with joyful eyes,
And mark'd what each load added to its fize.
Wrapt in its fragrant fteam we often fate,
And to its praises held delightful chat.
Nor did I e'er neglect my mite to pay,
To fwell the goodly heap from day to day;
For this each morn I plied the stubbed-broom,
Till I fcarce hobbled o'er my
furrow'd room:
For this I fquat me on my hams each night,
And mingle profit fweet with sweet delight?
A cabbage once I bought, but small the coft,
Nor do I think the farthing all was loft ::
Again you fold its well digefted store,
To dung the garden where it grew before.
O. P. What tho' the boys, and boy-like fellows jeer'd, And at the scavenger's employment fneer'd,
Yet then at night content I told my gains,
And thought well paid their malice and my pains.
Why toils the merchant but to fwell his ftore?
Why craves the wealthy landlord ftill for more?
Why will our gentry flatter, trade, and lie,
Why pack the cards, and-what d'ye call't the die?
All, all the pleafing paths of gain pursue,
And wade thro' thick and thin, as we folk do.
Sweet is the scent that from advantage fprings,
And nothing dirty that good interest brings.
"Tis this that cures the scandal, and the smell,
The reft- - e'en let our learned betters tell.
WIFE. When goody Dobbins call'd me filthy bear,
And nam'd the kennel and the ducking chair :
With patience I cou'd hear the fcolding quean,
For fure 'twas dirtiness that kept me clean..
Clean was my gown on Sundays, tho' not fine,
Nor miftrefs ****,
cap fo white as mine.
A flut in filk or kerfey is the fame,
Nor fweeteft always is the finest dame.
VOL. V.
Thus wail'd they pleasure paft, and prefent cares,
While the starv'd hog join'd his complaint to theirs.
To still his grunting different ways they tend
To Weft-gate one, and one to Cotton-end.
HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY, Imitated.
O print, or not to print that is the question.
Whether 'tis better in a trunk to bury
The quirks and crotchets of outrageous Fancy,
Or fend a well-wrote copy to the prefs,
And by disclofing, end them. To print, to doubt
No more; and by one act to fay we end
The head-ach, and a thousand natural shocks
Of fcribbling frenzy-'tis a confummation
Devoutly to be wifh'd. To print to beam
From the fame shelf with Pope, in calf well bound:
To fleep, perchance, with Quarles-Ay, there's the rub
For to what clafs a writer may be doom'd,
When he hath fhuffled off fome paltry ftuff,
Muft give us paufe. There's the respect that makes
Th' unwilling poet keep his piece nine years.
For who would bear th' impatient thirst of fame,
The pride of confcious merit, and 'bove all,
The tedious importunity of friends,
When as himfelf might his quietus make
With a bare inkhorn? Who would fardles bear?
Το groan and fweat under a load of wit?
But that the tread of fteep Parnaffus' hill,
That undiscover'd country, with whose bays
Few travellers return, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear to live unknown,
Than run the hazard to be known, and damn'd.
Thus critics do make cowards of us all.
And thus the healthful face of many a poem
Is fickly'd o'er with a pale manufcript;
And enterprizers of great fire and spirit,
With this regard from DODSLEY turn away,
And lofe the name of Authors.
O'er vale and hill, and to their care
Configns his waves and woodlands fair
While the Mufes vacant ftray,
And Echo wants her sweetest lay.
Long, long may those unrival'd fhine,
Nor fhall my temp'rate breast repine,
So Mufic lend her willing aid
To gladden this ignoble shade;
So Peace endear this humble plain
And haply Elegance will deign
To wander here, and fmiling fee
Her fifter nymph Simplicity.
************
MALVERN SPA,
SPA, 1757.
Infcribed to Dr. W AL L.
ITH bounteous hand the gracious King of heaven
W His choiceft blefings to mankind hath given,
Whilft thoughtless they ungratefully defpife
The rich profufion that falutes their eyes.
But wife was he who ftudy'd every use
Of common weeds which common fields produce.
The dock, the nettle, in each fwelling vein,
A healing balm for many an ill contain:
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