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. R. Trowe from the Country.
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
To Mr. R. Trowe from the Country.
You that have always Greatness in your Eye,
May well forget so mean a Wretch as I.
I once, indeed, led a free Life like thine,
And, Care removing, thought that Life Divine:
But wiser now by my Misfortunes made,
I leave the Glare and run into a Shade:
And, like a Snail, within my Shell enclos'd,
Fear not those Storms to which the Town's expos'd.
Of Peace secure, the Swain at once is free
From Publick Fraud and Private Enmity.
With open Coffers, and my Doors unbarr'd
I'm safe, when ev'en the Wealthy are not spar'd;
'Tis Poverty that keeps the strongest Guard.
May well forget so mean a Wretch as I.
I once, indeed, led a free Life like thine,
And, Care removing, thought that Life Divine:
But wiser now by my Misfortunes made,
I leave the Glare and run into a Shade:
And, like a Snail, within my Shell enclos'd,
Fear not those Storms to which the Town's expos'd.
Of Peace secure, the Swain at once is free
From Publick Fraud and Private Enmity.
With open Coffers, and my Doors unbarr'd
I'm safe, when ev'en the Wealthy are not spar'd;
'Tis Poverty that keeps the strongest Guard.
139
But tho' I thus obscurely pass my Days,
I see enough for Wonder and for Praise.
Th'Almighty in his Glorious Works is here
At all Times no less visible than there,
And as soon reach'd with Piety and Prayer.
Nor does Content (with you ne'er known to stay,
But make a Courtier's Visit and away)
Leave us at all, like a tame Bird she feeds
Out of our Hands, and with us builds and breeds:
Plenty mean while thro' all the Plain resounds
As Faction does in Palaces and Towns;
That Soil where not alone Rebellion Springs,
But is rewarded for defaming Kings.
Here free from cringing to the Man of Pow'r,
I Eat and Drink and Sleep just at my Hour:
When Nature calls I Breakfast and I Dine,
And not because the Clock strikes Twelve and Nine:
And am as pleas'd with my own Frugal Board,
As if I sat at Table with a Lord,
And saw his gilded Laqueys round me wait,
Who live like Dogs, but on the Scraps of Meat:
As pleas'd as if, with an attentive Ear,
I was compell'd his vain Discourse to hear,
And mannerly to all he Chatters, cry
True my good Lord—when ev'ry Word's a Lye.
I see enough for Wonder and for Praise.
Th'Almighty in his Glorious Works is here
At all Times no less visible than there,
And as soon reach'd with Piety and Prayer.
Nor does Content (with you ne'er known to stay,
But make a Courtier's Visit and away)
Leave us at all, like a tame Bird she feeds
Out of our Hands, and with us builds and breeds:
Plenty mean while thro' all the Plain resounds
As Faction does in Palaces and Towns;
That Soil where not alone Rebellion Springs,
But is rewarded for defaming Kings.
Here free from cringing to the Man of Pow'r,
I Eat and Drink and Sleep just at my Hour:
When Nature calls I Breakfast and I Dine,
And not because the Clock strikes Twelve and Nine:
And am as pleas'd with my own Frugal Board,
As if I sat at Table with a Lord,
And saw his gilded Laqueys round me wait,
Who live like Dogs, but on the Scraps of Meat:
As pleas'd as if, with an attentive Ear,
I was compell'd his vain Discourse to hear,
And mannerly to all he Chatters, cry
True my good Lord—when ev'ry Word's a Lye.
But prithee, Friend, how does it come to pass
That thus Mankind shou'd deifie an Ass?
That they shou'd patient hold, and list'ning sit,
And put such Larded Dulness up for Wit:
Why shou'd the Fools of Title and Estate,
With Horns and Horse-shoes grav'd upon their Plate,
(To shew their great Progenitors were some
Took from the Forge, or rais'd by Cuckoldom)
Have all the Talk? While it must Breeding be
With Treason and Prophaneness to agree,
And praise their Politicks, tho' meant to bring
Confusion on their Country and their King.
Let Sycophants and Slaves their Elbows ply,
(The Earwigs that still hang on Qualitie)
Run at their Nod, and crouch beneath their Spurn,
And Drink and Fight and Pimp each in his turn;
But why shou'd Men of Birth and Wit, by Ways
So low and vile, their Dignity debase,
And poorly bend to Fops they shou'd reject?
For Merit 'tis we shou'd alone Respect.
You'll say, perhaps, they're Flatte'rers made by Need,
And let a Coxcomb prate so they can feed.
Specious, 'tis true, but mean; and is but just
Like Setting Dogs submitting for a Crust.
Who wou'd not rather Spencer be that starv'd
Than Jeff---s? (who has long that Fate deserv'd)
This Poor but Just, a Grace e'en out of Vogue;
And tother Rich, but ten times more than Rogue.
Is it not better boldly to declare
To the loose haughty and degen'rate Heir,
That all the Plumes that glitter round his Head
Are borrow'd from the Vertues of the Dead,
His Honours only (tho he looks so fierce)
But Streamers torn off from his Fathers Herse;
That, had he been by Diligence to get
His Mannors, and his Titles by his Wit,
He wou'd have wanted or have begg'd his Bread,
And been the Tail of Folly, not the Head.
In vain they of their high Extraction boast,
When we so clearly see the Strain is crost:
To Honour the Reproach and the Disgrace;
And slip't in by the Mothers being base,
They're not so much as Bastards of the Race.
That thus Mankind shou'd deifie an Ass?
That they shou'd patient hold, and list'ning sit,
And put such Larded Dulness up for Wit:
Why shou'd the Fools of Title and Estate,
With Horns and Horse-shoes grav'd upon their Plate,
(To shew their great Progenitors were some
Took from the Forge, or rais'd by Cuckoldom)
Have all the Talk? While it must Breeding be
With Treason and Prophaneness to agree,
140
Confusion on their Country and their King.
Let Sycophants and Slaves their Elbows ply,
(The Earwigs that still hang on Qualitie)
Run at their Nod, and crouch beneath their Spurn,
And Drink and Fight and Pimp each in his turn;
But why shou'd Men of Birth and Wit, by Ways
So low and vile, their Dignity debase,
And poorly bend to Fops they shou'd reject?
For Merit 'tis we shou'd alone Respect.
You'll say, perhaps, they're Flatte'rers made by Need,
And let a Coxcomb prate so they can feed.
Specious, 'tis true, but mean; and is but just
Like Setting Dogs submitting for a Crust.
Who wou'd not rather Spencer be that starv'd
Than Jeff---s? (who has long that Fate deserv'd)
This Poor but Just, a Grace e'en out of Vogue;
And tother Rich, but ten times more than Rogue.
Is it not better boldly to declare
To the loose haughty and degen'rate Heir,
That all the Plumes that glitter round his Head
Are borrow'd from the Vertues of the Dead,
His Honours only (tho he looks so fierce)
But Streamers torn off from his Fathers Herse;
That, had he been by Diligence to get
His Mannors, and his Titles by his Wit,
He wou'd have wanted or have begg'd his Bread,
And been the Tail of Folly, not the Head.
In vain they of their high Extraction boast,
When we so clearly see the Strain is crost:
To Honour the Reproach and the Disgrace;
And slip't in by the Mothers being base,
They're not so much as Bastards of the Race.
But here I see you hit your Nose, and cry
Hush!—you forget you talk to Quality;
Rouze not a sleeping Lion; don't you hear
Their Scandalum Magnatum in your Ear?
I do, indeed;—and but that Privilege
Must take off something of the Satyr's Edge
I'd strip 'em bare, and open to your view
So vile, so loose, so profligate a Crew
Of Coward, Coxcomb, Fop, and Whore and Hag,
You'd run from Honour as you'd fly the Plague,
Or a new Rabble that as much affrights,
The num'rous Skipping Fry of Modern Knights;
Produc'd here by whole Cart-Loads in our Isle
As Heat does Monsters from the Slime of Nile.
Hush!—you forget you talk to Quality;
141
Their Scandalum Magnatum in your Ear?
I do, indeed;—and but that Privilege
Must take off something of the Satyr's Edge
I'd strip 'em bare, and open to your view
So vile, so loose, so profligate a Crew
Of Coward, Coxcomb, Fop, and Whore and Hag,
You'd run from Honour as you'd fly the Plague,
Or a new Rabble that as much affrights,
The num'rous Skipping Fry of Modern Knights;
Produc'd here by whole Cart-Loads in our Isle
As Heat does Monsters from the Slime of Nile.
'Tis not as when our Maiden Soveraign sway'd;
Yet who was better lov'd, and more obey'd?
Profusion in Promotion she restrain'd,
And Honour was not given then but Gain'd:
Pimping had then to Worship no Pretence;
Tho' it has been the surest Method since
Villains to Titles and Estates to rear,
To sit at Helm and have the Soveraign Ear.
Yet who was better lov'd, and more obey'd?
Profusion in Promotion she restrain'd,
And Honour was not given then but Gain'd:
Pimping had then to Worship no Pretence;
Tho' it has been the surest Method since
Villains to Titles and Estates to rear,
To sit at Helm and have the Soveraign Ear.
Again I'm wand'ring:—least I wander more
I'll here, for thy Relief and mine, give o'er:
This only adding; that tho' I must be
Forgotten, yet my Memory's full of Thee,
Of Thee! whose Name shall live in Verse approv'd,
While Wit does last, and Honesty's belov'd.
I'll here, for thy Relief and mine, give o'er:
This only adding; that tho' I must be
Forgotten, yet my Memory's full of Thee,
Of Thee! whose Name shall live in Verse approv'd,
While Wit does last, and Honesty's belov'd.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |