The swains unlabour'd harvests reap,
Fountains run wine, and whores are cheap,
Fortune is always true and kind,
Nor veers, as here, with every wind;
Not, as in these penurious isles,
Retails her blessings and her smiles;
But deals by wholesale with her friends,
And gluts them with her dividends.
Then haste, set sail, the ship's unmoor'd
And waits to take thee now on board,"
The youth o'erjoy'd this project hears,
From his flock-bed his head he rears,
And waters all his rags with tears.
In short, he took his friend's advice,
Pack'd up
his baggage in a trice;
Dancing for joy, on board he flew,
With all Potosi in his view.
BEHOLD the youth just now set free
On land, immur'd again at sea;
Stow'd with his cargo in the hold,
In quest of other worlds for gold.
He who so late regal'd at ease,
On olios, soups, and fricassees;
Drank with the witty and the gay,
Sparkling Champaign, and rich Tokay;
Now breaks his fast with Suffolk cheese,
And bursts at noon with pork and pease;
Instead of wine, content to sip,
With noisy tars, their nauseous flip :
Their breath with chew'd mundungus sweet,
Their jests more fulsome than their meat.
While thunder rolls, and storms arise,
He snoring in his hammock lies;
In golden dreams enjoys the night,
And counts his bags with vast delight.
Mountains of gold erect his throne,
Each precious gem is now his own;
Kind Jove descends in golden sleet,
Pactolus murmurs at his feet;
The sea gives up its hoarded store,
Possessing all, he covets more.
O Gold! attractive Gold! in vain
Honour and conscience would restrain
Thy boundless universal reign.
To thee each stubborn virtue bends,
The man oblig'd betrays his friends;
The patriot quits his country's cause,
And sells her liberty and laws:
The pious prude 's no longer nice,
And ev'n lawn sleeves can flatter vice.
At thy too absolute command,
Thy zealots ransack sea and land:
Wheree'er thy beams thy power display,
The swarming insects haste away,
To bask in thy refulgent ray.
Now the bold crew with prosperous wind,
Leave the retreating land behind;
Fearless they quit their native shore,
And Albion's cliffs are seen no more.
Then on the wide Atlantic borne,
Their rigging and their tackle torn;
Danger in various shapes appears,
Sudden alarins, and shivering fears.
Here, might some copious bard dilate
And show fierce Neptune drawn in state;
While guards of Tritons clear his way,
And Nereids round his chariot play;
Then bid the stormy Boreas rise,
And forky lightning cleave the skies
The ship nigh foundering in the deep,
Or bounding o'er the ridgy steep:
Describe the monsters of the main,
The Phocæ, and their finny train,
Tornados, hurricanes, and rain,
Spouts, shoals, and rocks of dreadful size,
And pirates lurking for their prize;
Amazing miracles rehearse,
And turn all Dampier into verse.
My negligent and humble Muse
Less ambitious aims pursues;
Content with more familiar phrase,
Nor deals in such embroider'd lays;
Pleas'd if my rhime just measure keeps,
And stretch'd at ease my reader sleeps.
Hibernian matrons thus of old,
Their soporific stories told;
To sleep in vain the patient strove,
Perplex'd with business, cross'd in love;
Till soothing tales becalm'd his breast,
And lull'd his troubled soul to rest.
Suffice it only to recite,
They drank all day, they snor'd all night.
And, after many moons were past,
They made the wish'd-for shores at last.
Frank, with his cargo in his hand,
Leap'd joyful on the golden strand;
Open'd his toy-shop in the port,
Trinkets of various size and sort;
Bracelets and combs, bodkins and tweezers,
Bath-metal rings, and knives, and scissars;
And in one lucky day got more
Than Bubble-boy in half a score:
For Fortune now, no longer coy,
Smil'd on her darling favourite boy;
No longer from his arms retir'd,
But gave him all his heart desir'd.
