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This is my Plea, on this I rest my cause--
F. Your plea is gond; but still I say, beware!
P. Libels and Satires ! lawless things indeed ! But grave Epistles, bringing Vice to light, Such as a King might read, a Bishop write, Such as Sir ROBERT would approve.
F. Indeed ? The case is alter'da--you may then proceed; In such a case the plaintiff will be hiss’d, My Lords the judges laugh, and you're dismiss’d.
WHAT, and how great, the Virtue and the Art
To live on little with a chearful heart;
from found Philosophy aside ;
Hear Bethel's Sermon, one not vers’d in schools, But strong in sense, and wise without the rules.
Go work, hunt, exercise! (he thus began) Then scorn a homely dinner, if you can. Your wine lock'd up, your Butler (trolld abroad, Or filh dany'd (the river yet unthawd)
If then plain bread and milk will do the feat,
Preach as I please, I doubt our curious men
and mullets why prefer the great,
'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother.
Avidien, or his Wife (no matter which,
He knows to live, who keeps the middle state, And neither leans on this side, nor on that ; Nor stops, for one bad cork, his butler's pay, Swears, like Albutius, a good cook away ; Nor lets, like Naevius, ev'ry error pass, The musty wine, foul cloth, or greasy glass.
Now hear what blessings Temperance can bring : (Thus faid our friend, and what he faid i sing) First Health : 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 of the School-boy's simple fare, The temp’rate Neeps, and spirits light as air. YOL, III.
How pale, each Worshipful and Rev'rend guest Rise from a Clergy, or a City fealt! What life in all that ample body, fay? What heav'nly particle inspires the clay? The Soul subsides, and wickedly inclines To feem but mortai, ev'n in found Divines.
On morning wings how active springs the Mind That leaves the load of yesterday behind ? How cafy ev'ry labour it pursues ? How coming to the Poet ev'ry Muse? Not but we may exceed, fome 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 fo: 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 these good times my birth, Ere coxcomb pyes 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-pye Are no rewards for want, and infamy!