Of all that William rules, or Robe
Defcribes, great Rhea, of thy globe;
When or on poft-horse, or in chaife,
With much expence, and little ease,
My deftin'd miles I fhall have gone,
By Thames or Maefe, by Po or Rhone,
And found no foot of earth my own;
Great Mother, let me once be able
To have a garden, houfe, and ftable;
That I may read, and ride, and plant,
Superior to defire, or want;
And as health fails, and years increase,
Sit down, and think, and die in peace.
Oblige thy favourite undertakers.
To throw me in but twenty acres :
This number fure they may
For pature ten, and ten for plow;
'Tis all that I would wifh, or hope,
For me and John, and Nell, and Crop.
Then, as thou wilt, difpofe the rest
(And let not Fortune spoil the Jest)
To those, who at the market-rate
Can barter honour for eftate.
Now if thou grant'ft me my request,
To make thy votary truly bleft,
Let curft Revenge, and faucy pride
To fome bleak rock far off be ty'd;
Nor e'er approach my rural feat,
To tempt me to be base and great.
And, Goddefs, this kind office done,
Charge Venus to command her fon,
(Where-ever else she lets him rove)
To fhun my houfe, my field, my grove :
Peace cannot dwell with hate or love.
Hear, gracious Rhea, what I fay:
And thy petitioner fhall pray.
WHATE'ER thy countrymen have done
By law and wit, by fword and gun,
In thee is faithfully recited:
And all the living world, that view
Thy work, give thee the praises due,
At once inftructed and delighted.
Yet for the fame of all these deeds,
What beggar in the Invalides,
With lameness broke, with blindness fmitter,
Wish'd ever decently to die,
To have been either Mezeray,
Or any monarch he has written ?
It's ftrange, dear author, yet it true is,
That, down from Pharamond to Louis,
All covet life, yet call it pain:
And feel the ill, yet fhun the cure:
Can fense this paradox endure ?
Refolve me, Cambray, or Fontaine.
IV.
The man in graver tragick known
(Though his beft part long fince was done)
Still on the ftage defires to tarry :
And he who play'd the Harlequin,
After the jeft ftill loads the scene
Unwilling to retire, though weary.
BLEST be the princes, who have fought
For pompous names, or wide dominion ; Since by their error we are taught,
That happiness is but opinion.
ANIMULA, vagula, blandula,
Hofpes, comefque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca,
Pallidula, rigida, nudula?
Nec, ut foles, dabis joca.
MA petite ame, ma mignonne,
Tu t'en vas donc, ma Fille, & dieu sçaçhe où tu vas Tu pars feulette, nuë, & tremblotante, helas!
Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne ?
Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats ?
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