The soul subsides, and wickedly inclines On morning wings how active springs the mind That leaves the load of yesterday behind! How easy every labour it pursues! How coming to the poet every Muse! Not but we may exceed some holy time, Our fathers prais'd rank venison. You suppose, (For 'faith, lord Fanny! you are in the wrong, The world's good word is better that a song) Who has not learn'd fresh sturgeon and ham-pie Are no rewards for want and infamy! When luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf, Curs'd by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself; To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame, Think how posterity will treat thy name; And buy a rope, that future times may tell 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, Oh impudence of wealth! with all thy store As M**o's was, but not at five per cent. "Who thinks that fortune cannot change her mind, Prepares a dreadful jest for all mankind. And always thinks the very thing he ought: copy 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; 3 A stroke of satire at the avarice of the Duke of Marlborough. In forest planted by a father's hand, year; But ancient friends (though poor, or out of play) That touch my bell, I cannot turn away. "Tis true, no turbots dignify my boards, But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords: To Hounslow Heath I point, and Bansted Down, Thence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own: From yon old walnut tree a shower shall fall, Then cheerful healths (your mistress shall have place), And, what's more rare, a poet shall say grace. Fortune not much of humbling me can boast Though 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? through whose free opening 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 heaven it last! (cries Swift) as you go on; I wish to God this house had been your own! Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life.” Well, if the use be mine, can it concern one Who cries," My father's damn'd, and all's my own." And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight, Slides to a scrivener or a city knight. Let lands and houses have what lords they will, Let us be fix'd, and our own masters still. 4 Mrs. Vernon, from whom Pope purchased the lease of his house and gardens at Twickenham. 5 See note 2, vol. ii. p. 121. • Gorhambury, near St. Albans. THE SIXTH SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE. THE FIRST PART IMITATED IN THE YEAR 1714 BY DR. SWIFT; THE LATTER PART ADDED AFTERWARDS. I've often wish'd that I had clear Well, now I have all this, and more, I can't but think 'twould sound more clever, To me and to my heirs for ever. If I ne'er got or lost a groat By any trick or any fault; As thus: Vouchsafe, O gracious Maker! |