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Or tir'd in search of truth , or search of rlayme;
Our fathers prais'd rank ven’son. You suppose
Unworthy he , the voice of fame to hear,
» Right, ( cries his Lordship,) for a rogue in need » To have a taste is insolence indeed : » In me 'tis noble, suits my birth and state, » My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too greatcom Then , like the sun, let bounty spread her ray, And shine that superfiuity away. Oh impudence of wealth! with all thy store
How dar'st thou let one worthy man be poor?
Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind,
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 inutton, round the year ; But ancient friends ( tho'poor, or out of play) That touch my bell, I cannot turn away. "Tis true, no turbots dignify my boards, But gudgeons, founders, what my Thames affords : To Hounslow-heath I point, and Bansted-down, Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own: From 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 dev'l is in you if you cannot dine:
Then chearful healths ( your mistress shall have place) And, what's more rare , a poet shall say grace.
Fortune not much of humbling me can boast: Tho' 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? thro’ 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 ce 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 fon , 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 tords they will, Let us be fix'd, and our own masters ftill,