Ah! thoughtless youth! in time beware,
And shun the treacherous harlot's snare;
The wiser savages behold,
Who truck not liberty for gold;
Proof against all her subtle wiles,
Regardless of her frowns or smiles;
If frugal Nature want supplies,
The lance or dart unerring flies:
The mountain boar their prey descends,
Or the fat kid regales their friends;
The jocund tribe, from sun to sun,
Feast on the prize their valour won.
Cease, babbling Muse, thy vain advice,
'Tis thrown away on Avarice:
Bid hungry lions quit their prey,
Or streains that down the mountains stray
Divert their course, return again,
And climb the steep from whence they came.
Unblest with his ill-gotten store,
Th' insatiate youth still craves for more;
To counsel deaf, t' examples blind,
Scrapes up whatever he can find.
Now master of a vessel grown,
With all the glittering freight his own,
To Fortune still he makes his court,
And coasts along from port to port.
Each rolling tide brings fresh supplies,
And heaps on heaps delight his eyes.
Through Panama's delicious bay,
The loaded vessel ploughs her way;
With the rich freight oppress'd she sails,
And summons all the friendly gales.
Frank on her deck triumphant stood,
And view'd the calm transparent flood:
"Let book-learn'd sots," said he, "adore
Th' aspiring hills that grace thy shore;
Thy verdant isles, the groves that bow
Their nodding heads, and shade thy brow;
Thy face serene, thy gentle breast,
Where Syrens sing, and Halcyons rest:
Propitious flood! on me bestow
The treasures of thy depths below;
Which long in thy dark womb have slept,
From age to age securely kept."
Scarce had he spoke, when, strange surprise!
Th' indignant waves in mountains rise,
And hurricanes invade the skies;
The ship against the shoals was struck,
And in a thousand pieces broke;
But one poor trusty plank, to save
Its owner from the watery grave:
On this he mounts, is cast on shore,
Half dead, a bankrupt as before:
Spiritless, fainting, and alone,
On the bare beach he makes his moan.
Then climbs the ragged rock, t' explore
If aught was driving to the shore,
The poor remains of all his store:
With greedy diligence prepar'd
To save whate'er the waves had spar'd.
But oh! the wretch expects in vain
Compassion from the furious main;
Men, goods, are sunk. Mad with despair
He beat his breast, he tore his hair:
Then leaning o'er the craggy steep
Look'd down into the boiling deep;
Almost resolv'd to cast himself,
And perish with his dear, dear pelf.
IF Heaven the thriving trader bless,
What fawning crowds about him press!
But, if he fail, distress'd and poor,
His mob of friends are seen no more:
For all men hold it meet to fly
Th' infectious breath of Poverty.
Poor Frank, deserted and forlorn,
Curses the day that he was born:
Each treacherous crony hides his face,
Or starts whene'er he haunts the place.
His wealth thus lost, with that his friends,
On Fortune still the youth depends:
"One smile," said he, " can soon restore
A bankrupt wretch, and give him more;
She will not, sure, refuse her aid?"
Fallacious hope! for the false jade
That very day took wing, was flown,
And on her wonted journey gone
(Intent her costly goods to sell)
From Panama to Portobel:
Five hundred mules her baggage bear,
And groan beneath the precious ware,
The goddess rides sublime in air;
And hence conveys a fresh supply,
For pride, debate, and luxury,
Frank, when he heard th' unwelcome news,
Like a staunch hound the chase pursues,
Takes the same rout, doubles his speed,
Nor doubts her help in time of need.
O'er the wide waste, through pathless ways, The solitary pilgrim strays;
Now on the swampy desert plain,
Through brakes of mangroves works with pain;
Then climbs the hills with many a groan,
And melts beneath the torrid zone.
With berries and green plantains fed
On the parch'd earth he leans his head;
Fainting with thirst, to Heaven he cries,
But finds no stream but from his eyes.
Ah, wretch ! thy vain laments forbear,
And for a worse extreme prepare;
Sudden the lowering storms arise,
The bursting thunder rends the skies,
Aslant the ruddy lightning flies;
Darts through the gloom a transient ray,
And gives a short, but dreadful day:
With pealing rain the woods resound,
Convulsions shake the solid ground.
Benumb'd with cold, but more with fear,
Strange phantoms to his mind appear,
The wolves around him howl for food,
The ravenous tigers hunt for blood,
And canibals more fierce than they
(Monsters who make mankind their prey)
Riot and feast on human gore,
And, still insatiate, thirsts for more.
Half dead at every noise he hears,
His fancy multiplies his fears;
Whate'er he read or heard of old,
Whate'er his nurse or Crusoe told,
Each tragic scene his eyes behold:
Things past as present fear applies,
Their pains he bears, their deaths he dies.
At length the Sun began to peep,
And gild the surface of the deep,
Then on the reeking moisture fed,
The scatter'd clouds before him fled,
The rivers shrunk into their bed:
Nature revives; the feather'd throng
Salute the morning with a song.
Frank with his fellow-brutes arose,
Yet dreaming still he saw his foes,
Reels to and fro, laments and grieves,
And starting, doubts if yet he lives.
At last his spirits mend their pace,
And Hope sat dawning on his face;
"Ev'n such is human life," said he,
"A night of dread and misery,
Till Heaven relents, relieves our pain,
And sun-shine day return again.
O Fortune ! who dost now bestow,
Frowning, this bitter cup of woe,
Do not thy faithful slave destroy,
But give th' alternative of joy."
Then many a painful step he takes,
O'er hills and vales, through woods and brakes: No sturdy desperate buccaneer
E'er suffer'd hardships more severe.
Stubborn, incorrigibly blind,
No dangers can divert his mind;
His tedious journey he pursues,
At last his eye transported views
Fair Portobel, whose rising spires
Inflame his heart with new desires.
Secure of Fortune's grace, he smiles,
And flattering Hope the wretch beguiles.
Though nature calls for sleep and food,
Yet stronger avarice subdued;
Ev'n shameful nakedness and pain,
And thirst and hunger, plead in vain :
No rest he gives his weary feet,
Fortune he seeks from street to street;
Careful in every corner pries,
Now here, now there, impatient flies,
Where ever busy crowds resort,
The change, the market, and the port;
In vain he turns his eye-balls round,
Fortune was no where to be found;
The jilt, not many hours before,
With the Plate-fleet had left the shore,
Laughs at the credulous fool behind,
And joyful skuds before the wind.
Poor Frank forsaken on the coast,
All his fond hopes at once are lost.
Aghast the swelling sails he views,
And with his eye the fleet pursues,
Till, lessen'd to his wearied sight,
It leaves him to despair and night,
So when the faithless Theseus fled
The Cretan nymph's deserted bed,
Awak'd, at distance on the main,
She view'd the prosperous perjur'd swain,
And call'd th' avenging Gods in vain.
Prostrate on earth till break of day,
Senseless and motionless he lay,
Till tears at last find out their way;
Gush like a torrent from his eyes,
In bitterness of soul he cries,
"O, Fortune! now too late I see,
Too late, alas! thy treachery.
Wretch that I am, abandon'd, lost,
About the world at random tost,
Whither, oh whither shall I run?
Sore pinch'd with hunger, and undone.
In the dark mines go hide thy head
Accurs'd, exchange thy sweat for bread,
Skulk under ground, in Earth's dark womb
Go slave, and dig thyself a tomb:
There's gold enough; pernicious gold;
To which long since thy peace was sold;
Vain helpless idol! canst thou save
This shatter'd carcase from the grave?
Restless disturber of mankind,
Canst thou give health, or peace of mind ? deceiv'd the fool shall be
Ah no,
Who puts his confidence in thee.
Fatally blind, my native home
I left, in this rude world to roam;
O, brother! shall I view no more
Thy peaceful bowers? fair Albion's shore?
Yes (if kind Heaven my life shall spare)
Some happy moments yet I'll share,
In thy delightful blest retreat,
With thee contemn the rich and great;
Redeem my time mispent, and wait
Till death relieve th' unfortunate."
Adversity, sage useful guest,
Severe instructor, but the best;
It is from thee alone we know
Justly to value things below;
Right Reason's ever faithful friend,
To thee our haughty passions bend;
Tam'd by thy rod, poor Frank at last
Repents of all his follies past;
Resign'd, and patient to endure
Those ills, which Heaven alone can cure.
With vain pursuits and labours worn,
He meditates a quick return,
Longs to revisit yet once more,
Poor prodigal! his native shore.
In the next ship for Britain bound,
Glad Frank a ready passage found;
Nor vessel now, nor freight his own,
He fears no longer Fortune's frown;
No property but life his share,
Life, a frail good not worth his care;
Active and willing to obey,
A merry mariner and gay,
He hands the sails, and jokes all day.
At night no dreams disturb his rest,
No passions riot in his breast;
For, having nothing left to lose,
Sweet and unbroken his repose:
And now fair Albion's cliffs are seen,
And bills with fruitful herbage green:
His heart beats quick, the joy that ties
His faltering tongue bursts from his eyes.
At length, thus hail'd the well-known land,
And kneeling kiss'd the happy strand.
"And do I then draw native air,
After an age of toil and care?
O welcome parent isle! no more
The vagrant shall desert thy shore,
But, flying to thy kind embrace,
Here end his life's laborious race."
So when the stag, intent to rove,
Quits the safe park and sheltering grove,
Tops the high pale, strolls unconfin'd,
Aud leaves the lazy herd behind,
Blest in his happy change a while,
Corn fields and flowery meadows smile,
The pamper'd beast enjoys the spoil;
Till on the next returning morn,
Alarm'd, he hears the fatal horn;
Before the stanch, blood thirsty hounds,
Panting, o'er hills unknown he bounds,
With clamour every wood resounds:
He creeps the thorny brakes with pain,
He seeks the distant stream in vain,
And now, by sad experience wise,
To his dear home the rambler flies;
His old enclosure gains once more,
And joins the herd he scorn'd before.
Nor are his labours finish'd yet,
Hunger and thirst, and pain and sweat,
And many a tedious mile remains,
Before his brother's house he gains.
Without one doit his purse to bless,
Nor very elegant his dress;
With a tarr'd jump, a crooked bat,
Scarce one whole shoe, and half a hat;
From door to door the stroller skipp'd,
Some times reliev'd, but oftener whipp'd;
Sun-burnt and ragged, on he fares,
At last the mansion-house appears,
Timely relief for all his cares.
Around he gaz'd, his greedy sight
Devours each object with delight;
Through each known haunt transported roves,
Gay smiling fields, and shady groves,
Once conscious of his youthful loves.
About the hospitable gate
Crowds of dejected wretches wait;
Each day kind Bob's diffusive hand,
Chear'd and refresh'd the tatter'd band,
Proud the most god-like joy to share,
He fed the hungry, cloath'd the bare.
Frank amongst these his station chose,
With looks revealing inward woes:
When, lo! with wonder and surprize,
He saw dame Fortune in disguise;
He saw, but scarce believ'd his eyes.
Her fawning smiles, her tricking air,
Th' egregious hypocrite declare;
A gypsy's mantle round her spread,
Of various dye, white, yellow, red!
Strange feats she promis'd, clamour'd loud,
And with her cant amus'd the crowd:
There every day impatient ply'd,
Push'd to get in, but still deny'd;
For Bob, who knew the subtle whore,
Thrust the false vagrant from his door.
But, when the stranger's face he view'd,
With no deceitful tears bedew'd,
His boding heart began to melt,
And more than usual pity felt:
He trac'd his features o'er and o'er,
That spoke him better born, though poor,
Though cloth'd in rags, genteel his mien,
That face he somewhere must have seen:
Nature at last reveals the truth,
He knows, and owns the hapless youth.
Surpris'd, and speechless, both embrace,
And mingling tears o'erflow each face;
Till Bob thus eas'd his labouring thought,
And this instructive moral taught.
"Welcome, my brother, to my longing arms,
Here on my bosom rest secure from harms;
See Fortune there, that false delusive jade,
To whom thy prayers and ardent vows were paid:
She (like her sex) the fond pursuer flies;
But slight the jilt, and at thy feet she dies.
Now safe in port, indulge thyself on shore,
Oh, tempt the faithless winds and seas no more;
Let unavailing toils, and dangers past,
Though late, this useful lesson teach at last,
True happiness is only to be found
In a contented mind, a body sound,
All else is dream, a dance on fairy ground:
While restless fools each idle whim pursue,
And still one wish obtain'd creates a new,
Like froward babes, the toys they have, detest,
While still the newest trifle pleases best:
Let us, my brother, rich in wisdom's store,
What Heaven has lent, enjoy, nor covet more ;
Subdue our passions, curb their saucy rage,
And to ourselves restore the golden age.
A VICAR liv'd on this side Trent,
Religious, learn'd, benevolent,
Pure was his life, in deed, word, thought,
A comment on the truths he taught:
His parish large, his income small,
Yet seldom wanted wherewithal;
For against every merry tide
Madam would carefully provide.
A painful pastor; but his sheep,
Alas! within no bounds would keep;
VOL. XI.
A scabby flock, that every day
Run riot, and would go astray.
He thump'd his cushion, fretted, vext,
Thump'd o'er again each useful text;
Rebuk'd, exhorted, all in vain,
His parish was the more profane :
The scrubs would have their wicked will,
And cunning Satan triumph'd still.
At last, when each expedient fail'd,
And serious measures nought avail'd,
It came into his head, to try
The force of wit and raillery.
The good man was by nature gay,
Could gibe and joke, as well as pray;
Not like some hide-bound folk, who chase
Each merry smile from their dull face,
And think pride zcal, ill-nature grace.
At christenings and each jovial feast,
He singled out the sinful beast:
Let his all-pointed arrows fly,
Told this and that, look'd very sly,
And left my masters to apply.
His tales were humorous, often true,
And now and then set off to view
With lucky fictions and sheer wit,
That pierc'd, where truth could never hit
The laugh was always on his side,
While passive fools by turns deride;
And, giggling thus at one another,
Each jeering lout reform'd his brother;
Till the whole parish was with ease
Sham'd into virtue by degrees:
Then be advis'd, and try a tale,
When Chrysostom and Austin fail.
MAN, of precarious science vain,
Treats other creatures with disdain;
Nor Pug nor Shock have common sense,
Nor even Pol the least pretence,
Though she prate better than us all,
To be accounted rational.
The brute creation here below,
It seems, is Nature's puppet-show!
But clock-work all, and mere machine,
What can these idle gimcracks mean;
Ye world-makers of Gresham-hall,
Dog Rover shall confute you all;
Shall prove that every reasoning brute
Like Ben or Bangor can dispute;
Can apprehend, judge, syllogize,
Or like proud Bentley criticize;
At a moot point, or odd disaster,
Is often wiser than his master.
He may mistake sometimes, tis true,
None are infallible but you.
The dog whom nothing can mislead
Must be a dog of parts indeed :
But to my tale; hear me, my friend,
And with due gravity attend.
Rover, as heralds are agreed,
Well-born, and of the setting breed;
Rang'd high, was stout, of nose acute,
A very learn'd and courteous brute.
In parallel lines his ground he heat,
Not such as in one centre meet,
In those let blundering doctors deal,
His were exactly parallel.
When tainted gales the game betray,
Down close he sinks, and eyes his prey.
Though different passions tempt his soul,
True as the needle to the pole,
He keeps his point, and panting lies
The floating net above him flies,
Then, dropping, sweep the fluttering prize.
Nor this his only excellence:
When surly farmers took offence,
And the rank corn the sport deny'd,
Still faithful to his master's side,
A thousand pretty pranks he play'd,
And chearful each command obey'd:
Humble his mind, though great his wit,
Would lug a pig, or turn the spit;
Would fetch and carry, leap o'er sticks,
And forty such diverting tricks.
Nor Partridge, nor wise Gadbury,
Could find lost goods so soon as he;
Bid him go back a mile or more,
And seek the glove you hid before,
Still his unerring nose would wind it,
If above ground, was sure to find it;
Whimpering for joy his master greet,
And humbly lay it at his feet.
But hold-it cannot be deny'd,
That useful talents misapply'd,
May make wild work. It hapt one day,
Squire Lobb, his master, took his way,
New shav'd, and smug, and very tight,
To compliment a neighbouring knight;
In his best trowsers he appears
(A comely person for his years);
And clean white drawers, that many a day
In lavender and rose-cakes lay.
Across his brawny shoulders strung,
On his left side his dagger hung;
Dead-doing blade! a dreadful guest,
Or in the field, or at the feast.
No franklin carving of a chine
At Christide, ever look'd so fine.
With him obsequious Rover trudg'd,
Nor from his heels one moment budg'd:
A while they travell'd, when within
Foor Lobb perceiv'd a rumbling din:
Then warring winds, for want of vent,
Shook all his earthly tenement.
So in the body politic
(For states sometimes, like men, are sick)
Dark Faction inutters through the crowd,
Ere bare-fac'd Treason roars aloud:
Whether crude humours undigested
His labouring entrails had infested,
Or last night's load of bottled ale,
Grown mutinous, was breaking gaol:
The cause of this his aukward pain,
Let Johnston or let H-th explain;
Whose learned noses may discover,
Why nature's stink-pot thus ran over.
My province is th' effect to trace,
And give each point its proper grace,
Th' effect, O lamentable case!
Long had he struggled, but in vain,
The factious tumult to restrain:
What should he do? Th' unruly rout
Press'd on, and it was time, no doubt,
T' unbutton, and to let all out.
The trowsers soon his will obey!
Not so his stubborn drawers, for they,
Beneath his hanging paunch close ty'd,
Ilis utmost art and pains defy'd:
He drew his dagger on the spot,
Resolv'd to cut the Gordian knot.
In the same road just then pass'd by
(Such was the will of Destiny)
The courteous curate of the place,
Good-nature shone o'er all his face;
Surpris'd the flaming blade to view,
And deeming slaughter must ensue,
Off from his hack himself he threw,
Then without ceremony seizd
The squire, impatient to be eas'd.
"Lord! master Lobb, who would have though
The fiend had e'er so strongly wrought?
Is suicide so slight a fault?
Rip up thy guts, man! What-go quick
To Hell? Outrageous lunatic!
But, by the blessing, I'll prevent
With this right hand, thy foul intent."
Then gripp'd the dagger fast: the squire,
Like Peleus' son, look'd pale with ire;
While the good man like Pallas stood,
And check'd his eager thirst for blood.
At last, when both a while had strain'd,
Strength, join'd with zeal, the conquest gain'd
The curate in all points obey'd,
Into the sheath returns the blade:
But first th' unhappy squire he swore,
T'attempt upon his life no more.
With sage advice his speech he clos'd,
And left him (as he thought) compos'd.
But was it so, friend Lobb; I own,
Misfortune seldom comes alone;
Satan supplies the swelling tide,
And ills on ills are multiply'd
Subdued and all his measures broke,
His purpose and intent mistook;
Within his drawers, alas! he found
His guts let out without a wound:
For, in the conflict, straining hard,
He left his postern-gate unbarr'd;
Most woefully bedawb'd, he moans
His piteous case, he sighs, he groans.
To lose his dinner, and return,
Was very hard, not to be borne:
Hunger, they say, parent of arts,
Will make a fool a man of parts.
The sharp-set squire resolves at last,
Whate'er befel him not to fast;
He mus'd a while, chaf'd, strain'd his wits,
At last on this expedient hits;
To the next brook with sober pace
He tends, preparing to uncase,
Straddling and muttering all the way,
Curs'd inwardly th' unlucky day.
The coast now clear, no soul in view,
Of in a trice his trowsers drew;
More leisurely his drawers, for care
And caution was convenient there:
So fast the plaister'd birdlime stuck,
The skin came off at every pluck,
Sorely he gaul'd each brawny ham;
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