Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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HOW TO BE HAPPY.— A Song. |
 | Scripscrapologia |  |
HOW TO BE HAPPY.— A Song.
In a Cottage I live, and the Cot of Content,
Where a few little rooms, for ambition too low,
Are furnish'd as plain as a Patriarch's tent,
With all for convenience, but nothing for show:
Like Robinson Crusoe's both peaceful and pleasant,
By industry stor'd, like the hive of a Bee;
And the Peer who looks down with contempt on a Peasant,
Can ne'er be look'd up to with envy by me.
Where a few little rooms, for ambition too low,
Are furnish'd as plain as a Patriarch's tent,
With all for convenience, but nothing for show:
Like Robinson Crusoe's both peaceful and pleasant,
By industry stor'd, like the hive of a Bee;
And the Peer who looks down with contempt on a Peasant,
Can ne'er be look'd up to with envy by me.
And when from the brow of a neighbouring hill,
On the mansions of Pride, I with pity look down,
While the murmuring stream and the clack of the mill,
I prefer to the murmurs and clack of the town,
As blythe as in youth, when I danc'd on the green,
I disdain to repine at my locks growing grey;
Thus the the Autumn of Life, like the Springtide serene,
Makes approaching December as cheerful as May.
On the mansions of Pride, I with pity look down,
While the murmuring stream and the clack of the mill,
I prefer to the murmurs and clack of the town,
As blythe as in youth, when I danc'd on the green,
I disdain to repine at my locks growing grey;
Thus the the Autumn of Life, like the Springtide serene,
Makes approaching December as cheerful as May.
I lie down with the Lamb, and I rise with the Lark,
So I keep both Disease and the Doctor at bay;
And I feel on my Pillow no Thorns in the dark,
Which reflection might raise from the deeds of the day:
For, with neither myself nor my neighbour at strife,
Though the Sand in my Glass may not long have to run,
I'm determin'd to live all the days of my life,
With Content in a Cottage and Envy to none!
So I keep both Disease and the Doctor at bay;
And I feel on my Pillow no Thorns in the dark,
Which reflection might raise from the deeds of the day:
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Though the Sand in my Glass may not long have to run,
I'm determin'd to live all the days of my life,
With Content in a Cottage and Envy to none!
Yet let me not selfishly boast of my lot,
Nor to self let the Comforts of Life be confin'd;
For how sordid the pleasures must be of that sot,
Who to share them with others no pleasure can find!
For my Friend I've a Board, I've a Bottle and Bed,
Ay, and ten times more welcome that Friend if he's poor;
And for all that are poor if I could but find Bread,
Not a Pauper without it should budge from my door.
Nor to self let the Comforts of Life be confin'd;
For how sordid the pleasures must be of that sot,
Who to share them with others no pleasure can find!
For my Friend I've a Board, I've a Bottle and Bed,
Ay, and ten times more welcome that Friend if he's poor;
And for all that are poor if I could but find Bread,
Not a Pauper without it should budge from my door.
Thus while a mad World is involv'd in mad Broils,
For a few leagues of Land or an arm of the Sea;
And Ambition climbs high and pale Penury toils,
For what but appears a mere Phantom to me;
Through life let me steer with an even clean hand,
And a heart uncorrupted by grandeur or gold;
And, at last, quit my Birth, when this life's at a stand,
For a Birth which can neither be bought nor be sold.
For a few leagues of Land or an arm of the Sea;
And Ambition climbs high and pale Penury toils,
For what but appears a mere Phantom to me;
Through life let me steer with an even clean hand,
And a heart uncorrupted by grandeur or gold;
And, at last, quit my Birth, when this life's at a stand,
For a Birth which can neither be bought nor be sold.
| Scripscrapologia | |