Occasional Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Occasional Poems

Translations, Fables, Tales, &c. By William Somervile

Somerville, William (1675-1742)

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159

FABLE I.

The Captive Trumpeter.

------ Quo non Præstantior Alter
Ære ciere Viros Martemq; accendere Cantu.
Vir.

A party of Hussars of late
For Prog, and Plunder, scour'd the Plains,
Some French Gens d'Armes surpriz'd, and beat,
And brought their Trumpeter in Chains.

In doleful plight, th' unhappy Bard
For Quarter begg'd on bended Knee,
Pity, Messieurs! In truth 'tis hard
To kill a harmless Enemy.

160

These Hands, of Slaughter innocent,
Ne'er brandish'd the destructive Sword,
To you or yours no hurt I meant,
O take a poor Musician's Word.

But the stern Foe, with gen'rous Rage,
Scoundrel! reply'd, Thou first shalt die,
Who urging others to engage,
From Fame, and Danger, basely fly.

The Brave, by Law of Arms we spare,
Thou by the Hangman shalt expire,
'Tis just, and not at all severe,
To stop the Breath that blew the Fire.

161

FABLE II.

The Bald-pated Welchman, and the Fly.

------ Qui non moderabitur Inæ
Infectum volet esse, Dolor quod suaserit & Mens,
Dum Pœnas odio per vim festinat inulto.
Hor.

A Squire of Wales, whose Blood ran higher,
Than that of any other Squire,
Hasty, and hot; whose peevish Honour
Reveng'd each Slight was put upon her,
Upon a Mountain's top one day
Expos'd to Sol's meridian Ray;
He fum'd, he rav'd, he curs'd, he swore,
Exhal'd a Sea at ev'ry Pore:

162

At last, such Insults to evade,
Sought the next Tree's protecting Shade;
Where, as he lay dissolv'd in Sweat,
And wip'd off many a Rivulet,
Off in a pet the Beaver flies,
And flaxen Wigg, Time's best Disguise,
By which, Folks of maturer Ages,
Vie with smooth Beaux, and Ladys Pages:
Tho' 'twas a Secret rarely known,
Ill-natur'd Age had cropt his Crown,
Grub'd all the Covert up, and now
A large smooth Plain extends his Brow.
Thus as he lay with Numskul bare,
And courted the refreshing Air,
New Persecutions still appear,
A noisy Fly offends his Ear.
Alas! what Man of Parts, and Sense,
Could bear such vile Impertinence?

163

Yet so discourteous is our Fate,
Fools always buz about the Great.
This Insect now, whose active Spight
Teaz'd him with never-ceasing Bite,
With so much Judgment play'd his part,
He had him both in Tierce and Quart:
In vain with open Hands he tries,
To guard his Ears, his Nose, his Eyes;
For now at last familiar grown,
He perch'd upon his Worship's Crown,
With Teeth, and Claws, his Skin he tore,
And stuff'd himself with human Gore.
At last, in Manners to excel,
Untruss'd a point, some Authors tell.
But now what Rhetorick cou'd assuage,
The furious Squire stark mad with Rage?
Impatient at the foul Disgrace,
From Insect of so mean a Race;

164

And plotting Vengeance on his Foe,
With double Fist he aims a Blow:
The nimble Fly escap'd by flight,
And skip'd from this unequal Fight.
Th' impending Stroke with all its weight
Fell on his own beloved Pate.
Thus much he gain'd, by this advent'rous Deed,
He foul'd his Fingers, and he broke his Head.

MORAL.

Let Senates hence learn to preserve their State,
And scorn the Fool, below their grave Debate,
Who by th' unequal Strife grows popular, and great.
Let him buz on, with senseless Rant defy,
The Wise, the Good; yet still 'tis but a Fly.
With puny Foes the Toil's not worth the Cost,
Where nothing can be gain'd, much may be lost:

165

Let Cranes, and Pigmies, in Mock-War engage,
A Prey beneath the gen'rous Eagle's Rage.
True honour o'er the Clouds sublimely wings;
Young Ammon scorns to run with less than Kings.

166

FABLE III.

The Ant and the Fly.

Quem res plus nimio delectavêre secundæ,
Mutatæ quatient. ------
Hor.

The careful Ant that meanly fares,
And labours hardly to supply,
With wholesome Cates, and homely Tares,
His num'rous working Family;

Upon a Visit met one day
His Cousin Fly, in all his Pride,
A Courtier, insolent, and gay,
By Goody Maggot near ally'd:

167

The humble Insect humbly bow'd,
And all his lowest Congees paid,
Of an Alliance wond'rous proud
To such a huffing tearing Blade.

The haughty Fly, look'd big, and swore
He knew him not, nor whence he came,
Huff'd much, and with Impatience bore
The Scandal of so mean a Claim.

Friend Clodpate, know, 'tis not the mode
At Court, to own such Clowns as thee,
Nor is it civil to intrude
On Flies of Rank and Quality.

I—who in Joy and Indolence,
Converse with Monarchs, and Grandees,
Regaling ev'ry nicer Sense
With Oleos, Soups, and Fricassees;

168

Who kiss each Beauty's balmy Lip,
Or gently buz into her Ear,
About her snowy Bosom skip,
And sometimes creep the Lord knows where.

The Ant, who cou'd no longer bear
His Cousin's Insolence, and Pride,
Toss'd up his Head, and with an Air
Of conscious Worth, he thus reply'd:

Vain Insect know, the time will come,
When the Court-Sun no more shall shine,
When Frosts thy gaudy Limbs benumb,
And Damps about thy Wings shall twine;

When some dark nasty Hole shall hide,
And cover thy neglected Head,
When all this lofty swelling Pride
Shall burst, and shrink into a Shade:

169

Take heed, lest Fortune change the Scene,
Some of thy Brethren I remember,
In June have mighty Princes been,
But begg'd their Bread before December.

MORAL.

This precious Offspring of a T---d
Is first a Pimp, and then a Lord;
Ambitious to be Great, not Good,
Forgets his own dear Flesh and Blood.
Blind Goddess! who delight'st in Joke,
O fix him on thy lowest Spoke;
And since the Scoundrel is so vain,
Reduce him to a T---d again.

170

FABLE IV.

The Wolf, the Fox, and the Ape.

Clodius accusat Mœchos, Catilina Cethegum. Juv.

The Wolf impeach'd the Fox of Theft,
The Fox the Charge deny'd;
To the grave Ape the Case was left,
In Justice to decide.

Wise Pug, with comely Buttocks sate,
And nodded o'er the Laws,
Distinguish'd well thro' the Debate,
And thus adjudg'd the Cause:

171

The Goods are stole, but not from thee,
Two pickled Rogues well met,
Thou shalt be hang'd for Perjury,
He for an errant Cheat.

MORAL.

Hang both, judicious Brute, 'twas bravely said,
May Villains always to their Ruin plead:
When Knaves fall out, and spitefully accuse,
There's nothing like the reconciling Noose.
O Hemp! the noblest Gift propitious Heav'n
To Mortals with a bounteous Hand has giv'n,
To stop malicious Breath, to end Debate,
To prop the shaking Throne, and purge the State.

172

FABLE V.

The Dog and the Bear.

------ Delirant Reges, plectuntur Achivi,
Seditione, Dolis, Scelere, atq; Libidine & Irâ
Iliacos intramuros, peccatur, & extra.
Hor.

Towser of right Hockleian Sire,
A Dog of Mettle, and of Fire,
With Ursin grim, an errant Bear,
Maintain'd a long and dubious War:
Oft Ursin on his Back was tost,
And Towser many a Collop lost;
Capricious Fortune would declare,
Now for the Dog, then for the Bear.
Thus having try'd their Courage fairly,
Brave Ursin first desir'd a Parly;

173

Stout Combatant (quoth he) whose Might
I've felt in many a bloody Fight,
Tell me the cause of all this pother?
And why we worry one another?
That's a moot Point, the Cur reply'd,
Our Masters only can decide,
While thee and I our Hearts-Blood spill,
They prudently their Pockets fill;
Halloo us on with all their might,
To turn a Penny by the Fight.
If that's the case, return'd the Bear,
'Tis time at last to end the War;
Thou keep thy Teeth, and I my Claws,
To combat in a nobler Cause;
Sleep in a whole Skin, I advise,
And let them bleed, who gain the Prize.

MORAL.

Parties enrag'd on one another fall,
The Butcher and the Bear-ward pocket all.

174

FABLE VI.

The Wounded Man, and the Swarm of Flies.

E malis minimum ------

Squallid with Wounds, and many a gapeing Sore,
A wretched Lazar lay distress'd;
A Swarm of Flies his bleeding Ulcers tore,
And on his putrid Carcass feast.

A courteous Traveller, who pass'd that way,
And saw the vile Harpeian Brood,
Offer'd his Help the monstrous Crew to slay,
That rioted on human Blood.

175

Ah! gentle Sir, th' unhappy Wretch reply'd,
Your well-meant Charity refrain;
The angry Gods have that Redress deny'd,
Your Goodness wou'd increase my Pain.

Fat, and full-fed, and with Abundance cloy'd,
But now and then these Tyrants feed;
But were, alas! this pamper'd Brood destroy'd,
The Lean, and Hungry, wou'd succeed.

MORAL.

The Body Politick must soon decay,
When Swarms of Insects on its Vitals prey;
When Blood-Suckers of State, a greedy Brood,
Feast on our Wounds, and fatten with our Blood.
What must we do in this severe Distress?
Come, Doctor, give the Patient some Redress:
The Quacks in Politicks a Change advise,
But cooler Counsels shou'd direct the Wise.

176

'Tis hard indeed; but better this, than worse;
Mistaken Blessings prove the greatest Curse.
Alas! what wou'd our bleeding Country gain,
If when this vip'rous Brood at last is slain,
The teeming Hydra pullulates again;
Seizes the Prey with more voracious Bite,
To satisfy his hungry Appetite?

177

FABLE VII.

The Wolf and the Dog.

Hunc ego per Syrtes, Libyæq; extrema, Triumphum
Ducere maluerim, quam ter Capitolia curru
Scandere Pompeij, quam frangere colla Jugurthæ.
Luc.

A proling Wolf that scour'd the Plains,
To ease his Hunger's griping Pains;
Ragged as Courtier in disgrace,
Hide-bound, and lean, and out of case;
By chance a well-fed Dog espy'd,
And being kin, and near ally'd,
He civilly salutes the Cur,
How do you, Cuz? Your Servant, Sir!

178

O happy Friend! how gay thy Mien!
How plump thy Sides, how sleek thy Skin!
Triumphant Plenty shines all o'er,
And the Fat melts at ev'ry Pore!
While I, alas! decay'd, and old,
With Hunger pine'd, and stiff with Cold,
With many a Howl, and hideous Groan,
Tell the relentless Woods my Moan.
Pr'ythee (my happy Friend!) impart
Thy wond'rous, cunning, thriving Art.
Why, faith, I'll tell thee as a Friend,
But first thy surly Manners mend;
Be complaisant, obliging, kind,
And leave the Wolf for once behind.
The Wolf, whose Mouth begun to water,
With Joy and Rapture gallop'd after,
When thus the Dog; At Bed, and Board,
I share the Plenty of my Lord;

179

From ev'ry Guest I claim a Fee,
Who court my Lord by bribing me:
In Mirth I revel all the Day,
And many a Game at Romps I play:
I fetch and carry, leap o'er Sticks,
And twenty such diverting Tricks.
'Tis pretty, faith, the Wolf reply'd,
And on his Neck the Collar spy'd:
He starts, and without more ado,
He bids the abject Wretch adieu:
Enjoy your Daintys, Friend, to me
The noblest Feast is Liberty.
The famish'd Wolf upon these desart Plains,
Is happier than a fawning Cur in Chains.

MORAL.

Thus bravely spoke the Nurse of ancient Rome,
Thus the starv'd Swiss, and hungry Grisons roam,
On barren Hills, clad with eternal Snow,
And look with Scorn on the prim Slaves below.

180

Thus Cato scape'd by Death the Tyrant's Chains,
And walks unshackled in th' Elysian Plains.
Thus, Britons, thus, your great Forefathers stood
For Liberty, and fought in Seas of Blood.
To barren Rocks, and gloomy Woods confin'd,
Their Virtues by Necessity refin'd,
Nor Cold, nor Want, nor Death, cou'd shake their steady Mind.
No saucy Druid then durst cry aloud,
And with his slavish Cant debauch the Croud:
No passive Legions in a Scoundrel's Cause
Pillage a City, and affront the Laws.
The State was quiet, happy, and serene,
For Boadicea was the Britons Queen;
Her Subjects their just Liberties maintain'd,
And in her Peoples Hearts, the happy Monarch reign'd.

181

FABLE VIII.

The Oyster.

------ In jus
Acres procurrunt, magnum spectaculum uterque.
Hor.

Two Comrades (as grave Authors say)
(But in what Chapter, Page, or Line,
Ye Criticks, if ye please, define)
Had found an Oyster in their way.

Contest, and foul Debate arose,
Both view'd at once with greedy Eyes,
Both challeng'd the delicious Prize,
And high Words soon improv'd to Blows.

182

Actions on Actions hence succeed,
Each Hero's obstinately stout,
Green Bags and Parchments fly about,
Pleadings are drawn, and Counsel fee'd.

The Parson of the Place, good Man!
Whose kind, and charitable Heart,
In human Ills still bore a Part,
Thrice shook his Head, and thus began.

Neighbours, and Friends, refer to me
This doughty Matter in dispute,
I'll soon decide th' important Suit,
And finish all without a Fee.

Give me the Oyster then—'tis well—
He opens it, and at one Sup
Gulps the contested Trifle up,
And smiling gives to each a Shell.

183

Henceforth let foolish Discord cease,
Your Oyster's good as e'er was eat;
I thank you for my dainty Treat,
God bless ye both, and live in Peace.

MORAL.

Ye Men of Norfolk, and of Wales,
From this learn common Sense;
Nor thrust your Neighbours into Jayls,
For ev'ry slight Offence.

Banish those Vermin of Debate,
That on your Substance feed;
The Knaves who now are serv'd in Plate,
Wou'd starve, if Fools agreed,

184

FABLE IX.

The Sheep and the Bush.

Lætus sorte tuâ vives sapienter. ------
Hor.

A sheep, well-meaning Brute! one Morn
Retir'd beneath a spreading Thorn,
A pealing Storm to shun;
Escape'd indeed, both Rain, and Wind,
But left, alas! his Fleece behind:
Was it not wisely done?

MORAL.

Beneath the Blast, while pliant Osiers bend,
The stubborn Oak each furious Wind shall rend;

185

Discreetly yield, and patiently endure,
Such common Evils as admit no Cure.
These Fate ordains, and Heav'ns high Will has sent,
In humble Littleness submit content,
But those thy Folly brings, in time prevent.

186

FABLE X.

The Frogs Choice.

Ω ποποι, οιον δν/ νυ Θεους βροτοι απιοωνται.
Εξ ημεων γαρ φασι κακ' εμμεναι: οι δε και αυτοι
Σφσιν ατασθαλιησιν υπερ μορον αλγε' εχωσιν.

1.

In a wild State of Nature, long
The Frogs at random liv'd,
The Weak a Prey unto the Strong,
With Anarchy oppress'd and griev'd.
At length the lawless Rout,
Taught by their Suff'rings, grew devout:
An Embassy to Jove they sent,
And begg'd his Highness wou'd bestow
Some settled Form of Government,
A King to rule the Fens below.

187

Jove, smiling, grants their odd Request,
A King th' indulgent Pow'r bestow'd,
(Such as might suit their Genius best)
A Beam of a prodigious Size,
With all its cumb'rous Load,
Came tumbling from the Skies.
The Waters dash against the Shore,
The hollow Caverns roar;
The Rocks return the dreadful Sound,
Convulsions shake the Ground.
The Multitude with Horror fled,
And in his Oozy Bed,
Each skulking Coward hid his Head.

2.

When all is now grown calm again,
And smoothly glides the liquid Plain,
A Frog more resolute, and bold,
Peeping with Caution from his Hold;

188

Recover'd from his first Surprize,
As o'er the Wave his Head he popt,
He saw—but scarce believ'd his Eyes,
On the same Bank where first he dropt,
Th' imperial Lubber lies,
Stretch'd at his Ease, careless, content:
Is this the Monarch Jove has sent,
(Said he) our warlike Troops to lead?
Ay! 'tis a glorious Prince indeed!
By such an active Gen'ral led,
The routed Mice our Arms shall dread,
Subdu'd shall quit their Claim:
Old Homer shall recant his Lays,
For us new Trophies raise,
Sing our victorious Arms, and justify our Fame.
Then laughing impudently loud,
He soon alarm'd the Dastard Croud.

189

The croaking Nations with Contempt
Behold the worthless Indolent,
On Wings of Winds, swift Scandal flies,
Libels, Lampoons, and Lyes,
Hoarse Treasons, tuneless Blasphemies.
With active Leap at last upon his Back they stride,
And on the Royal Loggerhead in triumph ride.

3.

Once more to Jove, their Pray'rs addrest,
And once more Jove grants their Request:
A Stork he sends of monstrous Size,
Red Lightning flashing in his Eyes;
Rule'd, by no Block, as heretofore,
The gazing Crouds press'd to his Court;
Admire his stately Mien, his haughty Port,
And only not adore.
Addresses of Congratulation,
Sent from each loyal Corporation,

190

Full-freight with Truth and Sense,
Exhausted all their Eloquence.
But now, alas! 'twas Night, Kings must have M
The Grand Vizier first goes to pot,
Three Bassa's next, happy their Lot!
Gain'd Paradise by being eat.
And this (said he) and this is mine,
And this, by Right Divine:
In short, 'twas all for publick Weal,
He swallow'd half a Nation at a Meal.
Again they beg Almighty Jove
This cruel Tyrant to remove.
With fierce Resentment in his Eyes,
The frowning Thunderer replies;
Those Evils which yourselves create,
Rash Fools! ye now repent too late;

191

Made wretched by the publick Voice,
Not thro' Necessity, but Choice!
Be gone!—Nor wrest from Heav'n some heavier Curse,
Better, bear this, this Stork, than worse.

MORAL.

Oppress'd with Happiness, and sick with Ease,
Not Heav'n itself our fickle Minds can please.
Fondly we wish, cloy'd with celestial Store,
The Leeks, and Onions, which we loath'd before:
Still roving, still desiring, never pleas'd,
With Plenty starv'd, and ev'n with Health diseas'd.
With partial Eyes each present Good we view,
Nor covet what is best, but what is new.
Ye Pow'rs above, who make Mankind your Care,
To bless the Supplicant, reject his Pray'r.

According to the Turkish Opinion, all who suffer by the Grand Seignior's Orders, go directly to Paradise.

192

FABLE XI.

Liberty and Love; or, the Two Sparrows.

------ Dos est Uxoria, Lites.
Ovid.

A sparrow and his Mate,
(Believe me, gentle Kate)
Once lov'd like I and you;
With mutual Ardour join'd,
No Turtles e'er so kind,
So constant, and so true.

They hopp'd from Spray to Spray,
They bill'd, they chirp'd all Day,
They cuddl'd close all Night;

193

To Bliss they wake'd each Morn,
In ev'ry Bush, and Thorn,
Gay Scenes of new Delight.

At length the Fowler came,
(The Knave was much to blame)
And this dear Pair trapan'd;
Both in one Cage confin'd,
Why, Faith and Troth, 'twas kind;
Nay, hold—that must be scann'd.

Fair Liberty thus gone,
And one coop'd up with one,
'Twas aukward, new, and strange;
For better and for worse,
O dismal, fatal Curse!
No more abroad to range.

No Carols now they sing,
Each droops his little Wing,
And mourns his cruel Fate:

194

Clouds on each Brow appear,
My Honey, and my Dear,
Is now quite out of date.

They pine, lament, and moan,
'Twould melt an Heart of Stone,
To hear their sad Complaint:
Nor he supply'd her Wants,
Nor she refrain'd from Taunts,
That might provoke a Saint.

Hard Words improve to Blows,
For now grown mortal Foes,
They peck, they scratch, they scream;
The Cage lies on the Floor,
The Wires are stain'd with Gore,
It swells into a Stream.

Dear Kitty, wou'd you know
The Cause of all this Woe,
It is not hard to guess;

195

Whatever does constrain,
Turns Pleasure into Pain,
'Tis Choice alone can bless.

When both no more are free,
Insipid I must be,
And you lose all your Charms;
My smother'd Passion dies,
And even your bright Eyes,
Necessity disarms.

Then let us love, my Fair,
But unconstrain'd as Air,
Each join a willing Heart;
Let free-born Souls disdain
To wear a Tyrant's Chain,
And act a nobler Part.

196

FABLE XII.

The Two Springs.

------ Errat longè meâ quidem Sententiâ
Qui imperium credat gravius esse aut stabilius
Vi quod fit, quàm illud quod Amicitiâ adjungitur.
Ter.

1.

Two Sister Springs, from the same Parent Hill
Born on the same propitious Day,
Thro' the cleft Rock distill:
Adown the rev'rend Mountain's side,
Thro' Groves of Myrtle glide,
Or thro' the Violet Beds obliquely stray.
The Laurel, each proud Victor's Crown,
From them receives her high Renown,

197

From them the curling Vine
Her Clusters big with racy Wine,
To them her Oil the peaceful Olive owes,
And her Vermilion Blush the Rose.
The gracious Streams in smooth Meanders flow,
To ev'ry thirsty Root dispense
Their kindly cooling Influence,
And Paradise adorns the Mountain's Brow.

2.

But oh! the sad Effect of Pride!
These happy Twins at last divide.
“Sister (exclaims th' Ambitious Spring)
“What Profit do these Labours bring?
Always to give, and never to enjoy,
“A fruitless and a mean Employ.
“Stay here inglorious if you please,
And loiter out a Life of Indolence and Ease:

198

“Go, humble Drudge, each Thistle rear,
“And nurse each Shrub, your daily Care,
“While pouring down from this my lofty Source,
“I deluge all the Plain,
“No Dams shall stop my course,
“And Rocks oppose in vain.
“See where my foaming Billows flow,
“Above the Hills my Waves aspire,
“The Shepherds and their Flocks retire,
“And tallest Cedars as they pass in sign of Homage bow.
“To me each tributary Spring
“Its supplemental Stores shall bring,
“With me the Rivers shall unite,
“The Lakes beneath my Banners fight,
“Till the proud Danube and the Rhine
“Shall own their Fame eclips'd by mine;
“Both Gods and Men shall dread my watry Sway,
“Nor—these in Citys safe, nor in their Temples they.

199

3.

Away the haughty Boaster flew
Scarce bid her Sister Stream a cool Adieu,
Her Waves grow turbulent and bold,
Not gently murm'ring as of old,
But roughly dash against the Shore,
And toss their spumy Heads, and proudly roar.
The careful Farmer with surprize,
Sees the tumultuous Torrent rise;
With busy Looks the Rustick Band appear,
To guard their growing Hopes, the Promise of the Year.
All Hands unite, with Dams they bound
The rash rebellious Stream around;
In vain she foams, in vain she raves,
In vain she curls her feeble Waves,

200

Besieg'd at last on ev'ry side,
Her Source exhausted and her Channel dry'd,
(Such is the Fate of Impotence and Pride;)
A shallow Pond she stands confin'd,
The Refuge of the Croaking Kind.
Rushes and Sags, an inbred Foe,
Choak up the muddy Pool below,
The Tyrant Sun on high
Exacts his usual Subsidy,
And the poor Pittance that remains,
Each gapeing Cranny drains.
Too late the Fool repents, her haughty Boast,
A nameless Nothing, in Oblivion lost.

4.

Her Sister Spring, benevolent and kind,
With joy sees all around her blest,
The Good she does, into her gen'rous Mind
Returns again with Interest.

201

The Farmer oft invokes her Aid
When Sirius nips the tender Blade,
Her Streams a sure Elixir bring,
Gay Plenty decks the Fields, and a perpetual Spring.
Where'er the Gard'ner smooths her easy way,
Her ductile Streams obey.
Courteous she visits ev'ry Bed,
Narcissus rears his drooping Head,
By her diffusive Bounty fed.
Reviv'd from her indulgent Urn,
Sad Hyacinth forgets to mourn,
Rich in the Blessings she bestows,
All Nature smiles where'er she flows.
Enamour'd with a Nymph so fair,
See where the River Gods appear.
A Nymph so eminently good,
The Joy of all the Neighbourhood;

202

They clasp her in their liquid Arms,
And riot in th' abundance of her Charms.
Like old Alpheus fond, their wanton Streams they join'd,
Like Arethusa she, as lovely, and as kind.

5.

Now swell'd into a mighty Flood,
Her Channel deep and wide,
Still she persists in doing good,
Her Bounty flows with ev'ry Tide.
A thousand Riv'lets in her Train,
With fertile Waves enrich the Plain:
The scaly Herd, a num'rous Throng,
Beneath her silver Billows glide along,
Whose still increasing Shoals supply
The poor Man's Wants, the Great one's Luxury:
Here all the feather'd Troops retreat,
Securely ply their oary Feet,

203

Upon her floating Herbage graze,
And with their tuneful Notes resound her Praise.
Here Flocks, and Herds, in safety feed,
And fatten in each flow'ry Mead:
No Beasts of Prey appear
The Watchful Shepherd to beguile,
No Monsters of the Deep inhabit here,
Nor the voracious Shark, nor wily Crocodile;
But Delia, and her Nymphs, chaste Silvan Queen,
By Mortals prying Eyes unseen,
Bath in her Flood, and sport upon her Borders green.
Here Merchants, careful of their Store,
By angry Billows tost,
Anchor secure beneath her Shore,
And bless the friendly Coast.
Soon mighty Fleets in all their Pride
Triumphant on her Surface ride:

204

The busy Trader on her Banks appears,
An hundred diff'rent Tongues she hears.
At last, with Wonder, and Surprize,
She sees a stately City rise;
With Joy the happy Flood admires
The lofty Domes, the pointed Spires;
The Portico's, magnificently great,
Where all the crouding Nations meet;
The Bridges that adorn her Brow,
From Bank to Bank their ample Arches stride,
Thro' which, her curling Waves in triumph glide,
And in melodious Murmurs flow.
Now grown a Port of high Renown,
The Treasure of the World her own,
Both Indies with their precious Stores,
Pay yearly Tribute to her Shores.
Honour'd by all, a rich, well-peopl'd Stream,
Nor Father Thames himself of more Esteem.

205

MORAL.

The Pow'r of Kings (if rightly understood)
Is but a Grant from Heav'n of doing Good.
Proud Tyrants, who maliciously destroy,
And ride o'er Ruins with malignant Joy;
Humbled in Dust, soon to their cost shall know
Heav'n our Avenger, and Mankind their Foe;
While gracious Monarchs reap the Good they sow:
Blessing, are bless'd; far spreads their just Renown,
Consenting Nations their Dominion own,
And joyful happy Crouds support their Throne.
In vain the Pow'rs of Earth and Hell combine,
Each Guardian Angel shall protect that Line,
Who by their Virtues prove their Right Divine.

206

FABLE XIII.

The Bald Batchelor: Being a Paraphrase upon the Second Fable in the Second Book of Phædrus.

Frigidus in Venerem senior, frustraq; laborem
Ingratum trahit: & si quando at prælia ventum est,
Ut quondam in stipulis magnus sine viribus ignis,
Incassum furit. Ergo animos ævumq; notabis
Præcipuè. ------
Vir. Geor. Lib. 3.

A Batchelor, who, past his Prime,
Had been a good one in his Time,
Had scour'd the Streets, had whor'd, got drunk,
Had fought his Man, and kept his Punk:

207

Was sometimes rich, but oft'ner poor,
With early Duns about his Door;
Being a little off his Mettle,
Thought it convenient now to settle:
Grew wond'rous wise at Forty-five,
Resolving to be grave, and thrive.
By chance he cast his Roguish Eye
Upon a Dame, who liv'd hard-by;
A Widow Debonair, and Gay,
October, in the Dress of May;
Artful to lay both Red and White,
Skill'd in Repairs, and ev'n in spight
Of Time, and Wrinkles, kept all tight.
But he, whose Heart was apt to rove,
An errant Wanderer in Love;
Besides this Widow had Miss Kitty,
Juicy, and young, exceeding witty:

208

On her he thought serious, or gay,
His Dream by Night, his Toast by Day;
He thought, but not on her alone,
For who wou'd be confin'd to one?
Between 'em both strange Work he made;
Gave this a Ball, or Masquerade;
With that, at serious Ombre play'd.
The self-same Compliments he spoke,
The self-same Oaths he swore, he broke;
Alternately on each bestows
Frail Promises, and short-liv'd Vows.
Variety! kind Source of Joy!
Without whose Aid all Pleasures cloy;
Without thee, who wou'd ever prove
The painful Drudgerys of Love?
Without thee, what indulgent Wight
Wou'd read, what we in Garrets write?

209

But not to make my Tale perplex'd,
And keep more closely to my Text;
'Tis fit the courteous Reader know
This middle-age'd Man had been a Beau.
But above all, his Head of Hair
Had been his great peculiar Care;
To which his serious Hours he lent,
Nor deem'd the precious Time mispent.
'Twas long, and curling, and jet black,
Hung to the middle of his Back;
Black, did I say? Ay, once 'twas so,
But cruel Time had smoke'd the Beau,
And powder'd o'er his Head with Snow.
As an old Horse that had been hard rid,
Or from his Master's Coach discarded,
Forc'd in a Tumbril to go Filler,
Or load for some poor Rogue a Miller;

210

On his grave Noddle, o'er his Eyes,
Black Hairs and white promiscuous rise;
Which chequer o'er his rev'rend Pate,
And prove the Keffel more sedate:
So with this worthy Squire it far'd,
Yet he nor Time, nor Labour spar'd,
But with excessive Cost, and Pains,
Still made the best of his Remains.
Each Night beneath his Cap he furl'd it,
Each Morn in modish Ringlets curl'd it;
Now made his comely Tresses shine,
With Orange-Butter, Jessamine;
Then with sweet Powder, and Perfumes,
He purify'd his upper Rooms.
So when a Jocky brings a Mare,
Or Horse, or Gelding, to a Fair,
Tho' he be spavin'd, old, and blind,
With founder'd Feet, and broken Wind;

211

Yet if he's Master of his Trade,
He'll curry well, and trim the Jade,
To make the Cheat go glibly down,
And bubble some unwary Clown.
What Woman made of Flesh and Blood,
So sweet a Gallant e'er withstood?
They melt, they yield, both, both are smitten,
The good old Puss, and the young Kitten;
And being now familiar grown,
Each look'd upon him as her own;
No longer talk'd of Dear, or Honey,
But of plain downright Matrimony.
At that dread Word his Worship started,
And was (we may suppose) faint-hearted;
Yet being resolv'd to change his State,
Winks both his Eyes, and trusts to Fate.
But now new Doubts and Scruples rise,
To plague him with Perplexities;

212

He knew not which, alas! to chuse,
This he must take, and that refuse.
As when some idle Country Lad
Swings on a Gate, his wooden Pad;
To right, to left, he spurs away,
But neither here, nor there can stay;
Till by the Catch surpriz'd, the Lout
His Journey ends, where he set out:
Ev'n so this dubious Lover stray'd,
Between the Widow, and the Maid;
And after swinging to and fro,
Was just in Æquilibrio.
Yet still a Lover's Warmth he shows,
And makes his Visits, and his Bows;
Domestick grown, both here, and there,
Nor Pug, nor Shock, were half so dear:
With Bread, and Butter, and with Tea,
And Madam's Toilet, who but he?

213

There fix'd a Patch, or broke a Comb;
At Night, the Widow's Drawing-Room.
O sweet Vicissitude of Love!
Who wou'd covet Heaven above,
Were Men but thus allow'd to rove?
But, alas! some curs'd Event,
Some unexpected Accident,
Humbles our Pride, and shows the Odds
Between frail Mortals, and the Gods:
This by the Sequel will appear
A Truth most evident, and clear.
As on the Widow's panting Breast
He laid his peaceful Head to rest,
Dreaming of Pleasures yet in store,
And Joys he ne'er had felt before;
His grizly Locks appear display'd,
In all their Pomp of Light and Shade.

214

Alas! my future Spouse, (said she)
What do mine Eyes astonish'd see?
Marriage demands Equality.
What will malicious Neighbours say,
Shou'd I, a Widow young and gay,
Marry a Man both old and grey?
Those hideous Hairs!—with that a Tear
Did in each Crystal Sluice appear;
She fetch'd a deep Sigh from her Heart,
As who shou'd say, best Friends must part:
Then muse'd a while; there is but one,
But this Expedient left alone,
To save that dear Head from Disgrace;
Here, Jenny, fetch my Tweaser-Case.
To work then went the treach'rous Fair,
And grub'd up here and there a Hair:
But as she meant not to renew
His Charms, but set her own to view;

215

And by this Foil more bright appear,
In youthful Bloom when he was near,
The cunning Gipsy nipt away
The black, but slily left the grey.
O Dallilah! perfidious Fair!
O Sex ingenious to ensnare!
How faithless all your Doings are?
Whom Nature form'd your Lord, your Guide,
You his precarious Pow'r deride,
Tool of your Vanity and Pride.
The Squire, who, thus deceiv'd, ne'er dreamt
What the deceitful Traitress meant;
Thrice kiss'd her Hand, and then retir'd,
With more exalted Thoughts inspir'd:
To his fair Filly next repairs,
With statelier Port, and youthful Airs.
Lord! Sir—(said she) you're mighty gay,
But I must tell you by the way,
That no Brood Goose was e'er so grey.

216

Here, let this Hand eradicate
Those foul Dishonours of your Pate.
For she, poor thing! whose Virgin Heart,
Unskill'd in ev'ry Female Art,
In pure Simplicity believ'd
His Youth might this way be retriev'd;
At least his Age disguis'd, and she,
From spightful Prudes, and Censure free;
With earnest Diligence, and Care,
Grub'd by the Roots each grizled Hair;
Some few black Hairs she left behind,
But not one of the Silver Kind.
But when she saw what Work she'd made,
His bald broad Front, without a Shade,
And all his hatchet Face display'd,
With scarce six Hairs upon a side,
His large out-spreading Luggs to hide;

217

She laugh'd, she scream'd; and Nan, and Bess,
In concert laugh'd, and scream'd no less.
Home skulk'd the Squire, and hid his Face,
Sore-smitten with the foul Disgrace:
Softly he knock'd, but trusty John,
Who knew his Hour was Twelve, or One,
Rubb'd both his Eyes, and yawn'd, and swore,
And quickly blunder'd to the Door.
But starting back at this Disaster,
Vow'd that Old Nick had hagg'd his Master:
The Landlady, in sore Affright,
Fell into Fits, and swoon'd out-right;
The Neighbourhood was rais'd, and call'd,
The Maids miscarry'd, Children baul'd,
The Cur whom oft his Bounty fed,
With many a Scrap, and Bit of Bread;
Now own'd him not, but in the Throng
Growl'd at him as he sneak'd along.

218

To Bed he went, 'tis true, but not
Or clos'd his Eyes, or slept one jot;
Not Nisus was in such Despair,
Spoil'd of his Kingdom, and his Hair:
Not ev'n Belinda made such Moan,
When her dear fav'rite Lock was gone.
He fume'd, he rav'd, he curs'd amain,
All his past Life run o'er again;
Damn'd ev'ry Female Bite to Tyburn,
From Mother Eve, to Mother Wyburn;
Each youthful Vanity abjur'd,
Whores, Box and Dice, and Claps ill-cur'd:
And having lost by Female Art,
This darling Idol of his Heart,
Those precious Locks, that might out-vie
The trim curl'd God, who lights the Sky;
Resolv'd to grow devout and wise,
Or what's almost the same—Precise;

219

Canted, and whine'd, and talk'd most oddly,
Was very slovenly, and godly:
(For nothing makes Devotion keen,
Like Disappointment, and Chagreen)
In fine, he set his House in order,
And piously put on a Border.

MORAL.

To you (gay Sparks) who waste your youthful Prime,
Old Æsop sends this monitory Rhime;
Leave, leave, for shame your Trulls at Sh---er Hall,
And marry in good time, or not at all.
Of all the Monsters Smithfield e'er cou'd show,
There's none so hideous as a batter'd Beau.
Trust not the Noon of Life, but take the Morn,
Will, Honeycomb is ev'ry Female's Scorn.
Let him be rich, high-born, book-learn'd, and wise,
Believe me, Friends, in ev'ry Woman's Eyes,
'Tis Back, and Brawn, and Sinew, wins the Prize.

220

FABLE XIV.

The Fortune-Hunter.

Fortuna sævo læta negotio
Ludum insolentem ludere pertinax
Transmut at incertos honores.
Hor.

CANTO I.

Some Authors more Abstruse than Wise,
Friendship confine to stricter Ties,
Require exact Conformity,
In Person, Age, and Quality;
Their Humours, Principles, and Wit,
Must, like Exchequer Tallies, hit.
Others less scrupulous, opine
That Hands, and Hearts, in Love may join,

221

Tho' diff'rent Inclinations sway,
For Nature's more in fault than they.
Who e'er would sift this Point more fully,
May read St. Evremond and Tully;
With me the Doctrine shall prevail
That's à propos to form my Tale.

Two Brethren (whether Twins or no
Imports not very much to know)
Together bred; as fam'd their Love
As Leda's Brats begot by Jove:
As various too their Tempers were,
That brisk, and frolick, debonair,
This more considerate, and severe.
While Bob, with diligence would pore
And con by heart his Battle-door,
Frank plaid at Romps with John the Groom,
Or switch'd his Hobby round the Room.

222

The Striplings now too bulky grown,
To make dirt Pies, and lounge at home,
With akeing Hearts to School are sent,
Their Humours still of various bent:
The silent, serious, solid Boy,
Came on apace, was Daddy's joy,
Constru'd, and pars'd, and said his Part,
And got Quæ-genus all by heart.
While Panky, that unlucky Rogue,
Fell in with ev'ry Whim in vogue,
Valu'd not Lilly of a straw,
A Rook at Chuck, a Dab at Taw.
His Bum was often brush'd, you'll say,
'Tis true, now twice, then thrice a day:
So Leeches at the Breech are fed,
To cure Vertigo's in the Head.
But by your leave, good Doctor Friend,
Let me this Maxim recommend;

223

A Genius can't be forc'd; nor can
You make an Ape an Alderman:
The patchwork Doublet well may suit,
But how would Furs become the Brute?
In short, the Case is very plain,
When Maggots once are in the Brain
Whole Loads of Birch are spent in vain.

Now to pursue this hopeful Pair
To Oxford, and the Lord knows where,
Wou'd take more Ink than I can spare.
Nor shall I here minutely score
The Volumes Bob turn'd o'er, and o'er,
The Laundresses turn'd up by Frank,
With many a strange diverting Prank;
Twou'd jade my Muse, tho' better fed,
And kept in Body-cloaths, and Bread.

When Bristles on each Chin began
To sprout, the Promise of a Man,

224

The good old Gentleman expir'd,
And decently to Heav'n retir'd:
The Brethren at their Country Seat,
Enjoy'd a pleasant, snug Retreat;
Their Cellars, and their Barns well stor'd,
And Plenty smoaking on their Board:
Ale and Tobacco for the Vicar,
For Gentry sometimes better Liquor.
Judicious Bob had read all o'er
Each weighty stay'd Philosopher,
And therefore rightly understood
The Real from th' Apparent Good;
Substantial Bliss, intrinsick Joys,
From Bustle, Vanity, and Noise;
Cou'd his own Happiness create,
And bring his Mind to his Estate:
Liv'd in the same calm, easy Round,
His Judgment clear, his Body sound;

225

Good Humour, Probity, and Sense,
Repay'd with Peace, and Indolence:
While Rakeish Frank, whose active Soul,
No Bounds, no Principles controul,
Flies o'er the World where Pleasure calls,
To Races, Masquerades, and Balls;
At random roves, now here, now there,
Drinks with the Gay, and Toasts the Fair.
As when the full-fed, resty Steed
Breaks from his Groom, he flies with speed;
His high-arch'd Neck he proudly rears,
Upon his Back his Tayl he bears,
His Main upon his Shoulders curls,
O'er ev'ry Precipice he whirls,
He plunges in the cooling Tides,
He laves his shining pamper'd Sides,
He snuffs the Females on the Plain,
And to his Joy he springs amain,

226

To this, to that, impetuous flies,
Nor can the Stud his Lust suffice;
'Till Nature flags, his Vigour spent,
With dropping Tayl, and Nerves unbent,
The humble Beast returns content,
Waits tamely at the Stable Door,
As tractable as e'er before.
This was exactly Panky's Case;
When Blood ran high he liv'd apace,
But Pockets drain'd, and ev'ry Vein,
Look'd silly, and came home again.
At length Extravagance, and Vice,
Whoring, and Drinking, Box and Dice,
Sunk his Exchequer, Cares intrude,
And Duns grow troublesome and rude.
What Measures shall poor Panky take
To manage wisely the last Stake,

227

With some few Pieces in his Purse,
And half a dozen Brats at Nurse?
Pensive he walk'd, lay long a-bed,
Now bit his Nails, then scratch'd his Head,
At last resolv'd: Resolv'd! on what?
There's not a Penny to be got;
The Question now remains alone,
Whether 'tis best to hang, or drown.
Thank you for that, good friendly Devil,
You're very courteous, very civil;
Other Expedients may be try'd,
The Man is young, the World is wide,
And as judicious Authors say,
Every Dog shall have his Day;
What if we ramble for a while?
Seek Fortune out, and court her Smile,
Act ev'ry part in Life to win her,
First try the Saint, and then the Sinner;

228

Press boldly on, slighted, pursue;
Repuls'd, again the Charge renew;
Give her no rest, attend, intreat,
And stick at nothing to be Great.
Fir'd with these Thoughts, the Youth grew vain,
Look'd on the Country with disdain;
Where Vertue's Fools her Laws obey,
And dream a lazy Life away;
Thinks Poverty the greatest Sin,
And walks on Thorns 'till he begin:
But first before his Brother laid
The hopeful Scheme, and begg'd his Aid.
Kind Bob was much abash'd to see
His Brother in extremity,
Reduc'd to Rags for want of Thought,
A Beggar, and not worth a Groat.
He griev'd full sore, gave good Advice,
Quoted his Authors grave and wise,

229

All who with wholesome Morals treat us,
Old Seneca, and Epictetus.
What's my unhappy Brother doing?
Whither rambling? whom pursuing?
An idle, tricking, giddy Jade,
A Phantome, and a fleeting Shade;
Grasp'd in this Coxcomb's Arms a while
The false Jilt fawns, then a fond Smile;
On that she leers, he like the rest,
Is soon a Bubble, and a Jest;
But live with me, just to thy self,
And scorn the Bitch, and all her Pelf;
Fortune's ador'd by Fools alone,
The wise Man always makes his own.
But 'tis, alas! in vain t'apply
Fine Sayings and Philosophy,

230

Where a poor Youth's o'er-heated Brain,
Is sold to Interest, and Gain,
And Pride, and fierce Ambition reign.
Bob found it so, nor did he strive
To work the Nail that wou'd not drive;
Content to do the best he cou'd,
And as became his Brotherhood,
Gave him what Money he cou'd spare,
And kindly paid his old Arrear,
Bought him his Equipage and Cloaths,
So thus supply'd away he goes,
For London Town he mounts, as gay
As Taylors on their Wedding-day.

Not many Miles upon the Road,
A Widow's stately Mansion stood;
What if Dame Fortune should be there?
(Said Frank) 'tis ten to one, I swear:

231

I'll try to find her in the Croud,
She loves the Wealthy and the Proud.
Away he spurs, and at the Door
Stood Gallant Gentry many a score,
Penelope had never more.
Here tortur'd Cats-gut squeals amain,
Guittars in softer Notes complain,
And Lutes reveal the Lover's Pain.
Frank with a careless, easy Mien,
Sung her a Song, and was let in.
The rest with Envy burst, to see
The Stranger's odd Felicity.
Low bow'd the Footman at the Stairs,
The Gentleman at top appears,
And is your Lady, Sir, at home?
Pray walk into the Drawing-Room.
But here my Muse is too well bred,
To prattle what was done, or said;

232

She lik'd the Youth, his Dress, his Face,
His Calves, his Back, and ev'ry Grace:
Supper was serv'd, and down they sit,
Much Meat, good Wine, some little Wit.
The Grace-Cup drank, or Dance, or Play;
Frank chose the last, was very gay,
Had the good luck the Board to strip,
And punted to her Ladyship.
The Clock strikes One, the Gentry bow'd,
Each to his own Apartment show'd;
But Panky was in piteous mood,
Slept not a Wink; he raves, he dies,
Smit with her Jointure, and her Eyes.
Restless as in a Lion's Den,
He spraul'd, and kick'd about till Ten:
But as he dreamt of future Joys,
His Ear was startled with a Noise,

233

Six Trumpets, and a Kettle-Drum;
Up in a hurry flies the Groom,
Lord, Sir! get dress'd, the Col'nel's come:
Your Horse is ready at the Door,
You may reach Uxbridge, Sir, by Four.
Poor Panky must in haste remove,
With Disappointment vex'd, and Love;
To Dirt abandon'd, and Despair,
For Lace, and Feather won the Fair.

Now for the Town he jogs apace,
With leaky Boots, and Sun-burnt Face;
And leaving Acton in his Rear,
Began to breathe sulphureous Air.
Arriv'd at length, the Table spread,
Three Bottles drank, he reels to Bed.
Next Morn his busy Thoughts begun,
To rise, and travel with the Sun;

234

Whims heap'd on Whims, his Head turn'd round,
But how Dame Fortune might be found,
Was the momentous grand Affair,
His secret Wish, his only Care.
Damme, thought Panky to himself,
I'll find this giddy wand'ring Elf;
I'll hunt her out in ev'ry Quarter,
'Till she bestow the Staff, or Garter:
I'll visit good Lord S---d---d,
Who keeps the Jilt at his Command;
Or else some courteous Dutchess may
Take pity on a Run-away.
Dress'd to a Pink, to Court he flies,
At this Levee, and that he plies;
Bows in his Rank, an humble Slave,
And meanly fawns on ev'ry Knave;
With Maids of Honour learns to chat,
Fights for this Lord, and pimps for that.

235

Fortune he sought from place to place,
She led him still a Wild-Goose Chace;
Always prepar'd with some Excuse,
The hopeful Younker to amuse;
Was busy, indispos'd, was gone
To Hampton-Court, or Kensington;
And after all her Wiles and Dodgings,
She slip'd clear off, and bilk'd her Lodgings.
Jaded, and almost in Despair,
A Gamester whisper'd in his Ear;
Who wou'd seek Fortune, Sir, at Court?
At H---l's is her chief Resort;
'Tis there her Midnight Hours she spends,
Is very gracious to her Friends;
Shows honest Men the Means of thriving,
The best, good-natur'd Goddess living.
Away he trudges with his Rook,
Throws many a Main, is bit, is broke;

236

With dirty Knuckles, akeing Head,
Disconsolate he sneaks to Bed.

CANTO II.

How humble, and how complaisant,
Is a proud Man reduc'd to Want!
With what a silly, hanging Face,
He bears his unforeseen Disgrace!
His Spirits flag, his Pulse beats low,
The Gods, and all the World his Foe;
To thriving Knaves a Ridicule,
A Butt to ev'ry wealthy Fool.
For where is Courage, Wit, or Sense,
When a poor Rake has lost his Pence?
Let all the Learn'd say what they can,
'Tis ready Money makes the Man;
Commands Respect where'er we go,
And gives a Grace to all we do.

237

With such Reflections, Frank distress'd,
The Horrors of his Soul express'd:
Contempt, the Pasket, and a Jayl,
By turns his restless Mind assail;
Aghast the dismal Scene he flies,
And Death grows pleasing in his Eyes:
For since his Rhino was all flown,
To the last solitary Crown,
Who wou'd not like a Roman dare,
To leave that World he cou'd not share?
The Pistol on his Table lay,
And Death fled hov'ring o'er his Prey;
There wanted nothing now to do,
But touch the Trigger, and adieu.
As he was saying some short Pray'rs,
He heard a wheezing on his Stairs,
And looking out, his Aunt appears;

238

Who from Moor-Fields breathless, and lame,
To see her graceless Godson came:
The Salutations being past,
Coughing, and out of Wind, at last
In his great Chair she took her Place,
How does your Brother? Is my Niece
Well marry'd? When will Robin settle?
He answer'd all things to a Tittle;
Gave such Content in ev'ry part,
He gain'd the good old Beldam's Heart.
“Godson, (said she) alas! I know
“Matters with you are but so so:
“You're come to Town I understand,
“To make your Fortune out of hand;
“Your Time, and Patrimony lost,
“To beg a Place, or buy a Post.
“Believe me, Godson, I'm your Friend;
“Of this great Town, this wicked End

239

“Is ripe for Judgment; Satan's Seat,
“The Sink of Sin, and Hell compleat.
“In ev'ry Street of Trulls a Troop,
“And ev'ry Cook-Wench wears a Hoop;
“Sodom was less deform'd with Vice,
“Lewdness of all kinds, Cards, and Dice.”
Frank blush'd: (which, by the way, was more
Than ever he had done before)
And own'd it was a wretched Place,
Unfit for any Child of Grace.
The good old Aunt o'er-joy'd to see
These Glimmerings of Sanctity;
“My Dear (said she) this Purse is yours,
“It cost me many painful Hours;
“Take it, improve it, and become
“By Art and Industry a Plumb.
“But leave, for shame, this impious Street,
“All over mark'd with cloven Feet;

240

“In our more holy Quarter live,
“Where both your Soul and Stock may thrive;
“Where righteous Citizens repair,
“And Heav'n, and Earth, the Godly share,
“Gain this by Jobbing, that by Pray'r.
“At Jonathan's go smoke a Pipe,
“Look very serious, dine on Tripe;
“Get early up, late close your Eyes,
“And leave no Stone unturn'd to rise;
“Then each good Day at Salter's-Hall
“Pray for a Blessing upon all.”
Lowly the ravish'd Panky bows,
While Joy sat smiling on his Brows;
And without scruple, in a trice,
He took her Money, and Advice.
Not an extravagant young Heir,
Beset with Duns, and in Despair,
When joyful Tidings reach his Ear,

241

And Dad retires by Heav'ns Commands,
To leave his Chink to better Hands;
Not wand'ring Sailors almost lost,
When they behold the wish'd-for Coast;
Not Culprit when the Knot is plac'd,
And kind Reprieve arrives in haste;
E'er felt a Joy in such excess,
As Frank reliev'd from this Distress.
A thousand Antick Tricks he play'd,
The Purse he kiss'd, swore, curs'd, and pray'd;
Counted the Pieces o'er and o'er,
And hugg'd his unexpected Store;
Built stately Castles in the Air,
Supp'd with the Great, enjoy'd the Fair;
Pick'd out his Title, and his Place,
Was scarce contented with Your Grace.
Strange Visions working in his Head,
Frantick, half mad, he stroles to bed;
Sleeps little, if he sleeps, he dreams
Of Scepters, and of Diadems.

242

“Fortune (said he) shall now no more
“Trick and deceive me as of yore:
“This Passport shall admittance gain,
“In spight of all the Jilt's Disdain:
“'Tis this the Tyrant's Pride disarms,
“And brings her blushing to my Arms;
“This golden Bough my Wish shall speed,
“And to th' Elysian Fields shall lead.”
The Morn scarce peep'd, but up he rose,
Impatient, huddled on his Clothes;
Call'd the next Coach, gave double Pay,
And to Change-Alley whirl'd away.
'Tis here Dame Fortune ev'ry day
Opens her Booth, and shows her Play;
Here laughing sits behind the Scene,
Dances her Puppets here unseen,
And turns her whimsical Machine.
Powel, with all his Wire and Wit,
To her great Genius must submit:

243

Exact at Twelve the Goddess shows,
And Fame aloud her Trumpet blows;
Harangues the Mob, with Shams, and Lyes,
And bids their Actions fall, or rise.
Old Chaos here his Throne regains,
And here in odd Confusion reigns;
All Order, all Distinction lost,
Now high, now low, the Fools are tost.
Here lucky Coxcombs vainly rear
Their giddy Heads, there in Despair
Sits humbled Pride, with down-cast Look,
Bankrupts restor'd, and Misers broke,
Strange Figures here our Eyes invade,
And the whole World in Masquerade;
A Carman in a Hat and Feather,
A Lord in Frize, his Breeches Leather:
Tom Whiplash in his Coach of State,
Drawn by the Tits he drove of late:
A Col'nel of the bold Train-Bands,
Selling his Equipage, and Lands.

244

Hard-by a Cobler bidding fair
For the Gold-Chain, and next L---d Mayor:
A Butcher blust'ring in the Croud,
Of his late purchas'd 'Scutcheon proud,
Retains his Cleaver for his Crest,
His Motto too beneath the rest,
Virtue, and Merit is a Jest.
Two Toasts with all their Trinkets gone,
Padding the Streets for Half-a-Crown:
A daggled Countess, and her Maid,
Her House-Rent, and her Slaves unpaid,
A Taylor's Wife in rich Brocade.
All Sects, all Partys, high, and low,
At Fortune's Shrine devoutly bow;
Nought can their ardent Zeal restrain,
Where each Man's Godliness is Gain.
From Taverns, Meeting-Houses, Stews,
Atheists, and Quakers, Bawds, and Jews,
Statesmen, and Fidlers, Beaux, and Porters,
Blue Aprons here, and there blue Garters.

245

As Human Race of old began
From Stones, and Clods, transform'd to Man,
So, from each Dunghil, strange Surprize!
In Troops the recent Gentry rise,
Of Mushroom Growth, they wildly stare,
And Ape the Great with aukward Air:
So Pinkethman upon the Stage,
Mounting his Ass in warlike Rage,
With simp'ring Dicky for his Page,
In Lee's mad Rant, with Monkey Face,
Burlesques the Prince of Ammon's Race.
Industrious Frank, among the rest,
Bought, sold, and cavill'd, baul'd, and press'd;
Lodg'd in a Garret on the spot,
Follow'd Instructions to a jot,
The praying Part alone forgot.
Learnt ev'ry dealing Term of Art,
And all th' ingenious Cant by heart;
Nor doubted but he soon should find
Dame Fortune complaisant, and kind.

246

After her oft he call'd aloud,
But still she vanish'd in the Croud;
Now with smooth Looks, and tempting Smiles,
The faithless Hypocrite beguiles;
Then with a cool, and scornful Air,
Bids the deluded Wretch despair;
Takes pet without the least pretence,
And wonders at his Insolence.
Thus with her fickle Humours vex'd,
And between Hopes, and Fears perplex'd;
His Patience quite worn out, at last
Resolves to throw one desperate Cast.
“'Tis vain (said he) to whine and wooe,
“'Tis one brisk Stroke the Work must do.
“Fortune is like a Widow won,
“And truckles to the Bold alone;
“I'll push at once, and venture all,
“At least, I shall with Honour fall.”
But curse upon the treach'rous Jade,
Who thus his Services repaid;

247

When now he thought the World his own,
He bought a Bear, and was undone.

CANTO III.

As there is something in a Face,
An Air, and a peculiar Grace,
Which boldest Painters cannot trace;
That more than Features, Shape, or Hair,
Distinguishes the happy Fair;
Strikes ev'ry Eye, and makes her known
A ruling Toast thro' all the Town:
So in each Action 'tis Success
That gives it all its Comeliness;
Guards it from Censure, and from Blame,
Brightens, and burnishes our Fame.
For what is Virtue, Courage, Wit,
In all Men, but a lucky Hit?
But, vice versâ, where this fails,
The wisest Conduct nought avails;

248

The Man of Merit, soon shall find
The World to prosp'rous Knaves inclin'd,
Himself the last of all Mankind.
Too true (poor Frank) this Thesis found,
Bankrupt, despoil'd, and run aground,
In Durance vile detain'd, and lost,
And all his mighty Projects crost:
With Grief and Shame at once opprest,
Tears swell his Eyes, and Sighs his Breast;
A poor, forlorn, abandon'd Rake,
Where shall he turn? what Measures take?
Betray'd, deceiv'd, and ruin'd quite,
By his own greedy Appetite;
He mourns his fatal Lust of Pelf,
And curses Fortune, and himself:
In Limbo pent would fain get free,
Importunate for Liberty.
So when the watchful hungry Mouse,
At midnight proling round the House,
Winds in a Corner toasted Cheese,
Glad the luxurious Prey to seize;

249

With Whiskers curl'd, and round black Eyes,
He meditates the luscious Prize,
Till caught, trapann'd, laments too late
The rigorous Decrees of Fate:
Restless his Freedom to regain,
He bites the Wire, and climbs in vain.
The wretched Captive thus distress'd,
His busy Thoughts allow no rest:
Fond on each Project to depend,
Kind Hope, his only Faithful Friend;
Odd Whimsys floating in his Brain,
He plots, contrives, but all in vain,
Approves, rejects, and thinks again.
As when the shipwreck'd Wretch is tost
From Wave to Wave, and almost lost,
Beat by the Billows from the Shore,
Returns half drown'd, and hugs once more
The friendly Plank he grasp'd before:
So Frank, when all Expedients fail,
To save his Carcase from the Jayl,

250

Eat up with Vermin, and with Care,
And almost sinking in Despair,
Resolves once more to make his Court
To his old Aunt, his last Resort:
Takes Pen in Hand, now writes, now tears,
Then blots his Paper with his Tears,
Ransacks his troubled Soul, to raise
Each tender Sentiment, and Phrase;
And ev'ry lame Excuse supplies
With artful Col'ring, and Disguise;
Kind to himself, lays all the blame
On Fortune, that Capricious Dame:
In short, informs her all was lost,
And sends it by the Penny-post.
Soon as the antient Nymph had read
The Fatal Scroll, she took her Bed,
Cold Palsies seize her trembling Head;
She groans, she sighs, she sobs, she smears
Her Spectacles, and Beard, with Tears;

251

Her Nose that wont to sympathize
With all th' O'erflowings of her Eyes,
Adown in Pearly Drops distils,
Th' united Stream each Chasm fills.
Geneva now, nor Nants will do,
Her Toothless Gums their hold let go;
And on the Ground, O fatal Stroke!
The short coæval Pipe is broke;
With Vapours choak'd, entranc'd she lies,
B---l---s, and prays, and f---ts, and dies.
But Sleep, that kind Restorative,
Recall'd her Soul, and bid her live;
With cooler Thoughts the Case she weigh'd,
And brought her Reason to her Aid.
Away she hobbles, and with speed
Resolves to see the Captive freed;
Wipe off this Stain, and foul Disgrace,
And vindicate her antient Race.
With her a Sage Director comes,
More weighty than a Brace of Plumbs,

252

A Good Man in the City Cant,
Where Cash, not Morals, makes the Saint.
T'improve a Genius so polite,
The clumsy Thing was dubb'd a Knight:
Fortune's chief Confident, and Friend,
Grown fat by many a Dividend;
And still her Favour he retains,
By want of Merit, and of Brains;
On her top Spoke sublime he sits,
The Jest, and Theme of sneering Wits:
For Fools in Fortune's Pill'ry plac'd,
Are mounted to be more disgrac'd.
This rich old Hunks, as Woodcock wise,
Was call'd the Younker to advise:
“Young Man (said he) refrain from Tears,
“While joyful Tydings bless thine Ears;
“Up, and be doing, Boy, and try
“To conquer Fate by Industry;
“For know that all of Mortal Race,
“Are born to Losses and Disgrace:

253

“Ev'n I broke twice, I, heretofore
“A Taylor despicably poor,
“In ev'ry Hole for shelter crept,
“On the same Bulk, botch'd, lous'd, and slept,
“With scarce one Penny to prepare
“A friendly Halter in Despair;
“My Credit like my Garment torn,
“Thread bare, and ragged, over-worn:
“But soon I patch'd it up again,
“These busy Hands, this working Brain,
“Ne'er ceas'd from Labour, Pain and Sweat,
“'Till Fortune smil'd, and I was Great.
“Now at each pompous City Feast,
“Who but Sir Tristram? ev'ry Guest
“Respectful bows. In each Debate,
“My Nod must give the Sentence weight:
“On me prime Ministers attend,
“And --- and A---by's my Friend:
“In Embrio each bold Project lies,
“'Till my consenting Purse supplies.

