which thy own ha all we thoughreflectio

I fond of my well-chosen seat, My pictures, medals, books complete.. Or, should we mix our friendly talk, O’ershaded in that favourite walk, Which thy own hand had whilom planted,' 550 Both pleas'd with all we thought we wanted : Yet then, ev’n then, one cross reflection Would spoil thy grove, and my collection : Thy son, and his, ere that, may die, And Time some uncouth heir supply, Who shall for nothing else be known But spoiling all that thou hast done. Who set the twigs shall he remember That is in hafte to fell the timber? And what shall of thy woods remain,. Except the box that threw the main ?

Nay, may not Time and Death remove The near relations whom I love? And my coz Tom, or his coz Mary, (Who hold the plough, or skim the dairy): 565 My favourite books and pictures sell To Smart, or Doiley, by the ell ? Kindly throw in a little figure, And set the price upon the bigger? Those who could never read the grammar, - 570 When my dear volumes touch the hammer, May think books best, as richeft bound; My copper medals by the pound ..! May be with learned justice weigh'd ; '. To turn the balance, Otho's head in

575 0 2

May

560

!

An h people liveth your phis-Leists

May be thrown in ; and, for the metal,
The coin may mend a tinker's kettle-

Tird with these thoughts—Less tir'd than I,
Quoth Dick, with your philofophy-
That people live and die, I knew
An hour ago, as well as you.
And, if Fate spins us longer years,
Or is in haste to take the shears,
I know we must both fortunes try,
And bear our evils wet or dry.
Yet, let the Goddess fmile or frown,
Bread we shall eat, or white or brown ;
And in a cottage, or a court,
Drink fine champaigne or muddled port.
What need of books these truths to tell,
Which folks perceive who cannot spell ?
And must we spectacles apply,
To view what hurts our naked eye?

Sir, if it be your wisdom's aim
To make me merrier than I am,
I'll be all night at your devotion-
Come on, friend ; broach the pleasing notion :
But, if you would depress my thought,
Your system is not worth a groat-

For Plato's fancies what care I?
I hope you would not have me die,
Like fimple Cato in the play,
For any thing that he can fay?.
E’en let him of ideas speak
To heathens in his native Greek,

If to be fad is to be wise,
I do most heartily despise
Whatever Socrates has said,
Or Tully writ, or Wanley read.

Dear Drift, * to set our matters right,
Remove these papers from my sight;
Burn Mat's Des-cart, and Aristotle :
Here ! Jonathan, your master's bottle.

610

* Mr. Prior's Secretary and Executor.

03

SOLOMON

6 Siquis Deus inihi largiatur, ut ex hac ætate repu“ erafcam, & in cunis vagiam, valde recusem."

Cic. de Senecto

“ The bewailing of man's miseries hath been elegantly and

“ copiously set forth by many in the writings as well “of Philosophers as Divines ; and is both a pleasant " and a profitable contemplation.”

BACON