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Our gods the outward gates unbarred:
Our farmer met them in the yard;
Thought they were folks that lost their way,
And asked them civilly to stay;

Told them, for supper, or for bed
They might go on, and be worse sped.
So said, so done; the gods consent;
All three into the parlour went:
They compliment, they sit, they chat;
Fight o'er the wars, reform the state;
A thousand knotty points they clear,
Till supper and my wife appear.

Jove made his leg, and kissed the dame:
Obsequious Hermes did the same.
Jove kissed the farmer's wife, you say;
He did-but in an honest way.

Oh! not with half that warmth and life
With which he kissed Amphitryon's wife.

Well then, things handsomely were served:
My mistress for the strangers carved.
How strong the beer, how good the meat,
How loud they laughed, how much they eat,
In epic sumptuous would appear;
Yet shall be passed in silence here.
For I should grieve to have it said
That, by a fine description led,
I made my episode too long,

Or tired my friend, to grace my song.
The grace-cup served, the cloth away,
Jove thought it time to show his play;
Landlord and landlady, he cried,
Folly and jesting laid aside,
That ye thus hospitably live,

And strangers with good cheer receive,

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Is mighty grateful to your betters,

And makes even gods themselves your debtors:
To give this thesis plainer proof,

You have to-night beneath your roof
A pair of gods-nay, never wonder!
This youth can fly, and I can thunder!
I'm Jupiter, and he Mercurius,
My page, my son indeed, but spurious.
Form then three wishes, you and madam,
And sure, as you already had 'em,
The things desired in half an hour
Shall all be here, and in your power.
Thank ye, great gods, the woman says,
Oh! may your altars ever blaze;
A ladle for our silver dish

Is what I want, is what I wish.-
A ladle! cries the man, a ladle!
'Odzooks, Corisca, you have prayed ill;
What should be great, you turn to farce ;
I wish the ladle in your a―.

With equal grief and shame my Muse
The sequel of the tale pursues;
The ladle fell into the room,
And stuck in old Corisca's bum.
Our couple weep two wishes past,
And kindly join to form the last;
To ease the woman's awkward pain,
And get the ladle out again.

MORAL.

This commoner has worth and parts,
Is praised for arms, or loved for arts:
His head aches for a coronet:
And who is blessed that is not great?

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Some sense, and more estate, kind Heaven
To this well-lotted peer has given;

What then? he must have rule and sway;
And all is wrong, 'till he 's in play.
The miser must make up his plum,
And dares not touch the hoarded sum;
The sickly dotard wants a wife,
To draw off his last dregs of life.

Against our peace we arm our will:
Amidst our plenty, something still
For horses, houses, pictures, planting,
To thee, to me, to him is wanting.
That cruel something unpossessed
Corrodes and leavens all the rest.
That something, if we could obtain,
Would soon create a future pain;
And to the coffin, from the cradle,
'Tis all a Wish, and all a Ladle.

WRITTEN AT PARIS. MDCC.
IN THE BEGINNING OF ROBE'S GEOGRAPHY.
Of all that William rules, or Robe
Describes, great Rhea, of thy globe,
When or on post-horse, or in chaise,
With much expense, and little ease,
My destined miles I shall have gone,
By Thames or Maese, by Po or Rhone,
And found no foot of earth my own;
Great Mother, let me once be able
To have a garden, house, and stable;
That I may read, and ride, and plant,
Superior to desire, or want;

And as health fails, and years increase,

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Sit down, and think, and die in peace.
Oblige thy favourite undertakers
To throw me in but twenty acres;
This number sure they may allow;
For pasture ten, and ten for plough:
"Tis all that I would wish, or hope,
For me and John, and Nell, and Crop.
Then, as thou wilt, dispose the rest,
And let not fortune spoil the jest,
To those, who at the market-rate
Can barter honour for estate.

Now if thou grant'st me my request,
To make thy votary truly blessed,
Let cursed revenge, and saucy pride
To some bleak rock far off be tied;
Nor e'er approach my rural seat,
To tempt me to be base and great.

And, Goddess, this kind office done,
Charge Venus to command her son
(Where-ever else she lets him rove),
To shun my house, my field, my grove:
Peace cannot dwell with hate or love.
Hear, gracious Rhea, what I say:
And thy petitioner shall pray.

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WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF MEZERAY'S HISTORY OF FRANCE.

1 WHATE'ER thy countrymen have done
By law and wit, by sword and gun,
In thee is faithfully recited:

And all the living world, that view
Thy work, give thee the praises due,

At once instructed and delighted.

2 Yet for the fame of all these deeds,

What beggar in the Invalides,

With lameness broke, with blindness smitten,
Wished ever decently to die,

To have been either Mezeray,
Or any monarch he has written?

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3 It's strange, dear author, yet it true is,
That, down from Pharamond to Louis,
All covet life, yet call it pain;
All feel the ill, yet shun the cure:
Can sense this paradox endure?
Resolve me, Cambray, or Fontaine.

4 The man in graver tragic known
(Though his best part long since was done)
Still on the stage desires to tarry;
And he who played the Harlequin,
After the jest still loads the scene

Unwilling to retire, though weary.

WRITTEN IN THE NOUVEAUX INTERETS
DES PRINCES DE L'EUROPE.

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.

ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAM SUAM.

ANIMULA, Vagula, blandula,
Hospes, comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca,
Pallidula, rigida, nudula?
Nec, ut soles, dabis joca.

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