Were hastening to the field of fight, He may admit two such commanders, And make those wait who serv'd in Flanders. Let's quarter on a great man's tongue, A treasury lord, not Maister Y Obsequious at his high command, -g. Let Ay's seem No's, and No's seem Ay's; You, who the sweets of rural life have known, To hear the Sirens warble in thy song. But I, who ne'er was bless'd by Fortune's hand, Nor brighten'd ploughshares in paternal land; Long in the noisy Town have been immur'd, Respir'd its smoke, and all its cares endur'd; Where news and politics divide mankind, And schemes of state involve th' uneasy mind; Faction embroils the world, and every tongue Is mov'd by flattery, or with scandal hung: |