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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To Mr. Knight from the Country.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To Mr. Knight from the Country.
O
Knight! 'tis certain this Auspicious Soil
Almost anticipates the Labou'rers Toil;
The Spring, retiring, keeps it still in Sight,
At distant Smiles, and never leaves it quite.
Here Peace and Joy with Mutual Heart agree,
And Plenty's reconcil'd to Piety.
The happy Natives in firm Health appear
'Till they have weather'd out twice forty Year,
Yet Live and Die without a Thought of Care.
While I remain in such a Clime as this,
And take full Draughts of healthy Country Bliss,
I cannot but with Indignation frown
At what is your Delight;—the vitious Town.
The Town! which next to Heav'n you magnify;
But I wou'd gladly know your Reasons why.
What more can you say in that Life's Defence
Than Shepherds of their State of Innocence?
Where free from Envy, Vanity and Strife,
They make the best of an uncertain Life.
Ambition's deadly Rock they wisely shun,
Where most aspiring Spirits are undone.
To hoard up heaps of Wealth they little mind;
'Tis Peace and Truth they seek, and those they find.
Let Fools to please their Taste confound their Store,
If Nature is suffic'd, they ask no more.
Their Mistresses are brown, of Sabine hue,
But then, to make Amends, they're always true.
Here when the Rural Nymph does chance to Wed,
She comes unsully'd to the Nuptial Bed:
But a new Comet sooner will appear,
Than Hymen find a spotless Virgin there.
Almost anticipates the Labou'rers Toil;
The Spring, retiring, keeps it still in Sight,
At distant Smiles, and never leaves it quite.
Here Peace and Joy with Mutual Heart agree,
And Plenty's reconcil'd to Piety.
The happy Natives in firm Health appear
'Till they have weather'd out twice forty Year,
Yet Live and Die without a Thought of Care.
While I remain in such a Clime as this,
And take full Draughts of healthy Country Bliss,
I cannot but with Indignation frown
At what is your Delight;—the vitious Town.
The Town! which next to Heav'n you magnify;
But I wou'd gladly know your Reasons why.
What more can you say in that Life's Defence
Than Shepherds of their State of Innocence?
Where free from Envy, Vanity and Strife,
They make the best of an uncertain Life.
Ambition's deadly Rock they wisely shun,
Where most aspiring Spirits are undone.
To hoard up heaps of Wealth they little mind;
'Tis Peace and Truth they seek, and those they find.
Let Fools to please their Taste confound their Store,
If Nature is suffic'd, they ask no more.
Their Mistresses are brown, of Sabine hue,
But then, to make Amends, they're always true.
134
She comes unsully'd to the Nuptial Bed:
But a new Comet sooner will appear,
Than Hymen find a spotless Virgin there.
Thro' your lewd Streets salt Drabs in Legions go;
The Strand has ev'ry Night its Ebb and Flow.
When upon Lady Tray and Ringwood wait,
She but nine Days promiscu'ously will Mate;
And when with Young they Venus still refuse;
These hotter Females ev'ry Season use,
And with big Bellies ply the Streets and Stews.
The Strand has ev'ry Night its Ebb and Flow.
When upon Lady Tray and Ringwood wait,
She but nine Days promiscu'ously will Mate;
And when with Young they Venus still refuse;
These hotter Females ev'ry Season use,
And with big Bellies ply the Streets and Stews.
To the loose City a like Fate arrives,
But there the Trade lies most among the Wives.
The Husbands they get Money by their Wares,
The Wives are forc'd to give to put off Theirs.
Demure their Look, and in their Mien precise,
So under Cloak and Band the Atheist lies,
And the worst Punk is she in Saints Disguise:
All Possible Defences she destroys,
And, like White-Powder, kills without a Noise.
With thousand Oaths her Spouse his Riches gets,
He boldly wins and she as boldly Setts.
When e'er he wags she does her Circle run,
From Park to Plays, to Treats when Play is done,
The Gallant ready when the Husband's gone.
Thus ill got Cash a bitter Curse bestows,
With Perju'ry comes and in Adultery goes.
But there the Trade lies most among the Wives.
The Husbands they get Money by their Wares,
The Wives are forc'd to give to put off Theirs.
Demure their Look, and in their Mien precise,
So under Cloak and Band the Atheist lies,
And the worst Punk is she in Saints Disguise:
All Possible Defences she destroys,
And, like White-Powder, kills without a Noise.
With thousand Oaths her Spouse his Riches gets,
He boldly wins and she as boldly Setts.
When e'er he wags she does her Circle run,
From Park to Plays, to Treats when Play is done,
The Gallant ready when the Husband's gone.
Thus ill got Cash a bitter Curse bestows,
With Perju'ry comes and in Adultery goes.
Well but, you'll say, most Men such Drabs detest
Nor are all Women wicked,—'tis confess'd.
But who is always Wise? there is a Time
When strictest Worth may stumble on a Crime.
A thousand Arts they have t'enflame Desire,
And fan the Blood to a contagious Fire.
'Tis best then to be absent from the Snare,
And we can only boast of Safety here:
With us that Sex from all Trepan is free;
O lasting Charm of Artless Constancie!
Nor are all Women wicked,—'tis confess'd.
But who is always Wise? there is a Time
When strictest Worth may stumble on a Crime.
A thousand Arts they have t'enflame Desire,
And fan the Blood to a contagious Fire.
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And we can only boast of Safety here:
With us that Sex from all Trepan is free;
O lasting Charm of Artless Constancie!
In getting Bastards half your Town's employ'd,
And 'tis as certain that they're next destroy'd:
No Privy's free; where they in Ordure lie,
Yet sweeter than their Mothers Infamy.
If such a Criminal's convicted here,
It is a Theme of Horror for a Year:
The sad Offender does receive her Due,
Or flying hence, acts treble Guilt with You.
As to her Centre Lust does thither tend,
That Sourse of Vice which but with Time will end.
As Ireland pois'nous Insects will not bear,
So all our Filth is drain'd and empty'd there.
And 'tis as certain that they're next destroy'd:
No Privy's free; where they in Ordure lie,
Yet sweeter than their Mothers Infamy.
If such a Criminal's convicted here,
It is a Theme of Horror for a Year:
The sad Offender does receive her Due,
Or flying hence, acts treble Guilt with You.
As to her Centre Lust does thither tend,
That Sourse of Vice which but with Time will end.
As Ireland pois'nous Insects will not bear,
So all our Filth is drain'd and empty'd there.
Divide your Men, one part in Three are Slaves,
The next and greatest Cuckolds, Fools and Knaves,
The third a Rout of Mimicks, Rakes and Braves;
The last of which, tho' they roar huff and damn,
Search 'em, they're tame at Bottom as a Lamb.
As who swears most is least believ'd of all,
So big Words shew the Courage to be small.
Wou'd these three num'rous Herds but leave their Folds,
We may affirm You wou'd not meet three Souls,
Three honest ones, from Charing-Cross to Paul's.
The next and greatest Cuckolds, Fools and Knaves,
The third a Rout of Mimicks, Rakes and Braves;
The last of which, tho' they roar huff and damn,
Search 'em, they're tame at Bottom as a Lamb.
As who swears most is least believ'd of all,
So big Words shew the Courage to be small.
Wou'd these three num'rous Herds but leave their Folds,
We may affirm You wou'd not meet three Souls,
Three honest ones, from Charing-Cross to Paul's.
It may be urg'd the Country is not free
From many spreading Vices, sad to see,
Particularly that of Knavery.
But where's the Hand void of all evil Deeds?
Or Spot of Land not liable to Weeds?
Now here to root 'em out we daily strive,
At London care is took to make 'em thrive;
They flourish there, grow Popular and Great,
That Soil is never without Knaves of State.
That this is so we boldly may Express,
Our late Divisions testify no less,
When Loyalty was thought a Senseless thing,
And he the Patriot that defam'd his King.
From many spreading Vices, sad to see,
Particularly that of Knavery.
But where's the Hand void of all evil Deeds?
Or Spot of Land not liable to Weeds?
Now here to root 'em out we daily strive,
At London care is took to make 'em thrive;
136
That Soil is never without Knaves of State.
That this is so we boldly may Express,
Our late Divisions testify no less,
When Loyalty was thought a Senseless thing,
And he the Patriot that defam'd his King.
Your Lawyers are Incorp'orate with these;
A Race that, tho' they've Vice upon the Lees,
Yet drain it on, and damn their Souls for Fees:
Deliberately on Villany they fall,
Side on all Sides, and yet are false to all.
Instead of Forma Pauperis, all the Poor
They peel quite bare, and make 'em suffer more
Then twenty long keen Winters did before.
He that deprives us with a Stab of Breath,
Is kind to him that lingers us to Death.
A Dearth to Plenty waits on Lawyer's Bills,
Just like the Dearth of Health on Emperick's Pills.
Curse 'em ye Pow'rs!—yet only curse 'em thus;
Be but that Plague to them they are to us.
A Race that, tho' they've Vice upon the Lees,
Yet drain it on, and damn their Souls for Fees:
Deliberately on Villany they fall,
Side on all Sides, and yet are false to all.
Instead of Forma Pauperis, all the Poor
They peel quite bare, and make 'em suffer more
Then twenty long keen Winters did before.
He that deprives us with a Stab of Breath,
Is kind to him that lingers us to Death.
A Dearth to Plenty waits on Lawyer's Bills,
Just like the Dearth of Health on Emperick's Pills.
Curse 'em ye Pow'rs!—yet only curse 'em thus;
Be but that Plague to them they are to us.
Tho' all this be deplorable and sad,
The Grievance is in other things as bad.
What Shoals of Fops at Plays at Park and Court!
Meer Butterflies, by Nature made in Sport;
Or else for hast unfinish'd left, to show
How much a Fashion warm from France can do:
Running in Debt to all he all beguiles,
And is but drest out of his Tradesmens Spoils:
Had ev'ry one his Feather back, you'd find
His Body then as naked as his Mind.
Yet these are they that such Delight impart,
They glide unfelt into a Female-Heart;
To get whose Love much Talk and little Wit
Are Charms that never fail'd a Coxcomb yet.
O Foolish Sex! and struck upon the Shelves!
That can like nothing but what's like themselves.
The Grievance is in other things as bad.
What Shoals of Fops at Plays at Park and Court!
Meer Butterflies, by Nature made in Sport;
Or else for hast unfinish'd left, to show
How much a Fashion warm from France can do:
Running in Debt to all he all beguiles,
And is but drest out of his Tradesmens Spoils:
Had ev'ry one his Feather back, you'd find
His Body then as naked as his Mind.
Yet these are they that such Delight impart,
They glide unfelt into a Female-Heart;
To get whose Love much Talk and little Wit
Are Charms that never fail'd a Coxcomb yet.
137
That can like nothing but what's like themselves.
Nor is this all that makes the Town our Hate;
The very Drink it Self's Sophisticate:
For your French Wines (and yet the Trash does please)
Are grown as dang'rous as the French Disease;
Stumm'd, mixt, Adulte'rate, and for nothing good
But to corrupt the pure and wholsome Blood.
Not that (my Friend) I hate the noble Juice
If it be Right, and free from all Abuse:
A Cheerful Glass makes Fancy walk as high
(The Muse's Friend!) as 'twou'd without it fly.
But as the Age goes now good Wine's as scarce
As Truth in Friendship, or as Wit in Farce.
The very Drink it Self's Sophisticate:
For your French Wines (and yet the Trash does please)
Are grown as dang'rous as the French Disease;
Stumm'd, mixt, Adulte'rate, and for nothing good
But to corrupt the pure and wholsome Blood.
Not that (my Friend) I hate the noble Juice
If it be Right, and free from all Abuse:
A Cheerful Glass makes Fancy walk as high
(The Muse's Friend!) as 'twou'd without it fly.
But as the Age goes now good Wine's as scarce
As Truth in Friendship, or as Wit in Farce.
Free from all this, and what e'er else we find
That shocks the Peace and Quiet of the Mind,
Supine, the Happy Rural Natives lie.
In the soft Arms of kind Obscurity.
Nor Death nor Poverty are by 'em fear'd,
Against those worst of Ills they're still prepar'd,
For a Good Conscience is the boldest Guard;
And that they ever have; as wronging none,
And living on that Little of their Own:
And very Little is an Ample Store,
To him that wisely does desire no more.
That shocks the Peace and Quiet of the Mind,
Supine, the Happy Rural Natives lie.
In the soft Arms of kind Obscurity.
Nor Death nor Poverty are by 'em fear'd,
Against those worst of Ills they're still prepar'd,
For a Good Conscience is the boldest Guard;
And that they ever have; as wronging none,
And living on that Little of their Own:
And very Little is an Ample Store,
To him that wisely does desire no more.
More Instances might easily be shown
To prove the Country Life excell'd by none!
But I shall mention, at this Time, but One;
One fit to Crown the rest; and that shall be
Good house-keeping and Hospitalitie.
The Gentry there can Dine upon a Dish,
Two or three Eggs, or some small Scraps of Fish:
You think they're Frugal; but 'tis all a Cheat,
And this in short's the Truth of the Deceit:
They spend so much on Drabs, they are not able
To live up to their Birth and keep a Table.
Hence You may guess how they relieve the Poor;
Two or three Bones, and not a Morsel more,
Which Footmen and the Dogs had pick't before:
Footmen, I say, for in this Courtly Age,
Tho' they want Bread they'll have an Equipage.
But here 'tis seen, to their Immortal Fame,
That Charity is not an Empty Name:
There from your Doors you drive the famish'd Soul,
And here the Needy never miss their Dole:
No Man can Starve, if to the Bounty shown
He adds some little Labour of his own.
Consider but these Truths Impartially,
And I don't doubt but you will soon comply
To think as lightly of the Town as I.
To prove the Country Life excell'd by none!
But I shall mention, at this Time, but One;
One fit to Crown the rest; and that shall be
Good house-keeping and Hospitalitie.
The Gentry there can Dine upon a Dish,
Two or three Eggs, or some small Scraps of Fish:
138
And this in short's the Truth of the Deceit:
They spend so much on Drabs, they are not able
To live up to their Birth and keep a Table.
Hence You may guess how they relieve the Poor;
Two or three Bones, and not a Morsel more,
Which Footmen and the Dogs had pick't before:
Footmen, I say, for in this Courtly Age,
Tho' they want Bread they'll have an Equipage.
But here 'tis seen, to their Immortal Fame,
That Charity is not an Empty Name:
There from your Doors you drive the famish'd Soul,
And here the Needy never miss their Dole:
No Man can Starve, if to the Bounty shown
He adds some little Labour of his own.
Consider but these Truths Impartially,
And I don't doubt but you will soon comply
To think as lightly of the Town as I.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |