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Delightful Abs-court, if its fields afford
Their fruits to you, confesses you its lord:
All Worldly's hens, nay partridge, sold to town,
His venison too, a guinea makes your own;
He bought at thousands, what with better wit
You purchase as you want, and bit by bit;
Now, or long since, what difference will be found !

ou pay a penny, and he paid a pound.

Heathcote himself, and such large-acred. men, Lords of fat E’sham, or of Lincoln fen, Buy every stick of wood, that lends them heat, Buy every pullet they afford to eat. Yet these are wights, who fondly call their own Half that the devil o'erlooks from Lincoln town. The laws of God, as well as of the land, Abhor a perpetuity should stand: Estates have wings, and hang in fortune's power, Loose on the point of every wavering hour; Ready by force, or of your own accord, By sale, at least by death, to change their lord. Man? and for ever? wretch ! what would'st thou have ? Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave. All vast possessions, (just the same the case Whether you call them villa, park, or chase), Alas, my BATHURST! what will they avail í Join Cotswold hills to Saperton's fair dale, Let rising granaries and temples here, There mingled farms and pyramids appear, Link towns to towns with avenues of oak, Enclose whole downs in walls, 'tis all a joke! Inexorable death shall level all, And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer, fall.

Gold, silver, ivory, vases sculptured high, Paint, marble, gems, and robes of Persian dye, There are who have not, -and thank Heaven there are, Who, if they have not, think not worth their care.

Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find Two of a face, as soon as of a mind. Why, of two brothers, rich and restless one Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun; The other slights, for women, sports, and wines, All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines: Why one like. Bu- with pay. and scorn content, Bows and votes on, in court and Parliament;

One driven by strong benevolence of soul,
Shall fly like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole:
Is known alone to that directing power,
Who forms the genius in the natal hour;
That God of Nature, who, within us still,
Inclines our action, not constrains our will;
Various of temper, as of face or frame,
Each individual: His great end the same.

Yes, sir, how small soever be my heap,
A part I will enjoy, as well as keep.
My heir may sigh, and think it want of grace
A man so poor would live without a place:
But sure no statute in his favour says,
How free, or frugal, I shall pass my days:
I, who at some times spend, at others

Divided between carelessness and care.
'Tis one thing madly to disperse my store;
Another, not to heed to treasure more;
Glad, like a boy, to snatch the first good day,
And pleased, if sordid want be far away.

What is’t to me, (a passenger, God wot)
Whether my vessel be first rate or not?
The ship itself may make a better figure,
But I that sail, am neither less nor bigger.
I neither strut with every favouring breath,
Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth.
In power, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, placed
Behind the foremost, and before the last.

“But why all this of avarice? I have none."
I wish you joy, sir, of a tyrant gone;
But does no other lord it at this hour,
As wild and mad ? the avarice of power ?
Does neither rage inflame, nor fear appal ?
Not the black fear of death that saddens all ?
With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,
Despise the known, nor tremble at the unknown?
Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire,
In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire ?
Pleased to look forward, pleased to look behind,
And count each birth-day with a grateful mind?
Has life no sourness, drawn so near its end !
Canst thou endure a foe, forgive a friend
Has age but melted the rough parts away,
As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay?

Or will you think, my friend, your business done,
When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one ?

Learn to live well, or fairly make your will;
You've play'd, and foved, and eat and drank your fill
Walk sober off, before a sprightlier age
Comes tittering on, and shoves you from the stage:
Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease,
Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please.



'Tis true, my lord, I gave my word,
I would be with you June the third;
Changed it to August, and in short,
Have kept it as you do at court.
You humour me when I am sick,
Why not when I am splenetic ?
In town, what objects could I meet?
The shops shut up in every street,
And funerals blackening all the doors,
And yet more melancholy whores:
And what a dust in every place!
And a thin court that wants your face,
And fevers raging up and down,
And W* and ¥** both in town!

“The dog-days are no more the case."
'Tis true, but winter comes apace:
Then southward let your bard retire,
Hold out some months 'twixt sun and fire,

shall see, the first warm weather,
Me and the butterflies together.

My lord, your favours well I know; 'Tis with distinction you bestow; And not to every one that comes, Just as a Scotsman does his plums: “Pray take them, sir-enough's a feast Eat some, and pocket up the rest." What, rob your boys ? those pretty rogues ! "No, sir, you'll leave them to the hogs."

Thus fools, with compliments besiege ye,
Contriving never to oblige ye.
Scatter your favours on a fop,
Ingratitude's the certain crop
And 'tis but just, I'll tell ye wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wise man always is, or should
Be mighty ready to do good:
But makes a difference in his thought
Betwixt a guinea and a groat.

Now this I'll say, you'll find in me
A safe companion, and a free;
But if you'd have me always near
A word, pray, in your honour's ear.
I hope it is your resolution
To give me back my constitution!
The sprightly wit, the lively eye,
The engaging smile, the gaiety
That laugh'd down many a summer sun,
And kept you up so oft till one;
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda raised my strain.

A weasel once made shift to slink
In at a corn-loft through a chink,
But having amply stuff?d his skin,
Could not get out as he got in;
Which one belonging to the house
('Twas not a man, it was a mouse)
Observing, cried," You 'scape not so !
Lean as you came, sir, you must go.”

Sir, you may spare your application !
I'm no such beast, nor his relation;
Nor one that temperance advance,
Cramm'd to the thiroat with ortolans:
Extremely ready to resign
All that may make me none of mine.
South-sea subscriptions take who please,
Leave me but liberty and ease.
'Twas what I said to Craggs and Child,
Who praised my modesty and smiled.
Give me, I cried, (enough for me)
My bread, and independency!
So bought an annual rent or two,
And lived-just as you see I do;

Near fifty, and without a wife,
I trust that sinking fund, my life.
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well,
Shrink back to my paternal cell,
A little house, with trees a-row,
And, like its master, very low.
There died my father, no man's debtor,
And there I'll die, nor worse nor better.

To set this matter full before ye,
Our old friend Swift will tell his story.

“Harley, the nation's great support,
But you may read it, I stop short,




I'TE often wish'd that I had clear
For life, six hundred pounds a year,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace-walk, and half a rood
Of land, set out to plant a wood.

Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store;
But here a grievance seems to lie,
All this is mine but till I die;
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 groaty
By any trick, or any fault;
And if I pray by Reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools:
As thus, 'Vouchsafe, O gracious Maker!
To grant me this and t'other acre:
Or, if it be thy will and pleasure,
Direct my plough to find a treasure:
But only what my station fits,
And to be kept in my right wits,
Preserve, Almighty Providence !
Just what you gave me, competencer

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