The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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Reflections on the Life and Death of a certain Miser.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
Reflections on the Life and Death of a certain Miser.
He's gone!—but not a Tear was shed
To grieve him, Sick; or mourn him, Dead:
And that the Reader by our Rhimes
May view his Fate, and shun his Crimes.
In ruthless Verse we'll far and wide,
The Good to please and Bad to guide,
Tell how the Caytiff liv'd and dy'd.
To grieve him, Sick; or mourn him, Dead:
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May view his Fate, and shun his Crimes.
In ruthless Verse we'll far and wide,
The Good to please and Bad to guide,
Tell how the Caytiff liv'd and dy'd.
There are a sort of Men, we know,
That will be Drunk, yet stingy too;
And tho' they guzzle more than any,
The Reck'ning call'd, won't pay a Penny:
(If Covetous in Drink, no doubt
They're cursed Covetous without)
His Sire was one of these, and in
That Humour got this Man of Sin;
Who, tho' by Nature born a Sot,
Was never known to pay his Shot;
But as he further Maudlin grew,
The sturdier wou'd with-hold his due:
Fast in his Fist he'd clinch his Coin,
Not Flesh and Bone cou'd closer join:
If to be broken on the Wheel,
You'd there be sure to find it still.
So we of Indian Dogs are told;
Who when they once had fix'd their Hold,
Tho' all their Limbs were lopp'd away,
They'd neither flinch, or quit their Prey;
But in the Pangs of Death were found
Fast set, and cleaving to the Wound.
That will be Drunk, yet stingy too;
And tho' they guzzle more than any,
The Reck'ning call'd, won't pay a Penny:
(If Covetous in Drink, no doubt
They're cursed Covetous without)
His Sire was one of these, and in
That Humour got this Man of Sin;
Who, tho' by Nature born a Sot,
Was never known to pay his Shot;
But as he further Maudlin grew,
The sturdier wou'd with-hold his due:
Fast in his Fist he'd clinch his Coin,
Not Flesh and Bone cou'd closer join:
If to be broken on the Wheel,
You'd there be sure to find it still.
So we of Indian Dogs are told;
Who when they once had fix'd their Hold,
Tho' all their Limbs were lopp'd away,
They'd neither flinch, or quit their Prey;
But in the Pangs of Death were found
Fast set, and cleaving to the Wound.
Wielding of Birch was first his Trade,
And wild Tyrannick Work he made:
But Mony there did rise but faint,
And that he had resolv'd his Saint;
For whose dear Sake he vow'd to do
What ever Avarice prompt him to.
Puts on a Cassock next—but there
He mov'd not in his Proper Sphere;
As being confident in Nonsense,
And of Impenetrable Conscience:
Wou'd swallow Contradiction still,
Just as a Leacher does his Pill:
For which, and Works alike Devout,
The CHURCH did cast his Nusance out.
Last turns an Usurer, and then
From Teaching falls to cheating Men.
Here his own Talent came in Play,
Use, Mortgage, Principal, Pay-Day,
Was all we e're cou'd hear him say.
His very Prayers (if e'er he pray'd)
In the set Forms of Bonds were made;
And Noverint Universi rather
He wou'd begin with than Our Father.
Thro' Breach of Promise, close Deceits,
False dated Bonds, and open Cheats;
Thro' Orphans Groans, and Widows Tears,
The bitter Bans of Ruin'd Heirs;
(For following Gain he wou'd not stop
For all Salvation bids us Hope.)
Thro' these, and we to these may join
All Laws both Human and Divine,
He waded to a Mass of Coin;
Almost as much as Crassus had;
But Crassus got not his so bad.
And wild Tyrannick Work he made:
But Mony there did rise but faint,
And that he had resolv'd his Saint;
For whose dear Sake he vow'd to do
What ever Avarice prompt him to.
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He mov'd not in his Proper Sphere;
As being confident in Nonsense,
And of Impenetrable Conscience:
Wou'd swallow Contradiction still,
Just as a Leacher does his Pill:
For which, and Works alike Devout,
The CHURCH did cast his Nusance out.
Last turns an Usurer, and then
From Teaching falls to cheating Men.
Here his own Talent came in Play,
Use, Mortgage, Principal, Pay-Day,
Was all we e're cou'd hear him say.
His very Prayers (if e'er he pray'd)
In the set Forms of Bonds were made;
And Noverint Universi rather
He wou'd begin with than Our Father.
Thro' Breach of Promise, close Deceits,
False dated Bonds, and open Cheats;
Thro' Orphans Groans, and Widows Tears,
The bitter Bans of Ruin'd Heirs;
(For following Gain he wou'd not stop
For all Salvation bids us Hope.)
Thro' these, and we to these may join
All Laws both Human and Divine,
He waded to a Mass of Coin;
Almost as much as Crassus had;
But Crassus got not his so bad.
Abroad a Glutton; ev'ry Feast
He'd curse where he was not a Guest:
To see him slash, and gnaw, and tear,
And brandish his keen Blade, you'd swear
Milo the hungry Churl were there;
And eating up that very Ox
He with his Fist fell'd at a Box;
So fast he ply'd it—with a Pox.
Then for the Liquor, let him swill
He scarce wou'd take Damnation ill:
The full Pint Glasses, as he got 'em,
He took sheer off and shew'd the Bottom:
His Lungs were breath'd like a Smith's Pair
Of Bellows, and wou'd hold more Air.
When quite top-full towards Home he'd rowl,
And use his Body like his Soul;
For he Compassion had for neither,
As by the Consequence you'll gather.
He'd curse where he was not a Guest:
To see him slash, and gnaw, and tear,
And brandish his keen Blade, you'd swear
Milo the hungry Churl were there;
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He with his Fist fell'd at a Box;
So fast he ply'd it—with a Pox.
Then for the Liquor, let him swill
He scarce wou'd take Damnation ill:
The full Pint Glasses, as he got 'em,
He took sheer off and shew'd the Bottom:
His Lungs were breath'd like a Smith's Pair
Of Bellows, and wou'd hold more Air.
When quite top-full towards Home he'd rowl,
And use his Body like his Soul;
For he Compassion had for neither,
As by the Consequence you'll gather.
At home he was so strangely scraping,
This Topick there is no escaping,
His Servants (and he ne'er kept any
Whom he designed to pay a Penny;
Tho' sometimes he was forc'd to do't,
Because the Law did goad him to't)
Look't all like Pharaoh's meagre Kine,
That did the seven Years Dearth divine,
E'en Rats and Mice, free of the Nation,
Who by their Charter choose their Station,
Instinctively, by all Relation,
Had fled the hungry Habitation.
So very slender was his Fare,
If the old Cameleons had been there,
H'ad starv'd 'em tho' they liv'd on Air.
This Topick there is no escaping,
His Servants (and he ne'er kept any
Whom he designed to pay a Penny;
Tho' sometimes he was forc'd to do't,
Because the Law did goad him to't)
Look't all like Pharaoh's meagre Kine,
That did the seven Years Dearth divine,
E'en Rats and Mice, free of the Nation,
Who by their Charter choose their Station,
Instinctively, by all Relation,
Had fled the hungry Habitation.
So very slender was his Fare,
If the old Cameleons had been there,
H'ad starv'd 'em tho' they liv'd on Air.
Thus He (who at another's Table
Wou'd Gormandize as long as able;
And, when 'twas at a Neighbour's Cost,
Spare neither bak'd or boil'd, or roast)
At home a Life much needier led,
Than the starv'd Wretch that begs his Bread:
In spite of all his Bags of Gold
His Paunch was lean, his Back was cold.
'Twas to this Usage that at Length,
He sacrific'd his Health and Strength.
Cramps, Aches, Dropsy, Gout and Stone,
He was by all attended on;
Man shunn'd his Company, but they
In fatal Complaisance did stay,
Assiduous to his dying Day.
Wou'd Gormandize as long as able;
And, when 'twas at a Neighbour's Cost,
Spare neither bak'd or boil'd, or roast)
At home a Life much needier led,
Than the starv'd Wretch that begs his Bread:
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His Paunch was lean, his Back was cold.
'Twas to this Usage that at Length,
He sacrific'd his Health and Strength.
Cramps, Aches, Dropsy, Gout and Stone,
He was by all attended on;
Man shunn'd his Company, but they
In fatal Complaisance did stay,
Assiduous to his dying Day.
Yet nor his Misery nor Years,
That daily did augment his Cares,
Cou'd make him settle his Affairs:
Of all his Hours (run out so ill)
He'd spare not one to make his Will;
But left entailed upon his Heirs
Chancery Suits for many Years:
Extortion always has the Lot
For Fools to spend what Knaves have got.
That daily did augment his Cares,
Cou'd make him settle his Affairs:
Of all his Hours (run out so ill)
He'd spare not one to make his Will;
But left entailed upon his Heirs
Chancery Suits for many Years:
Extortion always has the Lot
For Fools to spend what Knaves have got.
To what is said we'll add but this;
His Life and Death were of a Piece:
His Life foretold what Death he'd die,
His Death fulfill'd the Prophecy.
For no Remembrance of Offence,
No gracious Thought of Penitence
Did kindly interpose between
His fatal Sickness and his Sin.
Unmindful of pale Death, that now
Appear'd triumphant on his Brow,
He glar'd around, resign'd to Fate,
And past th'inevitable Gate.
His Life and Death were of a Piece:
His Life foretold what Death he'd die,
His Death fulfill'd the Prophecy.
For no Remembrance of Offence,
No gracious Thought of Penitence
Did kindly interpose between
His fatal Sickness and his Sin.
Unmindful of pale Death, that now
Appear'd triumphant on his Brow,
He glar'd around, resign'd to Fate,
And past th'inevitable Gate.
Perhaps, by some, 'twill here be said
We're too invective on the Dead;
In the same Grave their Ills shou'd ly
Their Failings with their Bodies die.
But give the Scripture Place which still
In Death it self reviles the Ill;
And left 'em chronicl'd that all
May see their Fate and shun their Fall:
And that being what is here design'd,
A fair Construction ought to find:
To represent such odious Crimes
May be Instruction to the Times,
And point us to a better End;
Tho' e'en to Him Grace may extend;
For tho' his Fau'ts all Bounds outflew,
Mercy, we know, is boundless too.
We're too invective on the Dead;
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Their Failings with their Bodies die.
But give the Scripture Place which still
In Death it self reviles the Ill;
And left 'em chronicl'd that all
May see their Fate and shun their Fall:
And that being what is here design'd,
A fair Construction ought to find:
To represent such odious Crimes
May be Instruction to the Times,
And point us to a better End;
Tho' e'en to Him Grace may extend;
For tho' his Fau'ts all Bounds outflew,
Mercy, we know, is boundless too.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |