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They walk’d, and eat, good folks : what then?
Why then they walk'd and eat again :
They foundly Nept the night away ;
They did just nothing all the day :
And, having bury'd children four,
Would not take pains to try for more.
Nor sister either had nor brother ;
They seem'd just tally'd for each other.:
Their moral and economy
Most perfectly they made agree :
Each virtue kept its proper bound,
Nor trespass’d on the other's ground.
Nor fame nor censure they regarded;
They neither punish'd nor rewarded.
He car'd not what the footman did;
Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid :
So every servant took his course ;
And, bad at first, they all grew worse.
Slothful disorder fill'd his stable,
And sluttish plenty deck'd her table.
Their beer was strong; their wine was port;
Their meal was large ; their grace was short.
They gave the poor the remnant meat,
Just when it grew not fit to eat.
They paid the church and parish rate,
And took, but read not, the receipt ;
For which they claim their Sunday's due,
Of Numbering in an upper pew.
No man's defects fought they to know;
So never made themselves a foe.
No man's good deeds did they commend;
So never rais’d themselves a friend.
Nor cherish'd they relations poor ;
That might decrease their present store :
Nor barn nor house did they repair;
That might oblige their future heir.
They neither added nor confounded :
They neither wanted nor abounded.
Each Christmas they accompts did clear,
And wound their bottom round the year.
Nor tear nor smile did they employ
At news of public grief or joy.
When bells were rung, and bonfires made,
If ask'd, they ne'er deny'd their aid :
Their jug was to the ringers carried,
Whoever either died or married.
Their billet at the fire was found,
Whoever was depos’d or crown'd.
Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise ;
They would not learn, nor could advise :
Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
They led—a kind of—as it were :
Nor wish’d, nor car'd, nor laugh’d, nor cried :
And so they liv'd, and so they died
WRITTEN IN MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS.
GIVEN TO THE DUKE OF SHREW SBURY IN
FRANCE, AFTER THE PEACE, 1713.
D ICTATE, O mighty judge, what thou hast seen
Of cities and of courts, of books and men ; And deign to let thy servant hold the pen.
Through ages thus I may presume to live,
And from the transcript of thy profe receive
What my own short-liv’d verse can never give.
Thus shall fair Britain with a gracious smile
Accept the work; and the instructed isle,
For more than treaties made, shall bless my toil.
Nor longer hence the Gallic style preferr'd, Wisdom in English idiom shall be heard, While Talbot tells the world, where Montaigne err'd.
WRITTEN AT PARIS, 1714; BUT LEFT UNFINISHED, BI
THE SUDDEN NEWS OF HER MAJESTY'S DEATH.
THE train of equipage and pomp of state,
The shining side-board, and the burnish'd plate,
Let other ministers, great Anne, require ;
And partial fall thy gift to their desire.
To the fair portrait of my Sovereign Dame,
To that alone, eternal be my claim.
My bright defender, and my dread delight,
If ever I found favour in thy fight;
If all the pains that for thy Britain's fake
My past has too's, or future life may take,
Be grateful to my Queen ; permit my prayer,
And with this gift reward my total care.
Will thy indulgent hand, fair Saint, allow
The boon ? and will thy car accept the vow?
That, in despite of age, of impious flame,
And eating Tiine, thy picture, like thy fame,
Entire may last; that, as their eyes survey
The semblant shade, men yet unborn may fay,
Thus great, thus gracious, look'd Britannia's Queen;
Her brow thus smooth, her look was thus serene ;
When to a low, but to a loyal hand
The mighty Empress gave her high command,
That he to hostile camps and kings should haste,
To speak her vengeance, as their danger, past ;
To say, she wills detested wars to cease ;
She checks her conquest, for her subjects ease,
And bids the world attend her terms of peace.
Thee, gracious Anne, thee present I adore,
Thee, Queen of Peace-If Time and Fate have power
Higher to raise the glories of thy reign,
In words sublimer, and a nobler strain,
May future bards the mighty theme rehearse :
Here, Stator Jove, and Phæbus king of verse,
The votive tablet I suspend * * * *
THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF DEVONSHIRE;
ON A PIECE OF WIES SE N's,
WHERE ON WERE ALL HER GRANDSONS PAINTED.
W IESSEN and Nature held a long contest,
" If She created, or He painted beft ; With pleasing thought the wondrous combat grew, She still form’d fairer; He still liker drew.