254

“This Hand—nay, do not think me vain,
“Soften'd the Swede, and humbled Spain.
“To me, the Fair whom all adore,
“Address their Pray'rs, and own my Pow'r;
“When the poor Toast by Break of Day,
“Has punted all her Gold away,
“Undress'd, and in her native Charms,
“She flies to these indulgent Arms;
“She curls each Dimple in her Face
“To win the good Sir Tristram's Grace;
“Offers her Brilliants with a Smile,
“That might an Anchoret beguile,
“And when my potent Aid is lent,
“Away the Dear One wheels content.
“He that can Money get, my Boy,
“Shall ev'ry other Good enjoy;
“Be rich, and ev'ry Boon receive,
“That Man can wish, or Heav'n can give.
“Now to the means (dear Youth) attend,
“By which thy Sorrows soon shall end:

255

“Thy good old Aunt resolves to bail
“Her hopeful Godson out of Jayl;
“But what is Freedom to the Poor?
“The Man, who begs from Door to Door
“Is Free, in lazy Wretchedness
“He lives, 'till Heav'n his Substance bless;
“But having learnt to Cog, and Chouse,
“To cut a Purse, or break a House,
“Then soon he mends his old Apparel,
“Eats boil'd, and roast, and taps his Barrel;
“Drinks double Bub, with all his might,
“And hugs his Doxy ev'ry Night:
“Thy sprightly Genius ne'er shall lie
“Depress'd by Want, and Penury;
“Go, with a prosp'rous merry Gale,
“To the South Seas advent'rous sail;
“Fat Plenty dwells on those rich Shores,
“Abundance opens all her Stores;
“Ingots, and Pearls, for Beads are sold,
“And Rivers glide on Sands of Gold;

256

“Profit, and Pleasure, hand in hand,
“Smile on the Fields, and bless the Land;
“The Swains unlabour'd Harvests reap,
“Fountains run Wine, and Whores are cheap.
“Fortune is always true and kind,
“Nor veers, as here, with ev'ry Wind;
“Not as in these penurious Isles,
“Retails her Blessings, and her Smiles;
“But deals by wholesale with her Friends,
“And gluts them with her Dividends.
“Then haste, set sail, the Ship's unmoor'd
“And waits to take thee now on board.”
The Youth o'er-joy'd this Project hears,
From his Flock-Bed his Head he rears,
And waters all his Rags with Tears.
In short, he took his Friend's Advice,
Pack'd up his Baggage in a trice;
Dancing for Joy, on board he flew,
With all Potosi in his view.

257

CANTO IV.

Behold the Youth just now set free
On Land, immur'd again at Sea;
Stow'd with his Cargo in the Hold,
In quest of other Worlds for Gold.
He who so late regal'd at ease,
On Oleos, Soups, and Fricassees;
Drank with the Witty, and the Gay,
Sparkling Champaign, and rich Tokay;
Now breaks his Fast with Suffolk Cheese,
And bursts at Noon with Pork and Pease;
Instead of Wine, content to sip,
With noisy Tarrs, their nauseous Flip:
Their Breath with chaw'd Mundungus sweet,
Their Jests more fulsome than their Meat.
While Thunder rolls, and Storms arise,
He snoring in his Hammock lies;
In Golden Dreams enjoys the Night,
And counts his Bags with vast Delight.

258

Mountains of Gold erect his Throne,
Each precious Gem is now his own;
Kind Jove descends in golden Sleet,
Pactolus murmurs at his Feet;
The Sea gives up its hoarded Store,
Possessing all, he covets more.
O Gold! attractive Gold! in vain
Honour and Conscience wou'd restrain
Thy boundless universal Reign.
To thee each stubborn Virtue bends,
The Man oblig'd betrays his Friends;
The Patriot quits his Country's Cause,
And sells her Liberty and Laws:
The Pious Prude's no longer nice,
And ev'n Lawn Sleeves can flatter Vice.
At thy too absolute Command,
Thy Zealots ransack Sea, and Land:
Where'er thy Beams their Pow'r display,
The swarming Insects haste away,
To basque in thy refulgent Ray.

259

Now the bold Crew with prosp'rous Wind,
Leave the retreating Land behind;
Fearless they quit their native Shore,
And Albion's Cliffs are seen no more.
Then on the wide Atlantick born,
Their Rigging, and their Tackle torn;
Danger in various Shapes appears,
Sudden Alarms, and shiv'ring Fears.
Here, might some copious Bard dilate,
And show fierce Neptune drawn in state;
While Guards of Tritons clear his way,
And Nereids round his Chariot play;
Then bid the stormy Boreas rise,
And forky Light'ning cleave the Skies;
The Ship nigh found'ring in the Deep,
Or bounding o'er the ridgy Steep:
Describe the Monsters of the Main,
The Phocæ, and their finny Train,
Tornado's, Hurricanes, and Rain,

260

Spouts, Shoals, and Rocks of dreadful size,
And Pyrates lurking for their Prize;
Amazing Miracles rehearse,
And turn all Dampier into Verse.
My negligent, and humble Muse,
Less ambitious Aims pursues;
Content with more familiar Phrase,
Nor deals in such embroider'd Lays;
Pleas'd if my Rhime just Measure keeps,
And stretch'd at ease my Reader sleeps.
Hibernian Matrons thus of old,
Their soporifick Storys told;
To sleep in vain the Patient strove,
Perplex'd with Business, cross'd in Love;
'Till soothing Tales becalm'd his Breast,
And lull'd his troubled Soul to rest.
Suffice it only to recite,
They drank all Day, they snor'd all Night:
And after many Moons were past,
They made the wish'd-for Shores at last.

261

Frank with his Cargo in his Hand,
Leap'd joyful on the Golden Strand;
Open'd his Toyshop in the Port,
Trinkets of various Size, and Sort;
Bracelets, and Combs, Bodkins, and Tweezers,
Bath-mettle Rings, and Knives, and Scissers;
And in one lucky Day got more
Than Bubble-Boy in half a score.
For Fortune now no longer coy,
Smile'd on her darling fav'rite Boy;
No longer from his Arms retir'd,
But gave him all his Heart desir'd.
Ah! thoughtless Youth! in time beware,
And shun the treach'rous Harlot's Snare;
The wiser Savages behold,
Who truck not Liberty for Gold;
Proof against all her subtil Wiles,
Regardless of her Frowns, or Smiles;
If frugal Nature wants Supplies,
The Lance, or Dart, unerring flies:

262

The Mountain Boar their Prey descends,
Or the fat Kid regales their Friends;
The jocund Tribe, from Sun to Sun,
Feast on the Prize their Valour won.
Cease, babbling Muse, thy vain Advice,
'Tis thrown away on Avarice:
Bid hungry Lions quit their Prey,
Or Streams that down the Mountains stray,
Divert their Course, return again,
And climb the Steep from whence they came.

Unblest with his ill-gotten Store,
Th' insatiate Youth still craves for more;
To Counsel deaf, t'Examples blind,
Scrapes up whatever he can find.
Now Master of a Vessel grown,
With all the glitt'ring Fraight his own,
To Fortune still he makes his Court,
And coasts along from Port to Port.

263

Each rolling Tide brings fresh Supplies,
And Heaps on Heaps delight his Eyes.
Thro' Panama's delicious Bay,
The loaded Vessel ploughs her way;
With the rich Fraight oppress'd, she sails,
And summons all the friendly Gales.
Frank on her Deck triumphant stood,
And view'd the calm transparent Flood:
Let Book-learn'd Sots (said he) adore
Th' aspiring Hills that grace thy Shore;
Thy verdant Isles, the Groves that bow
Their nodding Heads, and shade thy Brow;
Thy Face serene, thy gentle Breast,
Where Sirens sing, and Halcyons rest:
Propitious Flood! on me bestow,
The Treasures of thy Depths below;
Which long in thy dark Womb have slept,
From Age to Age securely kept.

264

Scarce had he spoke, when, strange Surprize!
Th' indignant Waves in Mountains rise,
And Hurricanes invade the Skies;
The Ship against the Shoals was struck,
And in a thousand Pieces broke;
But one poor trusty Plank, to save
Its Owner from the wat'ry Grave:
On this he mounts, is cast on shore,
Half dead, a Bankrupt, as before:
Spiritless, fainting, and alone,
On the bare Beach he makes his Moan.
Then climbs the ragged Rocks, t'explore,
If ought was driving to the Shore,
The poor Remains of all his Store:
With greedy Diligence prepar'd
To save whate'er the Waves had spar'd.
But, oh! the Wretch expects in vain
Compassion from the furious Main;
Men, Goods, are sunk. Mad with Despair
He beat his Breast, he tore his Hair:

265

Then leaning o'er the craggy Steep,
Look'd down into the boiling Deep;
Almost resolv'd to cast himself,
And perish with his dear, dear Pelf.

CANTO V.

If Heav'n the thriving Trader bless,
What fawning Crouds about him press?
But if he fail, distress'd, and poor,
His Mob of Friends are seen no more:
For all Men hold it meet to fly
Th' infectious Breath of Poverty.
Poor Frank deserted and forlorn,
Curses the Day that he was born:
Each treach'rous Crony hides his Face,
Or starts whene'er he haunts the Place.
His Wealth thus lost, with that his Friends,
On Fortune still the Youth depends:
One Smile (said he) can soon restore
A Bankrupt Wretch, and give him more;

266

She will not sure refuse her Aid?
Fallacious Hope! for the false Jade
That very day took wing, was flown,
And on her wonted Journey gone,
(Intent her costly Goods to sell)
From Panama to Portobel:
Five hundred Mules her Baggage bear,
And groan beneath the precious Ware,
The Goddess rides sublime in Air;
And hence conveys a fresh supply,
For Pride, Debate, and Luxury.
Frank, when he heard th' unwelcome News,
Like a staunch Hound the Chace pursues,
Takes the same Rout, doubles his speed,
Nor doubts her help in time of need.

O'er the wide Waste, thro' pathless ways,
The solitary Pilgrim strays;

267

Now on the swampy desart Plain,
Thro' Brakes of Mangroves works with pain;
Then climbs the Hills with many a groan,
And melts beneath the Torrid Zone.
With Berries, and green Plantains, fed,
On the parch'd Earth he leans his Head;
Fainting with Thirst, to Heav'n he cries,
But finds no Stream but from his Eyes.
Ah Wretch! thy vain Laments forbear,
And for a worse Extreme prepare;
Sudden the low'ring Storms arise,
The bursting Thunder rends the Skies,
Aslant the ruddy Light'ning flies;
Darts thro' the Gloom a transient Ray,
And gives a short, but dreadful Day:
With pealing Rain the Woods resound,
Convulsions shake the solid Ground.

268

Benumb'd with Cold, but more with Fear,
Strange Phantoms to his Mind appear,
The Wolves around him howl for Food,
The rav'nous Tygers hunt for Blood,
And Canibals more fierce than they,
(Monsters who make Mankind their Prey)
Riot, and feast on human Gore,
And still insatiate thirst for more.
Half dead at every Noise he hears,
His Fancy multiplies his Fears;
What e'er he read or heard of old,
What e'er his Nurse or Crusoe told,
Each tragick Scene his Eyes behold:
Things past as present Fear applies,
Their Pains he bears, their Deaths he dies.

At length the Sun began to peep,
And gild the Surface of the Deep,

269

Then on the reeking Moisture fed,
The scatter'd Clouds before him fled,
The Rivers shrunk into their Bed:
Nature revives; the feather'd Throng
Salute the Morning with a Song.
Frank with his Fellow-Brutes arose,
Yet dreaming still he saw his Foes,
Reels to and fro, laments, and grieves,
And starting, doubts if yet he lives.
At last his Spirits mend their pace,
And Hope sat dawning on his Face;
Ev'n such is Human Life (said he)
A Night of Dread, and Misery,
'Till Heav'n relents, relieves our Pain,
And Sun-shine Days return again.
O Fortune! who dost now bestow
Frowning, this bitter Cup of Woe,
Do not thy faithful Slave destroy,
But give th' Alternative of Joy.

270

Then many a painful step he takes,
O'er Hills and Vales, thro' Woods, and Brakes:
No sturdy desp'rate Buccaneer
E'er suffer'd Hardships more severe.
Stubborn, incorrigibly blind,
No Dangers can divert his Mind;
His tedious Journey he pursues,
At last his Eye transported views
Fair Portobel, whose rising Spires
Inflame his Heart with new Desires.
Secure of Fortune's Grace, he smiles,
And flatt'ring Hope the Wretch beguiles.
Tho' Nature calls for Sleep and Food,
Yet stronger Avarice subdu'd;
Ev'n shameful Nakedness, and Pain,
And Thirst and Hunger plead in vain:
No rest he gives his weary Feet,
Fortune he seeks from Street to Street;
Careful in ev'ry Corner pries,
Now here, now there, impatient flies,

271

Wherever busy Crouds resort,
The Change, the Market, and the Port;
In vain he turns his Eye-balls round,
Fortune was no where to be found;
The Jilt not many Hours before,
With the Plate Fleet had left the Shore:
Laughs at the cred'lous Fool behind,
And joyful skuds before the Wind.
Poor Frank forsaken on the Coast,
All his fond Hopes at once are lost.
Aghast the swelling Sails he views,
And with his Eye the Fleet pursues,
'Till lessen'd to his weary'd Sight,
It leaves him to Despair, and Night.
So when the faithless Theseus fled
The Cretan Nymph's deserted Bed,
Awak'd, at distance on the Main,
She view'd the prosp'rous perjur'd Swain,
And call'd th' avenging Gods in vain.

272

Prostrate on Earth till Break of Day
Senseless, and motionless he lay,
'Till Tears at last find out their way;
Gush like a Torrent from his Eyes,
In Bitterness of Soul (he cries)
“O Fortune! now too late I see,
“Too late, alas! thy Treachery.
“Wretch that I am, abandon'd, lost,
“About the World at random tost,
“Whither, oh whither shall I run?
“Sore pinch'd with Hunger, and undone.
“In the dark Mines go hide thy head
“Accurs'd, exchange thy Sweat for Bread,
“Skulk underground, in Earth's dark Womb
“Go Slave, and dig thy self a Tomb:
“There's Gold enough; pernicious Gold!
“To which long since thy Peace was sold;
“Vain helpless Idol! canst thou save
“This shatter'd Carcass from the Grave?

273

“Restless Disturber of Mankind,
“Canst thou give Health, or Peace of Mind?
“Ah no, deceiv'd the Fool shall be
“Who puts his Confidence in thee.
“Fatally blind, my native Home
“I left, in this rude World to roam;
“O Brother! shall I view no more
“Thy Peaceful Bow'rs? fair Albion's Shore?
“Yes (if kind Heav'n my Life shall spare)
“Some happy Moments yet I'll share,
“In thy delightful blest Retreat,
“With thee contemn the Rich, and Great;
“Redeem my Time mispent, and wait
“'Till Death relieve th' Unfortunate.

Adversity, sage useful Guest,
Severe Instructor, but the best;
It is from thee alone we know
Justly to value things below;

274

Right Reason's ever faithful Friend,
To thee our haughty Passions bend;
Tam'd by thy Rod (poor Frank) at last,
Repents of all his Follies past;
Resign'd, and patient to endure
Those Ills, which Heav'n alone can cure.
With vain Pursuits and Labours worn,
He meditates a quick return,
Longs to revisit yet once more,
Poor Prodigal! his native Shore.
In the next Ship for Britain bound,
Glad Frank a ready Passage found;
Nor Vessel now, nor Fraight his own,
He fears no longer Fortune's Frown;
No Property but Life his Share,
Life a frail Good not worth his Care;
Active and willing to obey,
A merry Mariner and gay,
He hands the Sails, and jokes all day.

275

At Night no Dreams disturb his Rest,
No Passions riot in his Breast,
For having nothing left to lose,
Sweet and unbroken his Repose:
And now fair Albion's Cliffs are seen,
And Hills with fruitful Herbage green:
His Heart beats quick, the Joy that ties
His falt'ring Tongue bursts from his Eyes.
At length thus hail'd the well-known Land,
And kneeling, kiss'd the happy Strand.
“And do I then draw native Air,
“After an Age of Toil and Care?
“O welcome Parent Isle! no more
“The Vagrant shall desert thy Shore,
“But flying to thy kind Embrace,
“Here end his Life's laborious Race.
So when the Stag, intent to rove,
Quits the safe Park, and shelt'ring Grove,
Tops the high Pale, stroles unconfin'd,
And leaves the lazy Herd behind,

276

Blest in his happy Change a while,
Corn Fields, and flow'ry Meadows smile,
The pamper'd Beast enjoys the Spoil;
'Till on the next returning Morn,
Alarm'd, he hears the fatal Horn;
Before the staunch, blood-thirsty Hounds,
Panting o'er Hills unknown he bounds,
With Clamour ev'ry Wood resounds:
He creeps the thorny Brakes with pain,
He seeks the distant Stream in vain,
And now, by sad Experience wise,
To his dear Home the Rambler flies;
His old Inclosure gains once more,
And joins the Herd, he scorn'd before.

Nor are his Labours finish'd yet,
Hunger, and Thirst, and Pain and Sweat,
And many a tedious Mile remains,
Before his Brother's House he gains.

277

Without one Doit his Purse to bless,
Nor very elegant his Dress;
With a tarr'd Jump, a crooked Batt,
Scarce one whole Shoe, and half a Hat;
From Door to Door the Stroler skip'd,
Sometimes reliev'd, but oftner whip'd:
Sun-burnt, and ragged on he fares,
At last the Mansion-House appears,
Timely Relief for all his Cares.
Around he gaz'd, his greedy Sight,
Devours each Object with delight;
Thro' each known Haunt transported roves,
Gay smiling Fields, and shady Groves,
Once conscious of his youthful Loves.
About the Hospitable Gate
Crouds of dejected Wretches wait;
Each day kind Bob's diffusive Hand,
Chear'd and refresh'd the tatter'd Band,
Proud the most God-like Joy to share,
He fed the Hungry, cloath'd the Bare.

278

Frank amongst these his Station chose,
With Looks revealing inward Woes;
When lo! with Wonder and Surprize,
He saw Dame Fortune in disguise;
He saw, but scarce believ'd his Eyes.
Her fawning Smiles, her tricking Air,
Th' egregious Hypocrite declare;
A Gypsy's Mantle round her spread
Of various Dye, White, Yellow, Red;
Strange Feats she promis'd, clamour'd loud,
And with her Cant amus'd the Croud:
There ev'ry day impatient ply'd,
Push'd to get in, but still deny'd;
For Bob, who knew the subtile Whore,
Thrust the false Vagrant from his Door.
But when the Stranger's Face he view'd,
With no deceitful Tears bedew'd,
His boding Heart began to melt,
And more than usual Pity felt:

279

He trac'd his Features o'er and o'er,
That spoke him better born, tho' poor,
Tho' cloath'd in Rags, genteel his Mien,
That Face he somewhere must have seen:
Nature at last reveals the Truth,
He knows, and owns the hapless Youth.
Surpriz'd, and speechless, both embrace,
And mingling Tears o'erflow each Face;
'Till Bob, thus eas'd his lab'ring Thought,
And this Instructive Moral taught.

Welcome (my Brother) to my longing Arms,
Here on my Bosom rest secure from Harms;
See Fortune there, that false delusive Jade,
To whom thy Pray'rs, and ardent Vows, were paid;
She (like her Sex) the fond Pursuer flies,
But slight the Jilt, and at thy Feet she dies.
Now safe in Port, indulge thy self on Shore,
Oh tempt the faithless Winds and Seas no more;

280

Let unavailing Toils, and Dangers past,
Tho' late, this useful Lesson teach at last,
True Happiness is only to be found
In a contented Mind, a Body sound,
All else is Dream, a Dance on Fairy Ground:
While restless Fools, each idle Whim pursue,
And still one Wish obtain'd creates a new,
Like froward Babes, the Toys they have, detest,
While still the newest Trifle pleases best:
Let us (my Brother) rich in Wisdom's store,
What Heaven has lent, enjoy, nor covet more;
Subdue our Passions, curb their saucy Rage,
And to ourselves restore the Golden Age.

This is the Road the King of Spain's Treasure is carried over the Isthmus of Darien.

A sort of Brier in the West-Indies very troublesome to Travellers.